#and having a sound system that's allowed to be turned up very loud

[vanishingmoments]

the way theaters are dying because people think "oh I'll just catch it later on one of 700 streaming services" is really tragic. I've seen four movies in theaters this year and with one exception I can say that the experience of seeing them again on my TV will never be anywhere near as complete of an experience.

[subskz]

go easy - h.js

note: this is a reupload from my old blog

content: sub jisung, dom reader, masturbation (m), brief voyeurism, a bit of degradation, reader calls jisung a slut once, use of traffic light system, stopping during a scene, crying, slight angst, hurt/comfort, pegging, lots of praise

word count: 6.6k

The scent of your cooking wafted through the kitchen as you turned the knob on your stove to lower its heat to a simmer. You gave the eggs you’d scrambled a few more tentative pokes with your utensil before deciding that you were satisfied, shutting off the fire beneath the pan at last.

Jisung was still sound asleep in the other room—or at least, you assumed he was given that he hadn’t yet been lured into the kitchen by the mouthwatering aroma. You set the sizzling pan down on the counter and glanced at your phone to check the time. It was nearly noon, and as much as you wanted Jisung to get proper rest, especially knowing that he’d gone to bed thoroughly exhausted the night prior, you figured it’d be better to wake him up before his whole day was thrown off. A part of you wanted him awake so he could have the chance to eat his breakfast before it got cold, but the other half—the more selfish one—simply missed him. No matter how groggy he might be when he first woke up; mumbling to himself for minutes, ruffling his unruly hair and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he could get a proper sentence out, he always brightened your mornings with his slurred jokes and lazy giggles.

The thought alone was enough to stir fondness in your chest, bringing an involuntary smile to your face as if you could hear his raspy voice already. You made quick work of setting the rest of the table and headed out of the kitchen, making your way down the hall towards your bedroom. In retrospect, shutting the door so that the clatter of your cooking wouldn’t disturb Jisung hadn’t really been necessary, considering how deep of a sleeper he was.

A small, muffled noise coming from the other side of the wall captured your attention, bringing you to a halt as you reached for the door handle. You stayed put for a moment, not even having the chance to question whether you’d imagined it or not when it was soon followed by another, just audible enough for you to catch. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard Jisung talk in his sleep, but the nature of the sounds you were hearing—stifled, swallowed down, like he was having trouble getting them out—had you wondering if he might be experiencing a nightmare of some kind. 

You listened long enough for your curiosity to begin morphing into concern. A noise almost akin to a gasp met your ears, cut short as soon as it came, just barely allowing you to catch it. With a frown, you turned the door handle and tiptoed into your bedroom, completely unprepared for the scene that awaited you inside.

Jisung was awake, very much so.

Your comforter had been bunched up and tossed to the side, giving you a clear view of exactly what had been drawing out all those strange, breathless noises from him. He was hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, messy hair falling into his face, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His shorts and underwear were pushed down just far enough for his hand to move freely, like he’d been in too much of a rush to even bother removing them properly. Given how fast he was stroking himself, that was probably the case.

You blinked a few times, processing the scene unfolding before you in stunned silence. He hadn’t yet noticed that you’d slipped into the room, still fully consumed by the feeling of his hand sliding up and down his length at a frantic pace, working himself to his high with a shameless lack of control. The noises he made were hushed, but deliciously desperate, and judging by the obvious flush on his cheeks, you could tell just how hard he was trying to hold his breath and restrain himself so they wouldn’t ring out too loud.

Any remaining shock you’d felt was quickly overtaken by a wave of arousal when you heard Jisung call out your name—so soft, so broken, you might have thought you’d misheard if he didn’t buck up into his fist especially hard as he uttered it, like the mere thought of you was just what he needed to send him over the edge right then and there. He slowed his pumping to flatten his palm and roll it over the head of his cock, cursing under his breath. You knew better than anyone how crazy the move drove him—you were the one who’d discovered it in the first place, gotten him hooked on it. It ignited a strange heat in your stomach, to realize that you were the only thing on his mind in that moment.

You’d never quite seen Jisung like this before. Curled in on himself, forcing back his moans in a relentless chase for pleasure from hands other than yours. He was typically so vocal about his desires with you, rarely shying away from demanding all your attention and begging you to take care of him when his need became too much to contain any longer. The fact that he was trying to keep it all a secret from you, like he was doing something wrong, had you more excited than you’d like to admit.

He clamped his jaws shut to suppress what was sure to have been a particularly loud cry, throwing his head back in a fit of pleasure. As he did, his half-lidded eyes finally caught a glimpse of you. Arms crossed, leaning lazily against the doorframe with an expression on your face that made his stomach flip.

He stiffened, hand freezing around his dick. A choked noise escaped him as his stare met yours, the remaining traces of his moan instantly dying out in his throat.

“Morning,” you hummed.

Jisung’s eyes grew wide as moons; a deer caught in headlights, a look far too innocent considering what he’d just been doing. With a mortified squeak, his hand scrambled for the nearest pillow, flinging it over himself in a pointless attempt to cover up the dripping mess of arousal peeking from his half-discarded shorts. Embarrassingly enough, the softness pressing suddenly against his most sensitive spot made him jolt, so hard that he was positive you wouldn’t miss it.

Your lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile, and you made your way over to the bed, flopping down on it casually across from him. “Don’t be shy, Hannie,” your voice was calm for the most part, but it was difficult to contain the delight creeping into it. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?”

At that, Jisung’s face heated up impossibly more, creating a pretty blush against his tan skin that you couldn’t get enough of.

“I...I thought you were busy,” he stammered out, gripping the pillow tighter. “I didn’t mean...um, I mean, I wasn’t trying to—”

His rambling was cut off when you leaned forward to cup his face in your hands, smile curving to completion when you felt for yourself how much his skin was burning under your palms. You gave his full cheeks a squeeze, gentle enough for him to relax into your touch. “Weren’t trying to get yourself off?” you finished for him. “It’s alright, baby. Why don’t you show me what you were doing?”

Jisung swallowed hard. “You’re not mad?” 

“Mm...not mad,” you began, rubbing your thumbs along his flushed face, feeling his pulse race under them. “Just a little hurt that you didn’t call for me to help you out.”

He cast his eyes down, unable to turn his head away in shame like every instinct told him to. You were only teasing him, no signs of disappointment lacing your tone, but it crashed a heavy guilt over him all the same. To not only do something so pathetic, so shameful, but to be caught by you in the process. You, the one he wanted to be good for, the one he did everything with your approval in mind.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s way too early for me to be so…ah.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could fade into the sheets and escape your watchful eyes before he died of pure humiliation right there—or worse, before the fresh rush of adrenaline it sent through his body to be found like this made his situation infinitely more embarrassing. He could already feel it, creeping up his neck, making his cock throb against the soft fabric of the pillow.

“Just…didn’t wanna bother you for something like this.”

With the exception of an occasional,  overly-eager misstep, Jisung always tried his best to be as well-behaved as possible for you. It was a rare occurrence for you to scold him over anything—he didn’t give you much of a reason to, nor a desire to. Not when his doe eyes gleamed up at you in a constant search for praise and his voice rang out so sweetly with every word of adoration you gave him. Though he hadn’t necessarily broken any rules, it still felt strangely thrilling to you to have caught him like this. Working himself up without your knowledge, seeking relief without your touch. You wondered what he’d been thinking about to even reach that point, what had made him so desperate that he didn’t even think to come find you first.

You slid your hands from his face to grab the pillow he’d used to shield himself. Jisung tensed up as you tugged it out of his hold, but he made no effort to try and stop you, obediently releasing it from his fidgeting fingers. Your heart skipped a beat as his cock sprang back into view, still fully hard and leaking at its tip, practically begging for release after the sudden loss in stimulation. Clearly, Jisung’s embarrassment had done little to ebb his arousal—if anything, it’d only strengthened it.

“Poor baby. So needy with no one around to take care of him,” you pouted, ghosting your hand over his length. “What’s got you like this first thing in the morning?”

It took him a moment to muster up a response, not finding it in him to speak properly when your fingers were dancing mere centimeters over his aching tip, taunting him. “H-had a dream about you.”

“Yeah?” you cooed. “Was I touching you like that?”

A soft noise of frustration met your ears. His gaze was locked on your hand, in a trance. So preoccupied with how badly he longed for you to close the distance that he almost forgot to give a strained nod.

“Cute.” You followed Jisung’s pleading stare to admire his twitching cock, curling your hand playfully around nothing. His breath hitched in his throat, bracing himself for your touch. But it never came. 

Instead, you scooted back, settling comfortably in a spot near the edge of the bed that gave you the perfect view of him—his bewildered face, his ridden up shirt, his dick peeking up from the elastic of his shorts. “Well, don’t let me ruin your fun.”

His mouth fell open, big, anxious eyes darting up to meet yours again. Adorably expressive as ever. You could see every emotion he was feeling written out in the curve of his eyebrows and the repeated parting and closing of his lips as he struggled to make sense of what you were implying.

“Ah…” he chuckled nervously. “What?”

“It must’ve felt good, right? Better than anything I could do,” you teased. “Let me see how my baby plays with himself when I’m not around.”

Your tone was light, but Jisung nearly shuddered all the same, like he couldn’t shake the feeling that some sort of punishment had to be awaiting him. There was a strange, hungry glint in your eyes that added a tinge of apprehension to the excitement fluttering his chest.

Despite himself, he followed through without question, half out of a determination to prove his discipline to you, half out of a pathetic need to relieve the pressure still coiled tight in his abdomen. He brought his hand back to his length, a tiny whine escaping him as he wrapped his fingers around it, handling it with far more timidity than the relentless pace he’d set earlier. He glanced up at you with a hopeful stare to ask for permission, such an obvious attempt to appeal to you that you could’ve laughed. But you simply nodded, encouraging him to start moving.

Tentatively, Jisung began stroking himself, thighs trembling the instant his pleasure picked up where he’d left off. You marveled at the way his cock pulsed in his hand as he pumped it with an amount of delicacy that he wasn’t used to treating himself with, slowly finding his rhythm. Even with his languid strokes, it wasn’t long before soft vocalizations began to build in his throat, heard loud and clear through the bedroom.

“Is that how fast you were going earlier?” you asked. It seemed like an innocent question, but he knew right away what you were really getting at; an order to go faster, to match his feverish speed from before.

“No,” he admitted.

“Don’t hold back, Jisungie,” you urged. “You were so into it before. Do it just like that, make yourself feel so good that you don’t even notice me.”

A breathless, awkward mewl slipped out of him, but he tightened his grip nonetheless. You cooed in approval, growing more aroused with each passing second over the sight of him so flustered, fumbling helplessly with his cock like he’d never touched it before. Any traces of how shameless he could be with you were nowhere to be found, now. No cries for your attention, no sinful expressions on full display, no begging to be adored. It willed you to take things a step further, to make the most of his shyness.

His hushed sounds quickly escalated into less controlled ones, still tinged with that sleepy rasp. His free hand gripped the bedsheets as he picked up the pace of his stroking, a cute, concentrated look forming on his face.

“There we go. Does that feel good, Hannie?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed as he slid his thumb along the head of his cock, passing over his wet slit and making his breath stutter. “M-mhm,” he hesitated before continuing. “It’d feel—ah—better if it was you.”

“Yeah?” you cooed. “It could’ve been. All you had to do was come to me like a good boy.”

He whined at that, averting his guilt-ridden gaze. Even with his head ducked, he could still feel you watching him, taking in each flex of his muscles and jolt of his hips. It made the touch of his hand feel completely foreign to him, like the effects of your observant eyes stimulated his nerve endings with a new intensity. You knew well by now that Jisung thrived on your praise more than anything else, but the prospect of talking down to him with no affectionate words to ease the sting was oddly exhilarating to you. You wanted to be a little meaner, to satiate your curiosity. 

“Is this what you do behind my back, baby?” you faked a pout. “Always touching your needy cock ‘cause you can’t even wait for me? Are you that dirty?”

Jisung tensed up, nearly choking in his haste to get his protest out. “No! I’m good, ‘m a good boy.”

His reaction made your spine tingle with satisfaction, enough for you to continue testing the waters. “I thought so too,” you said wistfully. “But now I’m not so sure. What kind of good boy would do something so gross?”

He whimpered. It came unexpectedly louder than the rest of his sweet little sounds, even as the pace of his pumps slowed down significantly. 

“Maybe you were just pretending to be good for me?” You cocked your head to the side. “Maybe you’re really just a little slut who will do anything to get off.”

Your tone took on an unnatural harshness, unlike any of your usual teasing, your familiar, playful lilt that pulled him into a happy haze with each word you spoke. Jisung shuddered. His face turned beet red, half-hearted strokes coming to a full stop. For a brief moment, you thought his reaction was one of enjoyment. But a few seconds passed, and the boy stayed that way—quiet, frozen in place, save for a faint twitch in his lips. 

“Jisung?” you asked cautiously. “Are you okay?”

His spell of silence stretched out longer than you’d anticipated, making alarm rise in your chest. 

“Jisung, what’s your color?” 

There was a newfound urgency to the question, one that he couldn’t ignore no matter how badly he wished he could brush it off, to pretend like he was fine so he wouldn’t disappoint you any further. But you noticed it all without anything said, from his tensed posture to the way his hand quivered as he unwrapped it from around his length. Reluctantly, he lifted his head to look at you, watery gaze coming into view.

“Green,” he said at last. The crack in his voice did little to reassure you—in fact, all it did was shoot your worry through the roof.

“Are you sure?” you pressed. “I need you to be honest with me, baby.”

Jisung’s breathing grew more rapid, heart hammering in his chest for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. It had all felt so good, so right, up until just a moment ago. Now, it was all wrong—he was all wrong. He couldn’t find it in him to be his own comfort, to tell himself that your words held no real weight. He’d upset you, he’d disappointed you, and on top of that he couldn’t even take his punishment properly. The sting in his eyes grew stronger. He’d already let you down by doing something so indecent, he didn’t want to do it again by being too weak to face the consequences. 

Even with Jisung’s face obscured by his messy curtain of hair, you could see the flurry of emotions crossing it, twisting his features, and your heart along with it. He was lying, you were certain of it.

“Hannie,” you softened your voice. The nickname was feather-light on your tongue, enough to soothe the inhibitions that were threatening to take over his mind and force him quiet. “Talk to me. Are you sure?”

Jisung swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat couldn’t be pushed down. You already knew how pathetic he was, anyway. There was no point in denying it.

All at once, the tears that had glazed his wide eyes spilled over. He pulled his knees up to his chest, shrinking into himself, looking smaller than ever. 

“Ah…this is s-so stupid,” he attempted a weak chuckle, but it fell flat into a sob instead, one that made your chest positively ache. “Sorry,” he choked out. “I tried to hold it in, ‘m sorry.”

A wave of guilt crashed over you, flooding all your senses. You rose from your spot slowly to make your way over to Jisung and settle down next to where he was curled up on the bed. It took all of your self-control to push back every protective instinct that told you to pull him into a hug when you saw how fragile he looked, trying and failing to ease himself as he cried into his elbow. Just as you were mulling over whether or not it’d be okay to touch him, he leaned into you like a reflex, and like a reflex, you wrapped your arms securely around him.

“Shh...it’s okay. Don’t apologize, baby,” you did your best to speak steadily, even if the broken sounds that slipped out as he fully let himself go made it difficult to control your voice. “It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

Jisung buried his face into your chest, hot tears seeping through your shirt and churning your stomach with sympathy. “Did...did you really mean that?” he hiccuped, digging his fingers into your clothes. “Am I that gross?”

“No, Jisung, never,” you could barely contain your own distress. Still, you had to stay composed, for his sake. Knowing Jisung, your guilt would feed into his; it would only make him feel worse when he already thought he’d ruined things for you. “I didn’t mean any of it, angel. It was all play.”

“But you’re right, I did something so disgusting behind your back. ‘M so pathetic. Gross,” he babbled, just short of incoherent with the way he was nestled into you. “You shouldn’t t-touch me. I don’t deserve it.”

You made a sound of pure disbelief, tightening your hold around him instead, rocking gently from side to side in an effort to calm him down. Jisung trembled against you as stifled gasps racked his body, but he followed your movements nonetheless, swaying along. “You’re not gross, Hannie. Please don’t believe that for even a second, okay?” You ran your hand up his quivering back to cradle his head, holding him close and massaging his scalp lightly with your fingers. “I went too far today, huh? I’m so sorry.”

“N-no, I’m—” he sniffled out. “Sorry for being like this. So sensitive.”

“You’re not too sensitive,” you murmured. “It’s my fault, baby. I should’ve checked before saying those things to you.”

You continued playing with his hair as he tried to get ahold of himself, feeling a tinge of relief when his breathing grew a little less erratic the more you soothed him, shaky sobs evening out with each inhale. 

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled into your shirt. “Just thought I disappointed you.”

He tensed again, nearly panicking when you loosened your iron grip on his body to pull back and look him in the eye. Your heart broke even further when you saw the state he was in. His eyes—usually so bright—were red and puffy, glassy in a way that was far different from their natural glint. Dried tears stained his face, with fresh ones still brimming in the corners of his eyes and trickling down his cheeks. You wiped them away as tenderly as you could, not wanting to irritate his sensitive skin any further.

“Why did you think that, Hannie?” 

“Cause I—,” he cut himself off with another soft hiccup, still struggling to get his emotions under control. “I messed up and couldn’t even take your scolding.”

“You didn’t disappoint me,” you said firmly. “You’re my good boy. So good you can’t even stand the thought of doing something wrong, right?”

He blinked droplets of tears out of his eyes, looking like he wanted nothing more than to bury his face right back into the comfort of your neck. Even so, he managed a tiny nod. 

“There we go. I love you no matter what. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

Your gaze bore intently into his, and Jisung forced himself to fight back the remnants of his self-deprecating thoughts before nodding again. “Okay,” he said softly. “I love you, too. So love me lots, please.”

The affection that gripped you nearly made you coo out loud. You pressed a kiss to his head the moment he leaned back into you, hoping to alleviate any leftover doubts he might have. 

“Can I make it up to you?” you whispered. “Wanna show my baby just how loved he is.”

Jisung let out a shy hum, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You weren’t sure what made you giggle more, the ticklish sensation of his soft hair brushing your skin, or how easily his demeanor shifted. Your question had been innocent enough, you’d expected him to want to be held a bit longer, maybe even going to wash up together, but it seemed like he had something else in mind. His lips puckered against your skin in a wet kiss, taking in your scent, then releasing it with a sweet sigh. 

“Just tell me what you want and we can do it,” you promised, petting his head, easing his mind back to that comforting haze with every stroke. “Does that sound good to you?”

“Mhm,” he murmured into you. What he said next was hard to make out with his lips squished against you, not quite ready to pull away. “Can we…go easy?”

The question tugged at your heartstrings. “Of course, we’ll go easy, angel. Anything you want.”

Jisung hesitated before deciding on his answer, still keeping his head tucked away into your shoulder. “Want your strap, please,” he breathed. It fanned out against your skin, making goosebumps rise to its surface. The plea was so different from his usual begging. Not shamelessly needy—but rather, timid and uncertain.

“Yeah? You wanna be spoiled?” You stopped playing with the hair at his nape to brush your index finger along his neck, relishing in how that alone was enough to make him shudder against you. “Good boys like you deserve to be treated good, too.”

It was Jisung’s turn to giggle, tinged with the slightest whine. You couldn’t deny the relief you felt hearing that familiar sound again. Reluctantly, he unlatched himself from you at last, already craving to feel your warmth again the instant you slipped off the bed. 

“I’ll be right back, okay? Get yourself ready for me.”

Jisung nodded eagerly, some of the liveliness returning to his red eyes. You ruffled his hair, then headed towards your closet, pushing away the final traces of guilt from your mind and replacing them with a determination to make it up to him instead. As you rummaged through your belongings to retrieve your strap-on, it wasn’t long before soft, needy whimpers began to reach you from the bedroom, even sweeter than when you’d first caught him, completely unrestrained this time. As much as they set off a fire in you, you remained patient, taking your time in preparing the toy while his noises grew progressively louder.

Then, a call of your name met your ears. So raspy with need, so weak with desperation, it made your core clench. You tried not to rush yourself, but your composure effectively crumbled when you heard Jisung cry out for you again, loud and clear through the wall. You could’ve laughed—he knew exactly what he was doing, but you were content to let it work, today. With a deep breath, you gathered up your things and returned to the other room.

There, you found Jisung with his shorts completely discarded and his legs spread out, pushing two fingers—slick with the lube he’d taken from the nightstand—in and out of himself obediently. The sight, coupled with the wet sounds each sloppy, uncoordinated pump of his hand created, was enough to cloud your mind entirely with arousal all over again. He looked so perfect, like it was exactly where he belonged; parting his thighs wider as soon as he spotted you, giving you a full view of how well he was fucking himself open for you.

You adjusted the strap’s harness around your waist and settled in between Jisung’s thighs. He pulled his fingers out of himself with a low keen, doe eyes gazing up at you intently as you took over for him, lathering your fingers with lube to slip them inside his twitching hole. A gasp caught in his throat as you did, your angle allowing you to reach even deeper inside of him than his own fingers could, loosening him up further. He tightened around you instantly, sucking you in like his body was begging for anything it could get.

“Look at that,” you gave an appreciative hum. “Already stretched out so perfectly for me. Good boy.”

Jisung barely had the chance to react before you spread your fingers out in a scissor-like motion a few times, sending sparks through his body each time you pressed into his walls. Then, you pulled out of him all at once, leaving him squirming and fluttering around nothing. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help his whine of disappointment, even when he knew what was to come. You gave his nose an affectionate tap with your clean hand before squeezing some lube onto your palm, spreading it along the length of your strap-on until it was thoroughly coated.

“Get comfortable, baby,” you ordered gently. 

There was a brief pause as Jisung propped himself up on his elbows, and you faltered for a moment, wondering if he might have changed his mind. He pressed his lips together like he was lost in thought, cheeks squishing adorably in the process.

“Ah, do you think...” he cut himself off with that cute, breathy laugh of his. “Can I—?” Another chuckle. “Can I ride you?”

The sheepish question came as a surprise to you, as did the sharp tingle it sent down your spine. You quirked an eyebrow, barely fighting back your smile when Jisung shied away, bangs falling into his eyes. “I wanna show you what I can do,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Wanna be your good boy.”

“Jisungie,” you sang, tilting his chin up to make sure your words got through to him. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re already my best boy, let me treat you like it.”

His eyes gleamed, but even as your praise eased his anxious mind, his resolve still didn’t waver. He needed this, you realized. His gaze searched yours for some sign of approval—so hopeful, so hungry, it was all it took for you to understand. 

“But...if that’s what my baby wants, then of course you can.” 

Jisung perked up at that, every soft, sleepy feature on his face brightening back up. “Thank you!” he chirped. “I’ll be good, I swear!”

You weren’t sure if it was his pure earnesty, or that infectious, heart-shaped grin, but you couldn’t hold back a smile of your own. It was impossible not to be overtaken with fondness, not when he was so grateful for just the chance to have your eyes on him as he ruined himself, all without you having to lift a finger. Shifting from your spot on the mattress, you settled back against the headboard of the bed, patting your thighs to beckon him over. He wasted no time before scrambling into your lap, straddling you so that he hovered mere centimeters above the toy’s head. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” you told him, taking the shaft into your hand to line it up with his entrance. “You’ll take it all, won’t you? Just like your pretty hole took my fingers so well.”

Jisung shuddered as you swirled your strap’s slick tip around his rim, bracing himself with a deep inhale before sinking down on it. His breath spilled out in a long, shaky moan as you filled him up bit by bit, his walls instantly tightening around the delicious thickness he’d been aching for. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, willing himself to push against the friction until every last inch of the toy had disappeared inside of him.

“That’s it, Hannie. Good boy, you make it look so easy.”

Your sweet whispers made it difficult for Jisung to control his breathing as he adjusted to the sensation of being filled to the brim. All he could manage was a weak gasp in response, eyes squeezing shut and insides clenching wildly. Your hands found their way to his hips, sliding your fingers along his tan skin to help soothe him while you waited, once again blown away by how ridiculously small his waist was.

“Pretty boy,” you hummed. Unable to resist, you pressed the pads of your thumbs deep into his flesh, delighted by the way his stomach contracted. “You look so perfect like this, just made to be filled up.”

The boy let out a flustered squeak, hands flying up to cover his face. It was almost amusing how much of a contrast there was in how Jisung vied for your compliments versus how he responded to them. There was no need for false bravado here, no need to fulfill any role when he was already the subject of your adoration. 

He squirmed above you slightly, letting out a tiny grunt as the ridges of your strap pressed snugly against his walls. When he finally collected himself enough to speak, his voice came meek, muffled by his palms. “C-can I move?” 

“Mm,” you urged, giving his waist another squeeze. “Show me how a good boy does it, Hannie.”

His hands dropped reluctantly from his flushed face and down to your shoulders, gripping them tight to steady himself. With a huff of effort, he lifted his body off your lap, sliding tortuously slow up the toy’s length before landing back down with a sharp smack. He relished in the relief it brought him for a moment before repeating the action, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to find his rhythm.

Jisung’s moans began slipping out of him in no time, rising in pitch and volume each time he sank down all the way to your strap’s hilt, building up a delicious pressure in your core. You ran your hands up and down his sides, feeling up his slender waist and stomach, puffing out with every gasp. “Are you feeling good, baby boy?” 

Jisung dug his fingernails into your skin with a whimper, already finding it difficult to string together a coherent sentence. “Yes—ngh—so good,” he choked out. “So full.”

“Cause you’re taking it all so well. Every inch of me,” you praised. “Keep moving just like that, angel. I wanna see your cute little face when you cum all over yourself.”

Jisung mewled out your name, whether it was in shy protest of your words or a plea for more, even he wasn’t sure. You tightened your hold on his waist, hands following his every bounce to help keep him from faltering. The sight of him rocking his hips against yours was nothing short of breathtaking—small beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, tousled hair bouncing cutely, tongue peeking out between his swelling lips. His cock left drops of precum all over his skin each time it slapped against his stomach, crying for release after being denied for so long.

You could tell Jisung’s movements were starting to take a toll on him. He grasped frantically at your shoulders for purchase, trying his best to stay grounded just long enough to bring himself to a climax. His thighs began to tremble, pace growing sloppy both from the repeated strain on his muscles, and from the pleasure making it increasingly difficult for him to focus. You decided to help him out when you caught the frustrated pout forming on his face, lifting yourself to push into him with a newfound force and making him cry out sharply. 

“It’s getting rough, huh, baby? Hannie’s working so hard for me. Such a good boy.”

“Hah...th-thank you,” Jisung swallowed down the saliva pooling in his mouth before it could trickle out, leaning in to slump his body against yours, no longer able to stay upright on his own. “Your good boy, ‘m your g’boy. Again. Say it—ah—again, please.”

You softened, indulging him without hesitation when you knew how badly he needed to hear it. “Good boy, Jisungie. My good boy.”

“Yours. Wanna be good for y-you.” He threw his head back suddenly as you hit a perfectly angled thrust. “There!” he gasped, voice cracking into a near-wail. “Right there, please, please, please.”

“There?” you echoed in amusement when he could only writhe around pathetically, all sense of rhythm lost. Your giggle masked just how much it affected you to see him falling apart in your lap like that—his blissed out face, his shameless moans, all tightening the coil in your stomach like his own pleasure was feeding into yours. “You like it there? Keep it up, then, baby.”

Amidst all his begging, your words pierced through Jisung’s foggy brain. They seemed to remind him that he still had some shred of control over the pace, because he picked up the speed of his bouncing again, rolling his body sinfully each time you bottomed out inside him so that your strap grinded against his prostate just right. 

“You fucked yourself into such a cute little mess,” you crooned. Jisung whined above you, too far gone to decide if he should hide away from your attention, or bask in it. “Such a little pleaser. You like putting on a show for me?”

You tilted your hips so that your strap brushed against his sweet spot once more, earning a long drawn-out groan from the boy. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling as sound after filthy sound poured out of him nonstop. “Love it...hah...love it s’ much. Watch me, look at me, please.”

His head began thrashing from side to side, the muscles in his stomach clenching and unclenching as his high crept up on him. You hissed softly when he sank his fingernails deep into your flesh, so caught up in his fit of pleasure that he didn’t even process his how hard he was gripping you. All he could make sense of anymore was the heat that seared through his abdomen each time he sank down on your strap. 

“You’re so good, baby. So good for me. Are you close?” you purred, rubbing small circles into his hips with your thumbs. Your voice was so gentle in contrast to the harsh smacking of his thighs against yours, it made him dizzy. 

“Ah, yeah, yeah. Gonna cum. P-please, ‘m so close. Please—” 

You jerked up to meet him halfway, burying your strap so deep inside him that he swore he saw stars. “Cum for me, baby boy. You’ve earned it.” 

You took his bouncing cock into your grasp, feeling it throb in your palm as you began to stroke him. With just a few glides of your hand, Jisung was sent over the edge. He let out a choked sob as his orgasm hit him at last, his seed shooting onto his stomach in hot spurts, more intensely than usual after being pent up for so long. You milked him through his high, admiring the way the white ropes of cum decorated his tan skin as you pumped out every drop.

Jisung panted heavily above you, jaw still slack, quivering in place as the aftershocks rippled through his body. When the last of his seed had dribbled out from his tip, you carefully released his length from your hold, allowing it to fall limp. The rise and fall of his chest gradually began to slow, and he leaned into your hand the instant you rested it on his cheek, regardless of the fluids coating it. Your touch washed away the last of the hot adrenaline pumping through his system, replacing it with an overwhelming sense of calm; safety. 

“My Hannie,” you murmured. “My sweet boy. You did so well for me.”

Jisung’s eyes fluttered open at last, still a bit hazy, but just as full of adoration for you as your gaze was for him. He managed a lazy, lopsided grin before collapsing forward to nuzzle into you, pressing his nose to your neck and breathing in. With your warmth enveloping him, your scent surrounding him, and the fullness of your strap still nestled inside him, you knew as well as he did that there was no chance of him getting up any time soon. The sticky feeling of his release seeping through your clothes was uncomfortable, but you wrapped your arms around him nonetheless. It was worth all the clean laundry in the world, to hold him like this.

Jisung pressed his lips against your neck in a chaste kiss, catching you by surprise. When he pulled his head back with a sigh of pure bliss, that familiar gleam was back in his eyes, and you knew that he had fully recovered from earlier.

You leaned forward to give him a kiss of your own, smiling into it when you heard the faint sound of his stomach growling, followed by a cute, muffled giggle of embarrassment spilling from his mouth to yours.

“By the way,” you brushed your lips against his. “I made breakfast.”

[laurfilijames]

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Hurricane. Power outage. Oral sex (F receiving). Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: A hurricane rolls in and knocks out the power, allowing Will to make good use of the time waiting it out with you.

A/N: I've had this idea toiling around in my head for a bit, and when we recently lost power at our cottage, I decided to go for it. I have no experience of hurricanes so I apologize if this isn't accurate, though I tried to remain vague. A big thanks to @rhoorl for the Florida hurricane knowledge and to @ramadiiiisme for supporting this idea through to the very end 💗

---

The sight when you reached the top of the stairs stopped you in your tracks, admiring Will standing by the large window of your living room looking out at the wrath of weather outside, his expression content and thoughtful.

You set down the pile of various candles you had collected from every room in the house, smiling despite feeling a tangle of nerves in your stomach at the potential strength of this growing hurricane.

“Should you be standing that close to the window?” you asked, causing Will to smirk and glance over his broad shoulder at you.

“She’s starting to really ramp up out there.”

You sighed in response, dreading the thought of it getting any worse, the rain already accumulating to the point that the drainage systems on the street couldn’t keep up with it.

Will remained in place, staring back out at the palm trees swaying wildly, the bend of their trunks impressive, seeming completely unbothered by the storm and almost calmed by it.

Coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and brought your hands up to his chest, feeling him take a slow breath in as he covered one of your hands with his.

“I like watching Mother Nature do her thing,” he explained, his voice soothing and even. “She’s angry, letting it all out.” He squeezed your hand as you rested your cheek on his back, already tired of watching the sheets of rain and extreme wind bully everything in their paths.

“I know what that’s like,” he finished, exhaling another slow breath that you felt fill and deflate out of his lungs.

Will turned and gathered you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his somber admission now an afterthought. “So, what did you manage to scrounge up?” he asked, his tone lighter than before.

“Oh, just every candle I’ve ever bought or been given,” you smiled, turning your head to look at the array that was spread out on the kitchen table. “It might look nice when they’re all lit up, but the combination of scents might be a bit offensive.”

Will laughed, his body moving against yours with the motion of it, and you smiled and looked up at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim grey of the storm.

“I just hope the power stays on a bit longer,” you wished out loud, knowing however many candles you made glow wouldn’t be enough to outshine the encroaching dark from the storm let alone the fact that it was creeping later into the night.

“Hmm, yeah, the air conditioner is hardly keeping up as it is,” Will explained, his hand smoothing up your back where it dragged your shirt along with it, the stickiness of your skin and clothes already beginning to feel intolerable.

The lights flickered and the sound of the power surging through the house made both of you part slightly to glance at your surroundings, the warmth from the light of the lamps that were turned on illuminating your belongings for the last time before everything went dark.

Will chuckled while you groaned, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. “Well, sweetheart, it looks like you’ve got a superpower.”

You shot him a glare as you walked over to the table, starting to distribute the candles throughout the kitchen and living room, but not lighting any yet since some light was still coming in from outside.

Will sat on the couch, grinning as he watched you, almost seeming like he was pleased and entertained by the situation.

“How long before you turn on the generator?” you asked, testing your luck even though you knew what the answer was going to be.

He shook his head as he laughed again, “Not until I need to. We might have a ways to go here and I’m not wasting gas in the first few hours of this.”

His eyebrows crept up his forehead as he spoke, his voice stern and amused all at once. “You’re going to have to be patient and trust me.”

You sighed and nodded, flicking the Zippo lighter you held on and off a couple of times before walking into the living room to join him, knowing that out of all the people to have by your side during an emergency, Captain William Miller was the best and most capable one.

He had already spent hours checking the house to make sure everything was secure, gathering supplies like gasoline and food and water, and hauled sandbags all morning with Benny and Frankie that they distributed out to the neighbours, even making a point to check in on some of the elderly ones.

“C’mere,” he purred, beckoning you over to where he sat comfortably, his long legs spread wide with one arm draped over the back of the couch.

He looked at you adoringly as you moved toward him slowly, his smile growing to pull out the creases beside his mouth that couldn’t be kept hidden in his beard, and you matched it with your own sly grin, suddenly forgetting everything that was happening around you as you became pleasantly distracted by the man sitting before you.

You straddled his lap, pulling up the hem of your flowy skirt as you did, seating yourself directly on the bulge in his workout shorts that elicited a low moan from him.

“It’s going to be a long night, sweetheart,” he spoke softly, his eyes flickering over your chest and then up to your lips. “We’re going to have to ride this thing out.”

It was said with such implication that despite the heat, you shivered, goosebumps crawling up your back and down your arms, and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you squirmed on his vast thighs.

“And what are your suggestions for…riding… it out, Captain?”

Will shrugged and smirked, his eyes glowing the same way his skin was from the humidity that hung heavily in the room, his hands groping at your hips.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks, loving the way his dark blond facial hair felt against your palms, and pulled him into a kiss while arching your back to get your body closer to his at the same time, both of you breathing out in the relief of your lips meeting.

Will set the pace, starting off with slow rolls of his tongue with yours, his hands carding up and down your body languidly, reminding you that there was no hurry in any of your actions and that you had all the time in the world to do anything you wanted with each other.

You slid your hands down the thick column of his neck to his chest, feeling his pulse hammer against them, landing on his chest where his body heat poured off of him, the cotton of his t-shirt damp and clinging to his form.

It took everything in you to maintain composure, thankful for Will reminding you to slow it down whenever you found yourself moving your hips faster, his hands pressing and digging into your flesh to force you to keep the steady rhythm that he started.

The slick that already saturated your thong teased you the more you ground your aching core against him, feeling his hard cock straining against the material that contained it, the excitement and anticipation of having him buried inside you intensifying by the second.

The skin on your chin and lips were already raw from how long you had been kissing, the steamy makeout session only made better by dry humping each other until you both were on the verge of finishing how you were, your whines and moans growing while your movements decreased to be as light as possible in an attempt to prolong this intoxicating tease.

Will kissed and sucked at your neck and chest, having already exposed more of you by tugging the neckline of your shirt to the side with eager hands, his breath fanning over your sweat-coated skin when he sighed deeply through his nose.

“Fuck me, you’re gonna make me cum in my shorts.”

He huffed out a laugh, but his admission only spurred you on more, grinding harder on him until his humour faded out and was replaced by ferocity, growling as he pressed his lips against yours again, the sweat that saturated his beard transferring onto you.

The storm was still going strong in the background, sheets of rain pummeling the house and striking the window with a sound that mimicked waves crashing the shoreline, the nerves you felt about it shifting into a frenzied arousal that you directed onto the man beneath you.

Your hands struggled to get under his shirt, the material so stuck to his stomach from his sweat that the skin on your palms dragged along his abdomen, the tackiness making it difficult for you to peel it up over his head.

It hit the floor with a slap, the weight of it evidence of how much the heat and you were affecting him, and you smiled against his lips at the sound of his breath hitching as you slid your hands down his chest to land on his solid pecs while your lower half continued to torture him.

You touched him everywhere you could reach, smoothing down his stomach and back up again, cradling the sides of his neck and then over his shoulders, and finally up to his hair where you let your fingers rake through it until you knew you had made it stick up in a spiky mess, deepening your kiss as the sensation made him press harder into your mouth.

The window rattled from the force of the winds, disrupting you enough that you broke your kiss and turned to look at it, the thought of it possibly shattering filling you with worry as you were reminded of your vulnerability.

Will placed his hand on your chin, his thumb smoothing it while his other fingers tucked up under your jawline, guiding your head back to face him where he silently assured you that everything was fine, his eyes reflecting a surety and vow of protection that no amount of reinforcements on the house could ever match. He adjusted the pad of his thumb so it sat on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to part it from the upper one, and it surprised you to see how quickly his expression changed, his eyes darkened so much by lust in a matter of seconds that the look in them rivaled the clouds spiraling outside.

He kissed you desperately, his hands falling to your waist where he lifted your shirt upward, only pausing the union of your mouths long enough to remove it from you, your braless chest grazing against his when you leaned into each other again.

Goosebumps broke out across your skin despite the humidity clinging heavily to the air around you, your nipples hardening and feeling incredibly sensitive each time his body brushed against them, your needy moans pouring into his mouth the more his hands roamed over your mostly bare form.

You could hardly handle it anymore, desperate to feel him deep inside you, moving your hips back slightly so you could access him, tearing the front of his shorts down where you reached in for his cock. Will was helpful, lifting his ass off the couch so his shorts could slide down his thighs in order to expose all of himself, his expression serious with brows furrowed and knitted tightly together as he watched you grip him in your hand and began stroking him tip to base, smearing the precum leaking from it all over his silky shaft.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you back to sit directly on top of his groin, guiding your motions as you rocked your covered pussy on his bare cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he hissed, holding your skirt up so he was able to watch you grind along his length, pressing his cock flat against his lower stomach where drips of cum spilled onto the smattering of flaxen pubes.

A slow sigh of approval passed your lips as you continued to languidly ride him, your eyes closing as you lost yourself in the sensation and moaning when you felt Will capture one of your breasts in his mouth and spin his tongue around your nipple.

You could feel him growing more impatient, his lips moving faster along your chest where he eagerly worshiped your tits, his fingers clawing at the thin material of your skirt as if he was ready to rip it to shreds to get at you, and his breathing became more laboured, his chest rising and falling quickly while the exhalations from his nose ghosted against the crests of your breasts.

“I need in there,” he growled, his head shaking to the side a couple of times like there was no way he could handle another second not being inside you, his fingers slipping into the crotch of your saturated panties to pull them to the side before running his index and middle fingers through your slick.

Your mouth pooled with saliva as he drove his long digits in and out of you in broad strokes before bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean, his other hand angling his cock to line up to part your folds while you lifted yourself up on your knees to allow him access to enter you.

You sank onto him slowly, letting him fill you inch by inch until you encased him completely, his blue eyes locked with yours with an appreciation held in them that made your heart beat faster.

Remaining still, you leaned forward and kissed him, your hands holding onto either side of his face, deepening your kiss as you relished in the fullness he provided without moving.

When you parted, Will gave you a soft smile that made you melt, his fingers coming up to trace along the side of your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, the surety in his words clear, although his expression was a thrilling mix of adoration and something waiting to be unleashed, the suspense of experiencing either rough or gentle treatment exhilarating you.

“I love you too, Will,” you breathed, not daring to look away from him.

A strong gale slapped the side of the house, reminding you that the hurricane blasting outside wasn’t to be forgotten, but Will immediately drew your attention back to him, his hands smoothing up your back to hold you against him in a firm, but soft way, his lips pressing onto your shoulder and across your collarbone to your neck, alternating between kisses and nips that told you his control was beginning to falter.

You started moving on him, riding him in careful waves that felt so incredible you weren’t sure how long you could keep it up, knowing that whether you moved slow or fast, you would be reaching your climax in no time.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, resting his back against the couch to watch you, locking his hands on your hips to force you down hard each time you lifted yourself up and almost off his cock.

He was completely enamoured, looking at you as if anything could be happening outside that window and he wouldn’t care to notice, his eyes dancing over your form in a struggle to choose which part of you he wanted to see the most.

Finding the perfect spot that made you thrum with ecstasy, you rolled your hips and bounced up and down, your swollen clit hitting the base of his cock in a shattering blow each time, your skin tingling from head to toe as your orgasm built.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” Will asked, his words breathy as he admired you sliding on him.

“Yes, fuck!”

Will thrusted up into you a few times, your cries growing loud enough they almost drowned out the noise of the hurricane, your nails digging into the flesh on his shoulder as you approached your high.

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Will interrupted, though his voice was soothing. “Not yet.”

His eyes were big and bright despite the dark grey that had fully consumed the room, and although you were taken aback by him edging you, you couldn't deny the trust you had in him to look after you.

“Sit down,” he ordered, nodding to the space on the couch beside him as helped move your legs off of his.

Will stood and removed his shorts that sat halfway down his legs, stepping out of them before moving to kneel on the floor in front of you, his thumbs smoothing on your knees in a way that contradicted the way he forcefully pressed on them to encourage you to spread your legs for him.

He kissed his way up the inside of your right thigh, a low growl coming from him as he inhaled deeply when he reached your core, and then moved over to your other thigh, peppering wet kisses slowly away from where you needed him most until you were squirming where you sat.

“Will…” you breathed, shifting your hips to try to bring yourself closer to him.

“Let’s get this off,” he grunted, his patience thinning as your skirt was preventing him from taking everything he wanted.

He reached behind you, his fingers easily finding the zipper and pulled it down, keeping steely eye contact while wiggling it off your hips with the help of you shifting from one cheek to the other until he peeled the flowy fabric off of your body.

The creases on his forehead were pronounced as he continued to look up at you as he tugged at the waist of your thong, sliding it down to expose your dripping cunt that his eyes were now fixed on as he guided the wet piece of cotton to your feet.

Will hooked his arms under your legs, letting them relax on his biceps, his tattooed forearms wrapping around your thighs to hold you securely. He pulled you toward him, bringing you to the edge of the cushion so you were flush with his face, his nose brushing your folds before his tongue swiped through the mess he had already made.

A long moan toppled out of you as you raked your fingers through his hair, lifting your hips slightly to get even more contact with his talented tongue that licked at you slowly and precisely in an effort to wreck you.

He picked you apart minute after agonizing minute, continuously bringing you to the peak only to stop you there each time, the violent storm outside going ignored and nothing compared to the one raging inside you.

As always, Will was completely focused on his mission, working you with the expertise he had come to master over all the hours spent learning your body, knowing the exact amount of pressure placed on the perfect spot that would send you soaring.

Not once did his hands leave their hold on your legs, completely unselfish in his art and not even considering touching himself, his generosity and the thought of his leaking, rigid cock left waiting for attention adding to your demise.

You pleaded over and over, his name like a song with the storm as your instrumental background, desperate for release as you ground against his face, your heels digging into his waist as he in turn dug his mouth harder into your cunt.

He had you where he wanted you, and pushing your tolerance a little further, Will unraveled one of his arms from around your leg and slipped his hand between the sofa and you, fingering you slowly while he sucked at your over-sensitive clit, the precise hook of his fingers making you clench around them like a vice.

And then he stopped.

You cursed loudly, whining and squirming as he sat up and looked at you with a satisfied expression, his face glistening from your pleasure.

A stray branch from a tree flew by and struck the house, drawing both of your attention to the window, but Will was quick to recover where your focus belonged.

He stood, a slight hitch as he straightened his long legs, his body that had been put through so much physical turmoil over his years of service known to cramp up if left idle for too long.

Will gripped at your knee, pushing it toward the back of the couch so your body was forced to spin and lay down, crawling between your spread legs until he was positioned over top of you with his arms braced on either side of your shoulders.

He kissed you intensely, moaning into your mouth as his cock nudged where he had left you aching for relief, savouring you like he had gone without the press of your lips on his for days.

His hand found yours, interlacing your fingers as he brought your arm above your head, laying his body completely on yours so he covered you entirely, protecting you with all he had.

He was heavy, but comforting, his weight assuring and a reminder of his strength and unwavering love for you, and at the same time it came as a warning of the crushing power he could choose to have, like he was a hurricane all in himself and you were in his path of destruction.

Will paused in kissing you as he adjusted his hips, looking down between your bodies to watch his cock easily push through your tight folds, a shaky breath exhaling from his parted lips as his brows knitted tightly together at the sensation of being back in your embrace.

You looked to the side to see out the window as another blast of wind surged against the house, only to have Will squeeze your hand that he still held in his, his voice calm and even.

“Hey, focus on me,” he ordered, his eyes a turbulent blue when you met them. “Look at me.”

You nodded, holding his gaze as he began to move inside you, the feel of him stroking your walls in long, slow drags making it difficult to keep your eyes open.

Your free hand ran along the flexing muscles of his back, clawing at his sweat-coated skin as he found a pace that brought you right back to the point he had left you at more than once, your head tipping back into the couch as you were dragged into the throes of pleasure even more intensely than before.

“You’re safe with me, sweetheart,” Will promised, his voice intoxicating and comforting all at once. “I’ve got you, you can relax…”

He spoke against your neck before moving his mouth back to yours, kissing you gently before probing his tongue in, the tempo of his thrusts deepening now that he knew you were succumbing to everything he was giving you.

He moved on you like the wind moved the rain, pushing and forceful, seeking his own release as he rolled against you with fervor and breathy moans were exchanged between your mouths as you chased your highs together.

Your whole body tensed, convulsing and giving up all control as he fucked you through the shattering orgasm made even more powerful thanks to how he had edged you, feeling yourself release on his shaft that alternated between being buried deep inside you and pulling out almost completely.

Will pressed his mouth hard on yours before breaking the seal of your lips, allowing his laboured breaths and rough grunts to sound out as he fought to follow right behind you, the cadence of your contracting walls coaxing out his end.

You could feel him pulse inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed that was always generous in its quantity, his pace remaining steady though his rhythm began to break.

Drops of sweat from his brow landed on your chest, his harsh movements shaking the accumulated moisture off of him, continuing to buck into you erratically until he had nothing left to give.

He crashed against your lips again, transferring even more sweat from his efforts onto your skin, his hand releasing yours where he brought it to your head and smoothed it over your hair, kissing you slowly but purposefully as he gradually let the rolling of his hips fade out.

After a minute, Will pulled out of you, reaching for some tissues out of the box on the side table and handed them to you, taking some for himself for you to both clean up. He stood with a grunt, looking down at you with an extended hand to take the soiled tissues from you, the muscles in his cheeks flinching wildly as he clenched his teeth together.

Will paused for a minute, looking out at the tempest scene, all of his veins raised as blood pumped strongly through them, his muscles accentuated beautifully from his efforts, and you couldn’t help but fall even further in love for him, his face stoic and almost unreadable, but only you knew how much emotion lingered beneath.

He sighed as he moved again, stretching his weary limbs while stalking to the kitchen, and you wondered if he had any idea how much you worshiped him even as he did the simplest of things.

You laid there listening to him rummage around, looking out the window at the ever-present hurricane, the room almost completely dark as night had successfully consumed the sun along with the storm.

Will returned with two glasses of water and set one on the table, passing the other to you.

“Drink up, sweetheart,” he drawled, smirking as he spoke. “The eye hasn't even passed over yet, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

The wink he sent you went straight to your core, your anticipation of whatever else he had planned for you enticing you and almost had you hoping this hurricane would last for days.

You returned his smile as you brought the glass to your lips, sipping it as you watched him sit on the couch beside you and grab the lighter off the coffee table, flicking it on so the warm flame illuminated his dewy, gorgeous features in the otherwise dreary dark. He lit the two candles that you had placed there earlier before grabbing his own glass and downing the contents of it, seeing the way his throat moved as he swallowed making you thirsty for more.

He sighed when he finished drinking, running his hand over his face to rid it of the sweat, and looked back over to you still laying where he had left you.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling up your naked form until they landed on yours.

You shook your head ‘no’, giving him a sated smile, thinking how you would happily give up air conditioning and electricity permanently if it meant sharing more moments like this with him.

Will gave a nod and laid down beside you, helping you shift so there was room for him to lay with his front against your back, spooning you comfortably where you both were able to face the window.

His arm draped over your waist and tucked under yours, his hand cupping your breast, and tangling his legs with yours, brought his groin as close to your bum as he could.

He hummed against the back of your neck, his nose brushing your damp skin, and you smiled when you felt he was hard again, his cock pressing between your cheeks.

“You’re going to outlast this hurricane,” you giggled, squirming so your bum rubbed along his shaft, making him growl against your skin.

“Damn right, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand running down your stomach and around to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart where he slowly pushed inside your tight walls.

He kissed your neck, the sensation of his beard on your skin making you moan and shiver, his hand returning to your breast where he tugged and pinched at your peaked nipple.

“We're going to need to pace ourselves, here,” he warned in your ear, beginning the slow drag of his cock out of you before slamming it back in, the conflict he felt between wanting to keep you safe and seeking to destroy you playing in his mind.

---

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[itsonlydana]

"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

[gigabyte-flare]

Denim

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Your boyfriend comes home from an assignment still wearing his gear coupled with a pair of jeans you had gotten him, the sight of him driving you wild.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Kissing, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of firearms

A/N: This is 5000% self indulgent. I've been playing through Resident Evil 4 Remake yet again with this Special Rescue Agent mod and oh my god those jeans are so fucking sexy on him. I needed to write this to get it out of my system. You're welcome 🤣

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

The door to your apartment bursts open, your boyfriend walking through briskly before closing the door behind him. You could tell from the corner of your eye he was still wearing his tactical gear and gun holster around his waist, having just come back from another grueling mission for the U.S. government to god knows where. A hint of blue draws your attention even further, your eyes now locked on the denim that perfectly accentuates his waist and backside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late babe. I had to fill out paperwork before they could let me come home. They didn’t even give me a chance to change my gear--”

Standing over the kitchen sink, you’re not even listening to your boyfriend at this point because you are way too focused on how absolutely fine he looks in the jeans you had bought him some time ago. Your mouth is hanging open and you drop the sponge you were holding into the dish water, making a subtle splash sound as your heart starts pounding in your chest. You didn’t think he even liked the jeans you got him because he had never worn them.

Until now, that is.

“Babe? Are you alright?” Leon asks, tilting his head at you and raising an eyebrow as he turns to face you.

You blink a few times, shaking your head to snap you out of your lust filled daze, returning your focus back to the dirty dishes as you fish through the water to grab the sponge, “yeah sorry! Long day…” you haphazardly reply.

“Right…” Leon says, nodding slightly before clearing his throat to continue, “let me get this gear off and I’ll come help you.”

Leon turns to walk into the bedroom, his heavy boots echoing through the apartment. You allow yourself another look as he walks off, your breath catching in your throat. It’s not just the jeans that made him look so… attractive. It’s the way the straps of his gun holster and various pouches attached to his belt hugged his thighs and how they perfectly shaped Leon’s toned backside. You unknowingly have a death grip on the sponge as hordes of less than appropriate thoughts fill your mind, causing you to bite your bottom lip.

“Stop…” you say softly; not even realizing you had said it out loud until Leon stops in his tracks and turns around to face you again.

“Hm? What’s up?” he asks before a knowing smirk begins to cross his lips as he puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stammer before dropping the sponge back into the sink, “you just look really fucking hot in those jeans, Leon.”

He lets out a playful laugh before approaching you; you swear he’s swaying his hips as he walks on purpose just to rile you up, and it works. Now standing in front of you, his gloved fingers tracing along your jawline before cupping the back of your head, his fingers carding through your hair. His blue eyes boring into yours, piercing directly into your very soul. 

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and sultry before he leans in, burying his face into the crook of your neck, feeling his lips and tongue upon your skin.

Immediately, your knees are weak and the only sound you manage to get out is a strained whimper as he pushes his body into yours. Your hands, having a mind of their own, reach down around his waist, slipping inside the back pockets of his jeans before gripping his toned ass. Leon lets out a low chuckle against your neck, feeling it reverberate through your body. 

Leon’s hands run down the sides of your body before settling on your waist. He shifts both of you away from the sink before lifting you up by your waist, setting you onto the countertop. He then lifts your sundress up over your knees, gathering it onto your plush thighs before his fingers hook around the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them off and tossing them aside.

Knowing what’s to come, you shift yourself so that you’re balancing on the edge of the counter on your backside, using your hands to brace yourself against the counter. You watch Leon start to remove his belt and holster, but you reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Keep it on. It’s really sexy,” you say, smiling at him.

He lets out another chuckle before kissing you deeply on the lips, “whatever you want, babe. Let me just make sure the pistol’s safety is on.” 

Leon takes a step back briefly, pulling his Sentinel Nine out of its holster, hearing the click of him engaging the safety before returning it to its holster. He steps towards you again and you watch in anticipation as his fingers undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers just enough so that his hardening length springs free. You watch his gloved hand wrap around his length, giving it a few strokes before he lines himself up with your soaked entrance.

As he slowly sheathes himself inside you, your legs wrap themselves around his waist and your hands work on removing the straps and buckles keeping his tactical vest in place. Once unbuckled, he shrugs it off himself and it lands on the kitchen floor with a loud thud, leaving him in just his tight, black athletic t-shirt. Now that he doesn’t have the bulky vest on, he wastes no time pressing himself against your body, his hips pistoning into your welcoming heat.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, soft moans escaping you before you lock your lips with his. Your pussy walls clench around his cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body, giving you goosebumps on your arms.

“Oh fuck! Feels so good, Leon…” you breathe out as Leon drives you towards the edge, feeling your orgasm coil in your belly, ready to snap at any moment. 

“Yeah? I’m the only one who’s made you feel this good, aren’t I?” Leon asks, his tone husky and full of playful arrogance.

“Yes!” you cry out, the coil finally snapping, your release completely soaking him, leaving the telltale white ring around the base of his cock.

“Son of a bitch…!” Leon growls, increasing the pace of his thrusts inside you as he chases his own release. He leans in close, his breath tickling your ear before he whispers, “where do you want my cum, sweetheart?”

“Inside!” you whimper, your legs trembling from your earlier orgasm as your arms cling to his back, “please…!”

“You got it babe,” he replies, his hips practically hammering into your body before pressing himself as hard and deep inside you as he can possibly go, painting your walls white with his love. 

The warmth of his cum filling you pulls a long and loud moan out of you, your eyes practically rolling into the back of your head and you melt in his embrace. Leon lets out another low chuckle as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back with both of his hands as he gives you soft kisses on your cheek.

“Remind me to wear these jeans more often.”

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 5

Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they are until it's too late.

This Chapter: You wrap things up with Elijah and reflect on your situation before Klaus invites you over for a private mentoring session.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only!, Kissing, Dancing, Painting, Brush Play, Groping, Nipple Play, Light Masochism, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Neck Kissing/Licking, Female Orgasm, Power Imbalance

Word Count: 2.8k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

You spent the next few hours with Elijah that night, allowing yourself to feel worthy enough to take his hand and follow him out onto the dance floor. He took you back in time to the sounds of Cab Calloway and Ella Fitzgerald as the rest of the world faded into a blurry whirl around you. His strong hands grasped at your waist and fingers with such ease as he drew you in closer, you got the feeling that you were always meant to be held by him as that delicate grin idly spread across his lips.

For the very first time in your life, you finally felt the way society had born and bred you to feel around a man, the butterflies in your stomach insisting on lifting you all the way up to the ceiling if he weren’t there to anchor you to the floor. You could hear trumpets in the background, barely audible over the loud thumping of your heart as his hand slithered up your lower back, pressing your heaving chest against his before tilting your torso down in a dramatic dip. Instinctively, your arm reached up and wrapped around his neck, holding on for dear life as the music sped up, his lips grazing over yours. Your halted breath nearly made you see stars, his teasing mouth driving you wild as it mapped its way across your chin and jawline, forcing you to turn your cheek toward his.

He’d quickly straightened your spine back to a standing position, keeping the distance, or lack thereof, between you as your body trembled against his. All thoughts of Klaus had been pushed to the back of your mind as his freshly shaven face brushed against yours, turning toward you until his lips finally tasted the flavor of your desire for him. The kiss was chaste at first, slowly deepening as he held you tighter, his fingers pressed snugly between your shoulder blades to keep you from depriving him of what he wanted all along, of what you both always knew you wanted from each other.

The night, however, had ended shortly after that, Elijah claiming that he was a gentleman who wanted to take his time getting to know you as those butterflies were slow to calm their wings. He had given you his number so he ‘didn’t have to stalk you anymore’ and called you an Uber to safely drive you home. You fell asleep that night secretly hoping that he wasn’t going to be the one to get bored of you before disappearing into thin air.

———————-

A text from Klaus wakes you from your slumber mid morning, telling you to meet him at his studio around eight o’clock tonight, and to be ready to paint. Shit, you’d nearly forgotten about Klaus! You sit up and run a hurried hand through your hair, squinting at your phone to make sure Elijah hadn’t texted you after you told him that you’d gotten home safe, but he hadn’t. This is all starting to get a bit more twisted than you’d anticipated, a small sense of guilt climbing its way into your chest before you take a deep breath and force it out of your system.

Wait a minute, how many men have dated multiple women at the same time until they were sure which one they wanted a relationship with? And even then, how many of them did they keep on the back burner ‘just in case’? How many of them had lied in the process, leading them on until it was too late, or let them believe that they were something more than what they actually were? In comparison to their tactics, you aren’t doing anything vile or deceitful, you’re just… keeping your options open until you know how you feel. You aren’t even exclusive with either one of them just yet.

With all that in mind, you get dressed and go about your day, eventually driving over to the address Klaus had sent you, hoping your session with him tonight could make things a little clearer. With a bag full of paint and brushes on your shoulder, you reluctantly knock on the door of the industrial looking building he’d claimed as his studio.

“I do hope my little protégé is well rested after her rounds at the hospital.” Klaus greets you in a black Henley, streaks of green paint slowly drying on his knuckles as he holds up a glass of wine for you to take. He must have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“Well, not all of us are lucky enough to benefit from generational wealth.” You defend yourself, taking the glass of wine from him and following him inside the open concept studio.

Its ceilings are rather high for it being on the first floor, the windows taking up most of the east side as it offers a beautifully vast view of the river and the glittering city skyline. Composed mostly of exposed brick and steel piping with chipped paint, this isn’t exactly what you had pictured for someone like him, but you can’t imagine what you would have dreamed up in its place. “Wow, this place is amazing. You live here?”

“Oh no, this is just a studio I rent to get away from the unceasingly tiresome dramatics of my family.” He walks you past a few paintings of his own, beautifully emotive pieces of different styles stacked on tables and chairs, even a few scattered across the floor. It seems that painting for him is a necessity, a constant itch that he has to scratch in order to keep himself from going mad.

“Your family?” Oh god, is he married? Are you the other woman? You quickly glance down at his ring finger, relieved to find it devoid of any jewelry.

“My siblings, love.” He looks back and winks at you, easing your mind as if he already knew where it was going. “The lot of us still manage to get under each other's skin while living under the same roof, so I’ve had to result to this… barbaric hideaway in order to get any peace and quiet for my work.”

You roll your eyes as he calls this expensive piece of real estate barbaric, secretly glad that you didn’t invite him over to your place to paint. You wonder what eloquent and deeply offensive adjectives he’d throw your way when he saw the tiny corner of your apartment that you painted in, or all of your hand-me-down furniture.

“Well, I like it.” You tell him before taking a sip of your wine.

“Imagine my relief.” He jokes, stopping in front of a blank canvas mounted on an easel as he grabs a half-full wine glass that had been warming on the table next to it. “Now tell me, what gets a woman like you in the mood to paint? What inspires my little Frida Kahlo to create the bold masterpieces I’ve seen? With all that anger brewing inside you, I imagine it doesn’t take much.” He downs his drink and sets it back down where he found it. “But you don’t look very angry now.”

“No?” You raise an eyebrow before taking another sip, wondering where he’s going with this.

“On the contrary, love, you look quite well.” He waltzes toward you, his features shifting from jovial to predatory in an instant. “I was thinking we could work with that, that we could start off with a sort of collaboration. Nothing too fancy, just a way to get those creative juices flowing.”

“Collaboration? I’ve never done anything like that before.” You admit, all of the sudden getting uneasy about your skill set. What if your nerves get the best of you while he’s around, and you can’t deliver? What if he regrets taking you on as his protégé?

“Have you ever tried abstract before?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns on some music, the open space allowing it to echo beautifully around you before he sets it down on the table.

“Abstract? No, not really.” You don’t hate the idea of abstract, but you’ve always just felt that it was sort of… too easy, somehow, a cheat that anyone could do. But you guess you’ll never really know until you try.

“No matter.” He walks around the table ladled with paints and jars full of different colored water, twisting the caps off a handful of colors before squeezing them into individual mason jars, carefully setting them in front of the canvas. His eyes glance up at you ever so often, watching you as if he fears that you’ll sprout wings and fly away if he loses sight of you for too long. “Are you willing to experiment with me?”

Jesus. What a loaded question.

He fills a glass of water and sets it down next to the rest of the paints, his darkened eyes back on you. “Are you ready to toss those inhibitions aside and create something truly spectacular?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” You shrug your shoulders as if he isn’t aware of the insanely magnetic pull he seems to have on you any time you’re near him. As if he can’t already feel the air between you charge with potential energy, each atom vibrating at an accelerated rate, begging to be pushed into motion by either one of you at any moment. As if he couldn’t see all of that written plain as day, across your face as your features soften for him.

“That wasn’t an answer.” He twirls a clean paint brush in between his fingers as he strides up to you, pointing it at your face before tracing it along your chin and neck, humming to himself as he awaits your reply. His full lips pout as he brings them closer to your face, a habit you’ll never quite get used to, but certainly won’t complain about as the bristles from the brush excite each and every strand of fine hair across your skin.

“I’m ready,” you whisper as your lips remain parted, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tightening instinctively.

“Good girl. Then let’s start by painting the canvas a color that matches your mood.” He continues to drag the brush slowly down your neck and across your clavicle, his eyes following raptly as it forces your breath to still. “I wonder what you could be feeling right now?”

Goddamnit. He’s really got his claws in you now.

“Excitement,” you start, trying to slow and deepen your breath as it shallows in your heaving chest.

“Excitement? Is that all?” He takes your hand and firmly places the brush in your palm before stepping behind you, keeping contact with your skin the entire time. “I fell in love with your artwork because it was brutally honest about the gruesome horrors of this world, and all you have to give me is ‘excitement’?” He clicks his tongue. “No, you can do much better than that. Why don’t you tell me what feeling makes those pretty little cheeks flush such a deep crimson, what makes that bleeding heart of yours race inside your chest every time our eyes meet.” He feathers his palms over your shoulders and moves your hair away from your neck. “I want to hear you say it.”

You swallow hard as he pushes your buttons, his hands collecting your hair to one side before smoothing their way down your arms, eventually finding familiarity on both of your hips before you finally speak. “I feel aroused.”

God, you’re so bad at dirty talk.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He guides you toward the canvas step by step, his breath hot on your neck as his hands slink up under your shirt, smoothing their way up your belly until they slip beneath your bra. “Admitting how you feel?”

“No,” you whisper your lie softly, gasping as your nipples harden against his palms, putting any doubt of his intentions to rest. “It wasn’t.”

“Well don’t tell me about it, love, put it on the canvas.” He instructs coldly, squeezing your breasts as you shudder beneath his touch.

“Right.” You take the brush and try to keep it as steady as possible despite his seductive distraction, placing a large amount of red onto the palette before adding a hint of blue, mixing the two together into a deep, moody magenta. A twinge of pain shoots up into your spine as Klaus pinches both your nipples, forcing you to drag the brush across the canvas in a sporadic, diagonal pattern. “Klaus!”

“Don't mind me, just keep on painting.” He kisses his words into the delicate skin of your neck, twisting your sensitive tissue even harder as he draws out a tiny yelp from your lips and an arch from your back.

It takes every ounce of self control you have not to drop the brush and turn around to face him, but you continue to paint the base of the canvas the vibrant color of your desire. Through heavily hooded lids, you finally finish every corner, setting your brush down as Klaus takes the opportunity to pull your shirt off over your head before unclasping your bra.

“See how freeing it is to try something new?” He pushes the straps of your bra down your shoulders, tickling your skin even more until it falls onto the floor next to your shirt.

“Yes,” you whisper, the sudden exposure making you shiver in the air conditioning before the heat of his arms comforts you.

“Now,” he wraps his fingers around yours, guiding your hand to clean the brush in the water as his other hand makes quick work of unbuttoning your jeans. “Let’s really set you free.”

Like a puppet on a string, he has you dry the brush off before the two of you dip it into the black paint, letting it build and collect on the tip before lifting it back up. He takes his time before making you press it against the canvas, allowing it to drip down along its path, splattering onto your breasts and shoulders before leaving a trail of dots and streaks across the magenta background of your work. It’s almost enough to distract you from his fingers that now delve in between your folds, collecting your liquid warmth as if it were colorful paint itself and his fingers the brush, spreading a clear coat up and down your length before pulling up on your clit.

“Oh my god, Klaus” you whisper as he works his magic between your thighs, continuing to zigzag the black, tarry ooze across the canvas until the brush nearly runs dry.

“Look at that,” he nips at your ear, whispering his praise against it in a gravelly tone. “You’re a natural abstract artist after all.” He kisses the spot just behind your jaw, suckling your skin before licking the path of your pulse until he reaches the nape of your neck.

“You… you bit me last time.” You recall out loud, nearly getting lost in the lustful haze he’s so expertly created just for you.

“I did.” He smiles as he tastes more of your skin, thinking fondly of your last encounter as he rubs deep circles into your bud. “And you liked it.”

“I did.” Your breathless reply surprises you both, floating into the air a little too quickly as his fingers send more signals of hypnotic bliss up into your core, forcing you to drop the brush onto the floor.

“I knew it, I could see it in your eyes that night. You enjoy a bit of pain with your pleasure, is that it?” He lets go of your hand and grabs your chin, turning your face toward him.

“Yes.” His gorgeous face only adds to your building euphoria, alighting every neuron beneath his fingertips as he calls you out.

“Well, it turns out great minds think alike.” His blackened pupils expand with his growing arousal, their bluish green tint fading off into the recesses of his eyes. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

You nod in response, barely able to utter a word as his fingers steal your breath completely, drawing a fuzzy curtain over your field of vision as odd patterns glow and fade over his skin and curls. You watch him grin as your visions intensify, changing colors, dimensions and brightness as he touches you in the perfect pattern to make your muscles clench and spasm in his arms, your toes curling from his deliciously expert precision.

“That’s it, love,” he whispers, turning your head to face the canvas as your orgasm rips its way through you. “See all those colors? All those patterns you couldn’t have even dreamed of before?”

“I see them,” you stammer, a stuttered breath in between each syllable as your heart threatens to break out of your ribcage. “Stars and pyramids…”

“Those are all for you.” He pushes his fingers inside your slick, wet walls, refusing to let your body come down from its chemical high just yet. “I want you to paint them for me.”

[fairysteve]

Steve spends the first week after graduation trying to find a job and himself. He goes in and out of stores, leaving applications and looking through their shelves.

His parents are home; his dad is just waiting for an opportunity to kick him out or force him into an office job depending on if he's in a good mood or not when Steve inevitably gives up.

Of course, Steve has no plans on proving his dad right by giving up. His parents didn't even have the decency to attend his graduation; they only came home to confirm his college plans, hoping for something to brag about. Steve can't count how many times he's been called a disappointment in the last week.

He comes home with a job at Scoops Ahoy and a tarot deck. His parents leave the same way they came; without telling him.

The second week after graduation is interesting. Steve spends the days working for minimal wage with a coworker that makes fun of him and the evenings trying to learn tarot.

After the first time that he successfully does a reading for himself, he starts remembering the herbal remedies his mum would use when he was young and often got sick. The more he uses the tarot deck, the more he thinks about her herb garden and books, the more aware he is of his failing hearing and vision on the left side.

The latter has more to do with his job than the tarot deck, but it does make him wonder if there's anything he can do with plants. He can't go to the hospital without risking breaking the terms of two NDAs.

So Steve finds the books his mum used and starts reading them, writing down notes for what plants would be good to start growing, for what remedies actually seem helpful. What makes for helpful teas or incense or oils, what makes for good charms to carry around.

He remembers best through repetition so he makes rituals of the most useful things; it also helps getting him to use it. Much like how his self-care routines are rituals in a way.

Steve knows people are starting to whisper about him, knows that it's strange that he's carrying around plants and a tarot deck, that he takes moments out of his day to remember to breathe and recite self affirmations like they were spells. His hair is growing longer and wilder, he tilts his head to see and hear better, he's no longer trying to repress hundreds of small things just to fit in. He's letting himself be strange, letting himself use movement to process his emotions and repeat sounds because it feels good. He stops trying to force words out when there feels like a disconnect between his brain and mouth.

It's a month after graduation when he's taking the trash out at the end of his shift and hears something behind the dumpster. There's a small kitten that seems to be screaming with how loud the meows are.

Steve has never been allowed a pet, but he loves petting Tews when he's over at Dustin's, and it would help him feel less lonely. So he takes the kitten home.

Once he has given the poor thing a bath, the kitten turns out to be completely white, and very skinny. Steve has no idea how old it is, doesn't know what he should feed it, and it's too late to take it to a vet.

He's thinking about possible names as he's going through the fridge for the milk; the only cat names he knows are Mews and Tews. He's trying to think if it has to end with -ews when his eyes land on the slices of honeydew that his mum had left behind.

Steve feels quite proud of himself for naming the cat Honeydew; it follows the one rule for cat names that he knows of, and he can call it Honey for short, which is very cute.

Dustin laughs at him when Steve first tells him about the cat, and takes to calling Honeydew for Dewey, as in the Dewey Decimal System. Steve doesn't bother correcting it; he's pretty sure Honey is deaf. It explains the loud meowing and how the cat never seem to react to noise.

He still wants to be able to communicate with his new cat, and maybe it would be good for him too, so Steve borrows any books on ASL he can find. And he makes sure that Honeydew knows that the sign for Honey is its name.

When Steve does take Honeydew to a vet, he gets it confirmed that the kitten is male, around five weeks old, and completely deaf.

Honey's eyes turn green with time (kittens all have blue eyes the first six weeks).

Steve carries Honey around on his shoulders a lot.

thanks @metalmunch for the name!

[sunny-and-moonbow]

How You Met - Pro Hero Kyoka Jiro

Word count: 643

Warnings-None, general fluff

While working in a music store is fun, it is, unfortunately, still a customer service job, and therefore, sucks a big fat one.

Fortunately today’s a good one, quiet but not so much that you got bored, enough customers to entertain you without being constantly busy and bothered. Able to calmly work through your long shift, happily bopping along to the playlist you curated or work-safe music that was still fun. Your feet doing a little shuffle as you move across the floor and along the displays as you continue slotting the new records satisfyingly into their band-based sections. The sound of the bell that rests dustily atop the door peaks your attention as your head whips around to greet the customer in your practised customer service voice, a smile immediately plastering onto your face. 

You falter mid greeting as your eyes focus on the figure entering. It couldn’t be. Right? There was no way a pro hero would be coming into this tiny little store…Right? You quickly regain your composure, remembering your job, you greet her enthusiastically. 

‘Welcome to ‘For The Record’, I’m [reader], if there's anything you need at all today I'm here to help!’

At least you didn’t forget that, it was too ingrained into your memory to forget it, having repeated it so many times. She awards you a small smile and a greeting, eyes flicking excitedly around the store. She begins methodically flicking through the records in her chosen row of records, lighting up as she finds a specific one. She holds it a little awkwardly in her hands as she tries to continue looking while holding it, being far too careful to rest it on top of the other records, you offer to hold it at the counter for her and she gratefully accepts, thanking you before turning back to the records. 

She returns with another record to finish her purchase, looking a bit disappointed. You ask her if she found everything she wanted and you watch her hesitate, before explaining that she had been searching for two records at many stores, one of which she had found at the beginning, the other had sadly not been in the displays. You ask her of the band name and then the name of the album so that you could search it in the stores system, she explains that it was a lesser known band and therefore not stocked in many places. You nod along, expressing your sympathy, struggling to find content from certain artists being an all too familiar plight. Seeing that you have a copy of that album in stock from a delivery over 6 months ago, which is very strange, usually deliveries are sorted for stocking the immediate Tuesday after they were delivered, weekends being too busy and mondays being spent recovering the store from the weekend messes. 

You ask her to give you a moment, finally allowing yourself to panic once behind the ‘staff only’ doors. And, after a few minutes of searching, YOU FIND IT. You’re so excited to have helped her you practically leap out the doors, excitedly showing her the record. The way her beautiful features light up fills you with pride and slaps a smile on your face that remains as you process her payment and give her the customary goodbye, though a little more personalised, telling her you hope she enjoys the records and that she should tell you about the songs. 

You blush as you realise that you had assumed she would come back out loud, which is SO embarrassing considering she only came after trying many other stores, this was not her first choice. Still, you hope she'll come back, maybe talk to you a bit. Is it so wrong to hope for someone to struggle to find something so that they would come back to you?

-sunny🧡🌞

Masterlist

[arcaneafterhours]

i drew the sbg characters if they were in my comics magic system heres a long post talking about their abilities

i somehow did doodles of all of them in one day lol. THIS IS GOING TO BE A VERY LONG POST BE CAREFUL ABOUT CLICKING READ MORE THIS IS JUST ME YAPPING ABOUT MY COMIC AND ABOUT SBG

ok so the magic system of my comic is basically this: your eye color aligns with a “concept”, and each concept turns into a very unique super power for each individual. it can be anything, as long as it fits the concept. literal or metaphorical. i designed this power system to be very vague so you can be super creative

ill explain each concept as i go down, but i basically switched the sbg cast with my cast, so all of them are called “duo ranked” and have heterochronmia, and their concepts have mixed together to create a new, entirely unique power that fits both concepts in its own creative way.

i also kept one color for every character except for aiden. i kept his red eye, because if i didnt i would be doing FOUR BROWN RANKS and i want to show off this system so ill only do 3 lmao

heres how it went:

starting off with ashlyn, her ability came pretty easy. i kept her green eye(the concept of growth) and gave her a white eye(the concept of enhancement(typically of ones own values or senses)), and they mixed together to give her control over sound, more specifically its volume and frequencies

its very useful for her, she avoids being overwhelmed way easier now and can switch off whatever is bugging her if it gets too loud. coincidentally, eavesdropping is INCREDIBLY easy, since she can just turn up a specific conversation she wants to listen in on. and she can manipulate frequencies so she makes tyler voicecrack all the time because its really funny. very simple power and its perfect for ash. her drawing turned out okay, i kinda rushed them all just to have them done dont expect high quality

I had a VERY fun time coming up with aidens power. he has his red eye(the concept of creation(self explanatory)) and i gave him a purple eye (the concept of perception, like illusions and such) and the two mixed together to allow him to turn duplicate illusions into reality (if he has enough strength to do so). he can create illusions that are specifically duplicates of objects, and they are only temporary for the time being until he actually ‘creates’ it, then of course it just permanently exists. he is limited to only a single duplicate, and one at a time. actually creating something is very draining

the only human duplicate he can make that will function correctly is himself, and he cannot make it more than a temporary illusion. he can make decoy human illusions, but he cannot make them real.

i had a lot of fun trying to draw his stupid hair it was good practice, im very happy with his drawing

next is tyler!! i put “pursuance” in the drawing because i never know how to describe it but tracking or pursual(is that a word??) is a better word i guess?? its in the works

I kept his brown eye(the concept of pursuit(being able to track things basically)) and gave him an orange eye (the concept of healing) and i gave him a pretty literal power of being able to track how far along the healing process an individual is. in turn, this also gives him the ability to sense when someone around him is hurt.

also, since he can track the healing journey, physically touching him will speed it up ever so slightly. if you have a stomach ache just go hug tyler and eventually you’ll feel better

now for possibly my favorite ability, TAYLOR :D! (featuring me forgetting the word pursuit exists and just putting ‘persual’ which may not be a WORD google LIED TO ME HELP DONT LOOK AT IT

ANYWAY just like tyler i kept her brown eye, and then i gave her a pink eye (the concept of connection), which gave me the idea of her being like tylers opposite. i wanted their powers to reflect each other, so where tyler can track physical injuries and how they heal, taylor can ‘connect’ with others and sense their mood and how it has recently been. almost like a graph!! sometimes she accidentally does it and gets overwhelmed trying to keep track of other peoples moods when she isnt prepared to handle it.

and just like tyler, physical touch from taylor will make you happy and calm (hugging taylor does that anyway) so she is like that scene in big hero six where they all lay on baymax because hes very warm and i love her

I HAVE NEVER DRAWN HAIR LIKE BEN PLEASE DONT ASK I DID MY BEST ON THESE LIYTLE DODLES

anyway

for the last time i kept bens brown eye because why does everyone have brown eyes, and then i also gave him white because i got a really really funny idea ok.

ben can track movement of people around him specifically, and he can enhance his own power. if he enhances it enough for one person, he can predict what their course of movement is about to be. its very immediate, so when hes trying to process it the action could very much already be happening. its very useful actually!!!

ITS TIME FOR MY FAVORITE ABILITY RAJGEJR FINALLY NO MORE BROWN ABILITIES

I kept logans blue eye (the concept of movement) and i gave him yellow (the concept of light) because yk yk hes a dlorist photosynthesis WHATEVER

he can basically control the movement of anything in bright light. the control on it he has depends on how bright the light is, so he finds it useful to keep a flashlight on him

THATS ALL, I HAD A LOT OF FUN FOJNG THIS I STARTED AT 10 AM AND FINISHED AT ABOUT 1:30 PM LMAO MY WRJSTS HURT A LITTLE :] If you like the magic system, i post all about the actual protagonists in #comicsafterhours if you want to see more idkffkjmdnfm,,,,,, anyway

if you actually read all that tysm?? love you lots?? ill probably draw my ocs in the sbg situation soon

[reiwanwan]

How peaky men fart ‼️

So….today we will be discussing the different ways that I personally think these peaky men fart, maybe I will make this a series like “Unhinged peaky blinder headcanons” And if you have your own unhinged headcanons that you want do feel free to ask! my request are very much open

Tommy 🤍

- most people are convinced this man doesn’t fart, but it’s a natural human function so of course even tommy shelby needs to let one out

- Dead serious expression and completely unfazed

- His farts have no sound and they dont even stink so no one even knows if he farted

- He also has pretty privilege and he knows that so he uses it to his full advantage

- Because of that he has the ability to fart loudly and no one would even bother to think it was him because pretty people dont fart

- In the scenario where if he let one out silently and it did stink he would probably just light a cigarette afterwards to cover up the smell

Arthur 🧡

- Loud and unapologetic

- Disrespectful.

- Absolutely no consideration for the people around him

- He would let it rip and laugh and say that it was the “sound of victory”

- He farts the loudest and is very proud of the volume of it

- He wont fart around ladies though

-Buuut if you were a guy, I’m sorry but you are going to be his victim

-He is kind enough though to let you know if he’s going to fart

John ��

- Now this one does NOT let you know when he is going to fart

- Always blames it on someone else

- Has the WETTEST farts and you’re always having to ask him to check his boxers because you are so sure he shit himself

- He does the classic “pull my finger” joke with his kids

- If you were laying down next to this man i’m sorry but you are getting dutch ovened and you will suffocate

- After he lets you out he apologises and says “must be the cabbages you made earlier”

Alfie 🤎

- Another loud farter here, second to arthur

- Also lets you know when he’s going to fart

- You guys could be walking together and he will stop you, “Hold on treacle…” and then proceed to rip ass.

- Will continue holding your hand as he farts

-If you seem embarrassed he will turn it into a whole monologue when he’s done and when you guys continue walking

- Gives long-winded explanations about how it is “A normal human bodily function”

- “you see love…holding it in wouldn’t be healthy because you see right…it’s a sign of a proper, working digestive system, its how god meant it to be”

Michael 💙

- Oh boy please don’t ever call him out he will get defensive and his ego will be CRUSHED

- Really feels like farting is emasculating and will insist on holding it in till he gets home to let it out

- Polly can always tell when he needs to fart for some reason and will tell her stubborn son that he is allowed to fart

- But in the case where he desperately needs to fart, he will excuse himself and go outside

- And boy does he let that one go wild because he’s pretty sure that fart cured all his stomach problems

- His farts doesn’t smell too idk why I just feel like he wouldn’t have stinky farts

Finn 💛

- Everyone pushes the blame onto him if they fart

- Especially arthur

-John would blame it on finn if he was sitting next to girl that he fancied. “Ughhh finn you nasty bastard…letting one out next to a lass?”

-Tommy would fart and then blame it on finn if someone smelt his own silent fart and everyone around will he quick to believe him

-Poor Finn

-If he farts he will be very embarrassed

-but understands its normal so he would try not to make a big deal out of it and man it out lol

-If people do start laughing at him though, he will join and laugh along just to save face even if it did actually hurt his feelings just a wee bit

That is all lovely human beings please do let me know what you guys think of this. The reason for writing this purely because I was super bored and my imagination goes wild and also because I thought that it would be completely hilarious lmao xx

[wisteriainslumber]

"Get me out of here!"

aka the twst girlies surviving an escape room in honour of me being the most unhelpful person in escape rooms

warnings: swearing and book 6 spoilers in regards to ortho

first years

has the highest possibility of succeeding

it sure wouldn't look like it though

in the middle of their allotted hour, they suggested to sacrifice grim

which yuu stopped by distracting them with a loooooong story of how they are a long lost octuplet

legit no one knows if yuu is being FR or not bc it sounds so unbelievable but their facial expressions suggest they're being so deadass abt it

unanimous decision to push ace into the coffin and started holding hands and chanting

low and behold, the weight in the coffin triggered a mechanism and they accidentally solved the puzzle into the next room

here's another example, where there was a bunch of clocks on the wall w/ different times and epel joked that it looks like the heartslabyul dorm (bc of the million staircases)

and while deuce and ace were telling stories about the amount of freshmen that fell off those staircases (rip), jack stared a lil harder and figured out a password for a lock that way

the first thought that occurs is to pick the locks

they got the shit scared out of them from the game master's voice in the walkie talkie telling them to solve it properly bc dude... don't do that??/

ortho detects hidden walls and rooms before the game even starts but he doesnt speak of them

he'll always be hovering around them though and stares directly into the security cameras

sebek is so stressed bc this space is so small and so hot. AND HES GONNA BE STUCK HERE FOR AN HOUR

jack is infected by the stress radiating off sebek for the same reasons but also bc he can hear jamil and riddle going awfff on their group in the other room and it is really freaking distracting

ortho picks up the most useless, disconnected keyboard and started carrying it around for funsies (its like so outdated and he wants to show it to idia to laugh at it) before the walkie-talkie kindly asked them to put it back because it's not a clue

epels mind is in the right place, trying to find patterns in the titles of the bookshelf, but they're really just there for decoration

grim's floor sniffing habit comes in so handy rn bc he's finding things under beds and in drawers

there is a piano in their room and aside from grim stomping on the keys, epel played hot cross buns, thinking he was the only one who knew how to play, then yuu, our champion, comes in playing some classical backing music

it shocked sebek so much that yuu was practically a music god, then asked them to play some mozart, and again, got the piss scared out of them

a loud thunk and bam, accidentally unlocked another hidden room

ace and deuce were in a competition of who could find the hints the fastest and tragically they were the two that didn't find any hints at all

in short, it was sheer dumb luck that got them out

8/10, if only it wasn't for sebek breaking down near the end of the hour because he got his hand stuck in a box and started panicking

because they were the first to finish, they were allowed to look at how the second and third years were doing and damn, they had such a big laugh about it

aka it turned into a dorm thing

second years

there are many brilliant minds in this group which would make them a very good contender for getting out

unfortunately they are smart individually but extremely dumb when together

they started handcuffed to each other and surprisingly no one really minds it

like, it's not maaaajorly distracting like they can get things done without too much struggle

and silver insists that its good to have a buddy system in case they get lost, you know, inside a very unspacious room

only downside is that sometime there will be some squabbles about someone yanking too hard but overall they're very peaceful

ruggie will be carrying all the random objects they manage to uncover in case they're needed (aka azul keeps passing over random objects for ruggie to hold— he thinks that they are clues)

mostly because kalim was supposed to, but he left them all over the place and forgot about them while trying to solve puzzles

jade, his handcuff buddy, is seeing all this happen but does he grab the misplaced items? no lmao

instead kalim's the button pusher bc he wants to be useful but sometimes he presses the wrong buttons because its so dARK, WHY IS IT SO DARK???

jamil gets so pissy that u practically couldn't see shit, so he climbed on floyd's shoulders to go fix the fucking lights

floyd complained a lot because jamil's constant reaching felt like he was personally trying to tear his arm off by the socket

silver gets so into the scenario that the escape room assigned so he's on Full Survival Mode

constantly gets on the floor to look for clues underneath things too

everyone should pray that there aren't live actors jumping out or anything because he hears Person In Distress and it's actually on sight because he has a duty to protecc

riddle is hella mad about being constantly dragged onto the floor because OW???

azul and ruggie are constantly ransacking the room for items that may be useful

what was that? useful to the puzzle? absolutely not. they're looking for things that are useful to themselves; being useful to escaping is only a bonus

the severed prop arm ruggie found was probably of no use but he's carrying it anyway just because he can

riddle and azul are the (self-proclaimed) 'designated' logic problem solvers but they overthink it way too much

its actually jade and ruggie that do most of the problem solving bc they actually know how to work in group settings

but don't be fooled, jamil finds out first, but he never explicitly states it. he just nudges people in the right direction

being trapped in a room with the most insufferable people he's met? no thank you. he wants to gtfo as fast as he can w the least attention to himself

kalim and floyd just press and touch everything and somehow end up solving a puzzle together

silver ends up solving the puzzles pertaining to colour or order

riddle makes the most comments about how none of these things are historically accurate, but also ends up being the least helpful sjdhghjk

he keeps getting hooked on the wrong detail and that derails things

azul takes a dig at how riddle is focusing too much on a useless thing but ends up being equally derailed by the wrong detail

if given flashlights, kalim keeps fidgeting with it and is happy to be everyone's lamp

they could be in the middle of solving a puzzle and at the same time, someone will be revealing a childhood story and they all end up bonding

until someone decides its time for a Jokey-Joke and end up revealing some craaaazy trauma story and the whole group goes quiet for a little bit

(aka kalim did this unknowingly)

after getting out, the staff informed the group that they couldve freed themselves from the handcuffs by following the first clue

(they started from the second one because azul unknowingly swiped the first clue for ruggie go hoard ajdkkvkf)

also the staff thanked jamil for fixing the lights and a few mechanisms and gave the entire group a discount ojhfkkdlf

so sorry jamil, even more attention has been drawn to u

6/10 teamwork makes the dream work but they're only good at being friends not teams

third years

everyone and their mother knows this group does not make it out (alive)

when they're ushered into the room and told the premise, lilia, cater, and leona are already laughing and making fun of the scenario

as soon as the group is told to open their eyes, rook, malleus, and vil start commenting on the decor and atmosphere

idia just wants to win but he and trey both agree that their current group is doomed

(also no one knows what the scenario is bc they kept talking over it)

trying to get the keycard out of some locked box was their first puzzle

malleus is three seconds away to tearing the door off his hinges when rook gleefully proclaims he's found the key in one of the prop toilets

when everyone starts looking for clues, there's constant insults being flown around of how 'the drawer is out of bounds, stop trying to open it' or 'stop looking there, we're supposed to solve this puzzle first'

and yes they use their only clues on the first freaking puzzle bc no one knows what the hell is going on and then in later puzzles they keep blaming and arguing that SOMEONE used up all their clues on the first freaking puzzle

any sort of corpse or decaying statue will have at least two people pointing at it and claiming 'its you'

in fact, cater starts carrying the supposed possessed doll because it kinda looked like lilia

idia was laughing his ass off at this before mal got pissy at him & twisted off a mannequins hand and freaked out both idia and cater with a severed hand

rook ends up cuddling with the horror prop before lilia wanted a turn

at another point, he yanked off a bolted lock since it was getting in the way, and about half the group freaked out bc why??!? why did you do that?!?!

cater lap dances the statue, which then vil criticized by saying "put more back into it"

the weight shift caused the statue to light up

when finally being presented a clue that they had to crawl a tunnel to get to, everyone told lilia to get down, and ofc he just squatted and this LOUD crack came from his joints so trey felt bad enough to the point where he crawled in instead

then rook starting carrying the prop skeleton everywhere. it's his ventriloquist arc

the counter for the most 'IDIOT's being thrown around goes to this group

seven forbid there is an old computer that pertains to a puzzle because malleus would suggest to use magic to shock it into working every ten seconds

lilia and leona end up trying to guess the password while everyone else was looking for clues

idia would insult the computer like how is this fossil still up and running?

they were supposed to find the keyboard but idia Knows His Stuff and used the on-screen keyboard to push in the password

around half an hour in, malleus got bored and started speaking in his mother tongue

lilia started communicating in hisses and clicks, which the rest of them believed was a response to malleus (its not, but mal responded in the same fashion although no one, not even the speakers, knew what the other was saying)

in the other room, you will hear rook and cater singing a duet just to have something to do and every time a new song starts, a shoe will be thrown at the pair

i'd give them like a 2/10 because, honestly, they only solved like 2 puzzles, and that's only because of cater fooling around for one of them, and the other was because leona & idia were so freaking mad at being stuck in the first room that they solved it just to get a second room to themselves

[trevuorzegras]

━╋ JUST NEED YOU HERE WITH ME.

cinnamon girl by lana del rey

summary: In which Trevor pushes y/n away, because he doesn’t know how to express how he truly feels.

pairings: trevor zegras x GN!reader

platonic!jack hughes x reader. short drabble

Trevor was never good at express how he felt. He was always the type of person to hold in every emotion, until it all came to the surface causing him to lash out. Him being with Y/n helped him a lot. They always knew how to help him through his emotions.

That was until Jamie Drysdale got traded to the Philadelphia Flyers. Jamie had been Trevor’s bestfriend for years. He was so hurt when he heard the news of the trade.

Jamie got on a flight that night to make his way to Philadelphia, causing Trevor not to get a proper goodbye. This absolutely crushed the boy. Even though Y/n was his support system he couldn’t bring himself to speak to them about how he was feeling.

you try to push me out.

Trevor hadn’t gone home that night which caused worry to fill Y/n’s mind. Their thoughts were going to the absolute worst when the left wing didn’t pick up any of their calls.

Y/n went to bed in complete worry that night. They tossed, and turned that entire night, worry coursing through them. It hadn’t been until the next morning, that they received a text from Jack Hughes. This message caused their worry to wash away partly.

Jack

hey, y/n. trev is safe. he stayed at a hotel last night, im sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. he should be home soon. love you

Y/n

thank you for telling me jack. it’s okay, i’m just glad he’s safe. love you too.

A slight weight was lifted off their shoulders as they now knew Trevor was safe, but it left them wondering why he didn’t confine in them. Trevor had always gone to them when he needed to express his true emotions, this left Y/n feeling upset.

Did he no longer trust them?

Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, a very tired looking Trevor stepping inside, with a backpack hung over his shoulders.

Y/n quickly stood up, making their way to the brunette boy, a hesitant look on their face. Trevor looked down at Y/n, a sorrowful look on his face. Y/n hesitated slightly before wrapping their arms around him. He quickly wrapped his arms around their waist, allowing his head to fall to the crook of their neck.

“What’s going on Trev? Please talk to me. I cannot have you closing up again, you were doing so good.” Y/n spoke as they ran their fingers through the boys hair.

Trevor let out a loud breath, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Jamie leaving has really taken a lot out on me. It’s only been a few hours, and i feel like it’s suffocating me.”

Y/n pulled away from the tight hug to look into Trevor’s eyes. They brought their hand up to his face, to wipe the tear that fell, “Trevor it’s okay to feel that way. I mean you lost your bestfriend, but you can’t avoid speaking about your feelings like you use to. I was so worried about you, i barely got any sleep last night. I couldn’t sleep not knowing where you were.”

Trevor’s glaze softened at the sight of the person stood in front of him, as they spoke softly to him. His eyes furrowed sadly as he spoke, “I’m so sorry, Y/n/n. I never meant to worry you, i just needed time alone to process everything. I’m not sure why, it probably would’ve been easier if you helped me through it.”

but i just find my way back in.

Y/n’s eyes stayed on Trevor as he looked at the ground, a saddened expression on his face. Y/n softly said his name, causing him to look up, meeting their eyes, “It’s okay, love. Just promise me you won’t do that again. I’m here for you, anything you need.”

Trevor smiled softly at Y/n, bringing them into his embrace once again, “Just need you here with me.”

violet, blue, green, red to keep me out

i win.

okay guys, first drabble.. tell me if this is bad i genuinely can’t tell if i hate or love it.

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[goldenempyrean]

Stubborn As Ever

〚 Notes - First Marina fic :D Hopefully you enjoy <3 I loved writing these two so if you've got any ideas, send em over! 〛

〚 Pairing- Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca 〛

〚 Summary - Maya is sick at work, Carina comes to take her home. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1900 〛

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“Bishop.” A loud voice echoed through the bunks as a very annoyed looking Herrera looked down from the balcony, her on her hips, “Don’t you dare start an epidemic in this station.” 

Maya sniffled, titling her head to look up at her, “I’m fine Andy.” She grumbled, sniffling loudly before quickly wiping her nose on her sleeve. 

“You’re fooling nobody.” 

Herrera's expression softened as she descended the steps, concern etched across her features as she came face to face with the pale blonde, “You look sooo healthy Bishop, so very not sick.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice but her tone all sympathy. 

This was bound to happen eventually. It was Winter - prime cold and flu season. In fact they’d already dropped off two patients at Grey Sloan earlier after they’d presented dehydration and flu symptoms. 

Of course it was just an occupational hazard. Just another part of the job. And while most of the crew did have pretty good immune systems, eventually everyone gets sick somehow. This was Maya’s turn. 

“You have a fever estúpida.” Andy sighed, the back of her palm pressed against her best friend’s forehead, whistling through her teeth at the heat radiating from her, “God you’re as stubborn as ever.” Maya only groaned in reply, waving her hand dismissively but she could protest further, a sudden sneeze had her jolting forwards, catching both of them off guard. 

Herrera’s face twisted as she jumped back in surprise, “Oh Maya! Ew!” She shook her head, “I’m literally covered in your-  ugh, just, never mind. You’re going home, right now. You hear me?” 

Her voice held the ‘don’t you dare argue with me right now or I will make your life hell’ tone, one Maya didn’t have the strength or will to argue with right now. Instead, the blonde simply nodded, allowing Andy to pull her up as she walked her to the front desks. 

“Sit.” A tissue box was stolen from another desk and swiftly placed in front of Maya as she sat down in one of the swivelling chairs, “I’ll call Carina, alright? I doubt your wife will forgive me if I let you keel in the streets over while trying to stumble home.” 

Maya sniffled again, reaching for the tissue box and blowing her nose loudly. She winced at the sound, feeling utterly drained as she leaned back in the chair. Andy hovered nearby, worry etched on her face as she dialled Carina's number. 

It was picked up after only two rings, “Hello? Hi Carina, it’s Andy.” Herrera began explaining the situation and that Maya definitely needed to be taken home. 

“Yeah, she’s here with me right now.” She looked down just in time to see Maya’s head bob down into a crumpled handful of tissues, sneezing twice in rapid succession, “Yup, thats her. Are you sure? Okay, thank you so much. That’s great. We’ll see you soon.” 

“She’s coming to pick you up.” The brunette smiled as she set the phone down back on the retriever. Maya simply nodded before muffling a deep cough into her arm, “You really don’t do things by half do you? Come here, let me check your actual temp’ please.” 

“I was fine earlier.” The firefighter groaned in response, slumping back in the chair. Andy rolled her eyes and reached down to grab the thermometer from the first aid kit they kept beneath the desk. “Vic’s already out, I need to be here.” Maya continued to mumble. 

“The difference is Vic actually told us she wasn’t feeling well when she felt this coming on and you had to sense to send her home. So, when did you feel this coming on, hm? Because I’m betting it’s been a few hours. Now, come on, turn this way for me.”  

She did so - reluctantly.  As she turned to the side, Andy slotted the thermometer into her ear and pressed down the button. It beeped once and they waited a few moments for the second beep. 

As the device beeped again, Andy glanced at the reading, her brows furrowing slightly. "Well, congratulations, Captain. You've officially joined the ranks of the feverish.” She let her hand move to gently rub her shoulder, “She’ll be here soon.” 

As Maya sat there, feeling increasingly miserable, she couldn't help but sneeze again, the force of it causing her to double over slightly. Andy frowned sympathetically, handing her another tissue before reassuringly patting her on the back. 

Just then, the sound of the door opening signalled Carina's arrival. She entered the room with concern etched on her face, quickly assessing Maya's condition. 

“Oh Mai, you look so ill.” Her was soft as she quickly came to the firefighter’s side, “How are you feeling amore mio?” 

Andy watched with a soft smile, watching as her best friend’s-tired eyes slowly grew more awake. She discreetly slipped away to go and gather Maya’s things, giving the two of them a moment of privacy. 

Maya managed a weak smile up at Carina, her eyes watery as she struggled through a chesty cough. "Not great," She admitted, voice strained as she spoke, “Sorry for making you come all the way here just to collect me.” 

“Shh, none of that.” Carina soothed her gently, reaching out to cup her cheeks, “Oh, bambina you are so hot.”  

She moved her hands to press her hand to her girlfriend’s forehead, sighing softly before pressing a gentle kiss to her fever flushed skin. 

“Her temperature’s 101.7.” Herrera chimed in as she came back from collecting Maya’s bags. 

“101.7? That’s…uh, around 38 and a half? Si?” Carina mumbled to herself, still trying to get used to converting to the imperial system. It was one of the many American things she still hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. 

“Poor girl, let’s get you home then bambina, hm?” The Italian purred, offering out her hand to help her girlfriend up from the chair she’d been slumped in, “There’s a nice bed waiting for you when we’re back.” 

“Mmh’bed does sound good right now.” Maya sniffled loudly as she gave into the temptation of climbing into bed and getting cuddles from her beyond amazing girlfriend.  

“You know protocol Bishop, you’re not back in here until at least 24 hours after that fever breaks.” Andy smiled as she held the door open for the two of them. Nodding in mutual understanding as Carina thanked her quietly. 

Luckily Carina hadn’t parked far away, only round the corner. The two of them walked together, Maya taking slow unsteady steps as she swayed before the doctor noticed and put her around her waist. As she did so, she didn’t miss the way Maya shivered as the cold, winter air nipped against her bare skin. “Come here sweetheart, that’s better.” She murmured, taking off her thick cardigan to pull it around her girlfriend’s shoulders instead. 

“It’s- I don’t need this Carina- It’s cold, you need to be warm too.” Maya began to protest but her pleads fell on dead ears. There wasn’t much point to them now anyway, they’d reached Carina’s car already. 

As she helped get Maya settled in the passenger seat, Maya couldn't suppress the itching in her sinuses and suddenly ducked down into her elbow with a series of harsh sneezes, each one followed by an apologetic sniffle. "Sorry, Car’. I promise I'm not doing this on purpose," She looked away, not wanting to make eye contact. Being sick was still something she’d yet to adapt to. Her father’s lessons were still as clear as they’d ever been about that. Eyes forward. Embrace the pain. 

The doctor looked over with sad eyes, pouting as the firefighter sniffled miserably into the sleeve of her borrowed clothes, “Salute bambina. I promise you don’t have to apologise for anything. You’re human, it’s only natural and you can’t control it.” Her voice was soft, but the teasing tone was unmissable as she nudged her lightly, “There’s tissues in the compartment, don’t get your germs on my favourite cardi’ please.” 

Maya raised an eyebrow fondly as she chuckled, well, to be honest it was more of the beginning of a laugh being immediately proceeded by a round of deep coughing. 

Carina murmured something worriedly in Italian as she glanced over at her wife, it was hard not to notice how tired and pale she still looked, despite the warmth of the cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. 

“We’ll get you home, okay?” She reached over to squeeze the blonde’s thigh, “Just sit tight bella.” 

It didn’t take long to reach home. Mainly because Carina had driven at slightly irresponsible speeds. Despite the short journey, it had been long enough for the firefighter’s eyes start to close on their own, her head bobbing forward as Carina pulled into their driveway. 

“Sleepy girl.” Carina murmured, her voice laced with tenderness, trying to rouse her from her drowsiness, “We’re home sweetheart.” 

Maya stirred slightly, blinking groggily as she looked around, momentarily disoriented before remembering where they were. "Home?” She mumbled; her voice thick with exhaustion. 

Carina smiled softly, unbuckling her seatbelt before leaning over to help Maya with hers. "That's right, let's get you inside where you can rest properly," she said, her tone soothing as she opened the car door. 

Maya nodded weakly, allowing Carina to assist her as she stepped out of the car, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. She sniffled weakly against the brunette’s shoulder as she guided her inside. She murmured something intelligible before legs buckled under her that. Luckily, Carina had been ready, and she carefully scooped Maya into her arms, cradling her gently as she carried her bridal style towards their room. 

Reaching their bedroom, Carina gently laid Maya down on their bed, tucking her in with extra blankets to keep her warm. Maya curled up instinctively, seeking comfort in the softness of their shared sheets. 

"I'll make you some tea, amore," Carina said softly, pressing a tender kiss to Maya's forehead before heading to the kitchen. 

Minutes later, Carina returned with a tray holding a steaming mug of herbal tea and a bowl of soup. She placed it on the bedside table and sat beside Maya, gently stroking her hair. 

"Here, drink this. It'll help you feel better," Carina said, offering her the mug, rubbing her back soothingly as she drank the hot liquid, “That’s better, si?” 

She nodded, letting herself relax into the pillows, “Much.” Maya sniffled, rubbing her hand beneath her nose as it twitched. She just managed to set her cup aside before a sudden bout of sneezing overtook her, each one accompanied by a soft, sleepy sound. Carina chuckled softly, reaching for a tissue to gently dab at Maya's nose. 

“Bless you, amore," she murmured, reaching for a tissue to dab at Maya's nose tenderly, "Looks like someone's still feeling a bit under the weather." 

Maya sniffled, her eyes fluttering open briefly before she buried herself deeper into the warmth of the blankets. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse with fatigue, "I can't pull myself together.” 

Carina's expression softened further as she continued to stroke Maya's hair soothingly, “You don’t need to pull anything, you just lay there and rest. Just rest now, bella, that’s all. I'll be right here if you need anything," Carina murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her warm forehead, before snuggling in beside her, wrapping a comforting arm around Maya’s front, “Thank you for letting me take you home bambina.” 

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[anonsickficker]

{jing yuan x fu xuan} hospital room [short_scenarios]

CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT CONTAINS MENTIONS OF {ERUCTATION} PLEASE BE WARNED!!!

“That was the last of it, General.”, Fu Xuan’s fingers part ways with the worn pair of chopsticks at last, as she sets them on the tray. She lifts herself daintily from her seat next to his resting bed, opting to situate the tray somewhere far, as she’s sure he’s bound to grow sick of the aroma of her meals, after having endured some half-an-hour-long stretch of time simply being hand-fed. She ensures that she’s careful around the tall flower vase on his bedside table— a get-well-soon gift from Qingzu, Fu Xuan recalls.

As she returns to his side, the General’s insides give an inevitable, yet painful-sounding protest, and Jing Yuan exhales softly, as to prevent any other undesirable noises from leaving his system. The soft evening rays from the nearby window casts a warm glow over the General’s face, in contrast to his pitiful state.

“General, if I may…”, her graceful fingers reach for the source of his discomfort, offering to resolve the problem she had provoked in the first place.

“Feeling bold today, are we?”, Jing Yuan smiles, though Fu Xuan greatly appreciates the wordless acceptance in his eyes, acquiescing to her lofty requests through and through, “Go ahead then, Master Diviner. If you dare.”

He shivers as she makes contact, even as she applies gentle pressure through the thin fabric. Jing Yuan isn’t very bloated, she notes, hidden under layers of thick muscle as well as his thin hospital gown, but his over-capacitated innards make themselves known through his toned abdominals nonetheless. She presses her entire hand onto the subtle curve of his stomach, feeling the digestive gurgling and the slight sloshing of the medicinal brew, herbal tea and winter melon soup he’d been fed earlier. 

Fu Xuan finds it hard to admit, but being such a crucial part of her the General’s recovery grips her, injecting her veins with a sense of pride, and she almost shivers when she coaxes the first quiet burp from him, face lighting up just a little as Jing Yuan sighs faintly, as she studies his alleviated expression. 

After the initial feeling of accomplishment coursing through her body, she intends to continue with enhanced vigour, before catching herself, forcing her hands to massage at a consistent pace, lest she cause Jing Yuan’s injuries to worsen.

She rubs everywhere she can reach from her place at his bedside, complying to Jing Yuan’s silent requests when he takes her wrist gently with his own fingers and readjusts their position to an area that he deems to require more attention. Her mind reels with interest whenever he hiccups, his pained face still able to retain a small smile, though she can’t quite understand why. She pays the turning cogs in her brain no concern, rather focusing on feeling out which areas have suffered the most tension.

His stomach groans lowly, before Jing Yuan ducks his head to let out a startlingly long, loud belch. He’s been holding back ever since Fu Xuan had begun her ministrations, but seeing as she doesn’t express her distaste for such crass behaviour, he proceeds, properly lifting a fist to stifle any smaller burps that fall through his nearly pursed lips.

Fu Xuan flinches away, quick as lightning, promptly revoking her palms from his abdomen, as if she’d been burned.

“My apologies, Master Diviner…”, Jing Yuan clears his throat to fill the sudden silence, watching her pupils swim in those glowing amber irises fueled by a mixture of uncertain emotions, “I’m sure that was less than ideal. Rest assured such a sound will not be heard from me again.”

Fu Xuan blinks, the fluttering of her eyelashes in tune with that of her heart. She doesn’t dare speak, lest a disgustingly honest little something were to tumble through undetected by her brain-to-mouth filter.

“Mind your manners, General. We are far from buddy-buddy with each other.”, she finally manages, allowing a resentful grimace to adorn her carefully governed expression. 

Even after having her high and mighty moment of discipline, her actions continue to greatly contrast her scrupulously fabricated speech, as she pushes her palm into his abdomen with increasing pressure, targeting every weak point. Though such points are scarce in number, she foresees his defenselessness as a reliable means of evoking the reaction she desires from the General— her new goal.

She grasps thin, delicate fingers around his comparatively much thicker, yet well-toned waist, pinching his sides in unison, eliciting all but an aggressive gurgle from his intestines, as she feels them shift under the pads of her fingers. Jing Yuan exhales with difficulty, squeezing his eyes shut and grunting softly at the writhing sensation of his disagreeing organs.

“Couldn’t you stand to be just a little more gentle?”, Nevertheless, he adheres to his promise, not letting a single belch up his throat, swallowing them down even as Fu Xuan prods at his tensioned stomach, almost fit to burst with the amount that he’d been able to cram in it. Although he’d promised her sensitive ears that he wouldn’t continue on with any crude conduct, he does allow himself to hiccup, suffocating each noise until they’re nothing but inaudible little spasms of his unstable diaphragm.

Next, she lays her palm flat, candidly pressing into the upper section of his distended abdomen, where the vibrations of his violently convulsing internals had since become the most intense. Her harsh provision of relief is delivered with trembling fingertips, her wrists sparing no effort to cover the entire expanse of his stomach when she compresses it, even as Jing Yuan begins to shy away from her touch, clasping a hand over his mouth to dampen any unsavory sounds that he’s unable to prevent.

“It’s quite firm here…”, Fu Xuan pokes at a spot just below his ribcage, coupling a pair of fingers together to rub at the area, progressing to using her whole hand, almost ramming into his painfully taut stomach, hearing its contents slush around turbulently. Jing Yuan nearly moans aloud, but bites it back, instead allowing a sly smile overtake his expression, pulling the corners of his mouth upwards, even as he struggles to regain his breath, a sliver of sweat collecting at the point of his chin despite the cool breeze that courses through the room.

Fu Xuan gives one more rigorous push, kneading into the General’s over capacitated stomach, and Jing Yuan finally allows another deep belch rip through his oesophagus, similar to the one before that had startled the Diviner, this time only shielding her view of the inside of his otherwise exposed mouth with the back of his hand.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?”, he inquires, words lilted with his smug demeanor, “Because you definitely seemed to act as such.”

He removes his hand from his mouth, repositioning it to brace itself on his chest, relieving excess pressure as he hiccups again, a result of his overburdened organs. Fu Xuan takes notice, almost immediately, unbuttoning the first few latches of his hospital gown, revealing a scarred expanse of skin; the medals of every battle that he’s won, some faded, some fresh. She takes a moment just to stare at the lines of his well-trained abdominals, stretched slightly to accommodate every single mouthful of her meticulously prepared meal.

He fails to stifle a few more burps, resting a hand to his own stomach to feel his churning insides, the warmth from his palm soothing the area if only just barely.

“Forgive me,” Jing Yuan lifts a fist to his now closed mouth to catch another belch before it’d had the chance to slip, “I was not able to keep my word. But you don’t seem particularly off-put by my lack of etiquette…”

“Instead, aren’t you a little red in the face?”

Fu Xuan blinks.

“Has your eyesight finally begun its long-awaited journey unto deterioration?”

Jing Yuan chuckles as he reaches for her wrist without a word, lifting her off of her chair with ease until she stumbles forwards into his bedside. He leers his upper body towards her as he plants large hands onto her slender waist, calloused fingertips almost touching as they encircle the span of it. He scoops her up, one arm under her pale legs and blushed knees, ignoring her squealing and the prying of her fragile fingers on his thick forearms. 

By the end of the whole ordeal, Jing Yuan has successfully mounted Fu Xuan onto his lap, coaxing her heavy head into his neck. 

“I know my actions have caused you many a sleepless night. My sincerest apologies, Lady Fu.”

“Being reckless has been a habit of yours ever since I’d just begun to work with you. Even one ‘sleepless night’ would be an exaggeration, you dozing General.”, Jing Yuan only smooths his thumb over the creases forming in between her furrowed eyebrows in response to her accusatory tone.

As much as Fu Xuan relishes basking in the evening sun, accompanied by the General’s familiar warmth, she can’t help but squirm when she finally feels it:

His stomach groans, even as he grants her full permission to lean on it. Fu Xuan feels the movement, almost as if it’s directly rattling her own thoracic cage. Jing Yuan makes no move to let go of her, instead wrapping his arms around her waist, binding them together, if only for a brief moment in their nearly millenium-long lives.

She almost doesn’t know how to react, every gurgle, churn, slosh that he experiences, she shares. Fu Xuan only stabs her chin deeper into his shoulder, as payback for becoming so severely injured, to the point that all of his attendants, retainers, and even one Master Diviner of the Six Charioteers had to come rushing for him. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Master Diviner.”, Fu Xuan senses the movement of his Adam’s Apple bobbing, before he resumes, “Had I passed on the position of the General of the Luofu onto you sooner, this situation would never have occurred.”

She doesn’t utter a word, only patting the side of his abdomen, eliciting a purr from the General, the heat of his breath splaying itself down her back.

Fu Xuan eventually returns to his bedside.

Then far away, back to the Divination Commission, back to her post.

With the knowledge that she will only return the next evening, when the sun glows a cordial red, and illuminates every corner of that hospital room.

based off of this post by {feesheroo} and {honeydangomilk}. thank you, i didnt consider master diviner and general to be something to write about

its 1700 words this time.. i was struggling to get over 900 and threw everything i could, then it doubled. but its all gibberish, sorry 🙇

i didnt proofread, its messy and theres no timeline.. its very lacking, sorry. its just very mediocre, out of all ive written 😅

(its sloshy because liquids are easier to digest (egg drop soup, winter melon soup, congee), chinese medicines are usually medicinal dried herbs that are brewed and drunk like tea. other medicinal foodstuffs are liquid too, like fish swim bladder soup and bird's nest)

jing yuan is my favorite character in hsr

thank you for reading this far 🙇🙇

[forever-eternal]

Physical Headcanons of Dragon Slayers

Dragon Slayer Magic, and slayer magic in general, changes the User’s physiology in ways other magic types do not– though the element they correspond with does play a major factor in what changes occur, there are some that affect all Dragon Slayers: (Hiro and Tsuki are OC’s who only sort of exist in the same universe, but are both Dragon Slayers)

Indent Text = Mainpoint

Bullet = Subpoint

Number = Subpoint of Subpoint

All Dragon Slayers have enhanced senses, more so than their God and Devil Slayer counterparts– where only one or two of their senses are heightened

Their senses are nearly triple that of a normal humans, and often leads to sensory overloads (Hiro and Erik having stronger hearing than most dragon slayers, Erik due to the nature of his magic- able to hear thoughts and movements of the body- and Hiro due to her magic and a genetic defect- able to hear all the way to Fiore’s farthest border with her mufflers turned up to 10 [10 is the strongest setting on mufflers, allowing the most sound to come through, but still blocking most of it]. Without her mufflers, she can hear all of Ishgar)

Their sense of taste is also increased. To protect their nervous system and body from damage caused by certain flavors, dragon slayers have a thicker, viscous saliva that covers their mouth as a shield, which ends up blocking a lot of flavor

This means they can eat the hottest peppers in Fiore with little fanfare, fire dragons in particular are prone to such snacking habits.

It also means their food will have more spices than most humans can handle, because they want to taste it

Their magic forms a thin barrier around their vital organs, though the actual purpose is unknown, it is believed that it’s to guard against internal attacks – poison, illness, etc.

The thickness of the barrier depends on age and element, with Wendy having thicker barriers than someone like Erik (who is immune to toxins), but not as thick as Gajeels.

Natsu and Tsuki’s magic burns through toxins, though Natsu is still vulnerable to a few. Tsuki’s internal temperature, being a White Fire Dragon Slayer, is far to high for normal toxins.

This means that, if Tsuki gets sick, the bacteria has evolved to survive her body temperature long enough to effect her. She will be under quarantine, as some bacteria would die with the body temp lower than they evolved to handle, while others will spread even further.

Dragon Slayers are able to roar, though their age, gender, and element do play a part in what it sounds like:

Tsuki and Natsu’s pitch shifts and changes with their mood, but it’s always extremely loud

Tsuki’s is, by far, the loudest naturally– she’s had plenty practice– and it often causes the ground to shake (There have been a few fallen buildings as a result, she doesn’t roar often)

Tsuki sounds most like a dragon, as she’s the only one who really remembers being taught how to roar like a dragon and not a slayer. Hiro would have been similar if she were old enough to learn it.

Wendy and Hiro are able to twist their vocal cords to create such a high pitch, that it can’t be heard–but still bursts eardrums

Due to their age, they have to force louder volumes, and usually need several minutes to let their voices rest afterwards

Hiro’s is more draconic simply because of the nature of Storm Dragon Slayers.

Laxus’ is loud, and incredibly deep, sounding like ongoing thunder with an echoing higher pitch– and is the second naturally loudest overall

Hiro, due to being a storm dragon slayer, also has a bit of this effect– like rolling thunder and lighting aftershocks. It’s a lot quieter than Laxus’.

Gajeel’s sounds like grating, creaking metal; it’s very deep, and has a medium volume- though it does cause slight vibrations in a thirty meter radius

Sting and Rogue have a medium volume, and no one really knows what their actual roar sounds like

They mimic each other and others, like light reflections and shadows

Erik doesn’t really roar, it’s more of a loud, ominous hissing sound

The sound causes a primal sort of fear in all who hear it, though dragon slayers are more immune than average humans. It does not affect Tsuki, who was raised and trained around many slayers, and Hiro, who lives to spite her body and instincts

Dragon Slayers also purr, much like cats do, though the same factors apply

Tsuki purrs the second most, and does it especially when around those she considers hers

Her’s in specific has a soothing, and calming effect. It tells you everything will be alright, and that she’ll take care of it. It comes with being the oldest and most intune with her instincts

Natus also purrs quite a bit, usually while eating or sleeping

Since he’s still young, it’s more of the effect of a kitten on Tsuki, though non-dragon slayers don’t really notice the difference

Wendy and Hiro purr like it’s second nature, though Wendy only really does so to calm Hiro. Hiro purrs the most out of all of them

They are very noticeably kitten purrs, giving the urge to protect and nurture to the older dragon slayers that hear it

Laxus has deep rumbling purrs, and he doesn’t purr often

So far, Tsuki, Erik, Wendy, Hiro, and his kids are the only ones who have ever heard him purr

Though, it’s more like they feel him purr

Gajeel also has deep purrs, though rather quiet

Again, it’s more of something you feel than hear, his entire body shakes with the force

This is all according to Tsuki and Hiro, though some believe Wendy and Levy have heard them– neither will reveal anything

Sting and Rogue are much like Natsu, though they have more control over it– due to the trauma inflicted by Jiemma

With Tsuki, Laxus, and Erik, they are near constantly purring

They do purr around Hiro as well, its almost infectious

Erik is more similar to a snake than a cat, and his draconic sounds reflect that! So, while he doesn’t exactly purr, he also kind of does.

It sounds more like a quiet, content hissing though, but is described as more of a churr

Purrs are very infectious, if one purrs, they all purr, even if they’re doing so for different reasons

Stick em in a room with Tsuki and/or Hiro purring, and soon they’ll all be doing it without realizing

It’s a form of nonverbal communication for dragons, usually meaning happiness or contentedness

Dragon slayers have sharp claws, though their length depends entirely on the individual slayer

Some keep them filed down as not to accidentally scratch anything, but it does cause a strange, burning-itch in their fingers

The claws grow faster than an average human’s nails

Tsuki doesn’t cut hers beyond a certain point, cutting them down to the same length of the average nail is what causes the itching, almost like declawing a cat, very uncomfortable and not the usual

Natsu and Hiro don’t cut theirs down either, and it’s up to Tsuki to make sure they actually take care of them– though Hiro is generally very good at keeping them short enough to be able to do things, but long enough to defend herself if she can’t access magic

Gajeel also keeps his a certain length, and so does Erik, but Gajeel does it for max Bad Boy Effect and Erik does it because the tips can excrete poison if he wants them too, and if he cuts them too close it gets into his bloodstream and it’s really annoying

Laxus keeps his claws short because long nails make him uncomfortable, and the electricity in his body already causes itchiness. What's a little bit more?

Wendy keeps her short, but not super short, and also files them into more a square shape

Wendy likes to paint all their nails and once she and Hiro use the Puppy Eyes, no one can decline, it’s against the law

All kinds of Slayers have two magical cores, where their magic energy is stored, while other Wizards only have one.

No one knows entirely why, but it is believed that the first Slayers evolved the second core to manage their magic easier, as it is a very volatile magic genre

Dragon Slayers are hypoglycemic, mostly because of the volatile nature of their magic eating up at any sort of energy their body has– including their blood sugars.

Tsuki is the only one who is aware of this, but thinks the others are aware even if they’re not.

They know their body feels weird and they get tired, and that Tsuki makes sure they all eat after every fight and will shove food in their mouth whenever they feel that Weird Discomfort in their bones, but they don’t know why and don’t really care. That’s it.

It’s very annoying to deal with

They suck at taking care of themselves, all in different ways and all for different reasons.

[jsprnt]

Healing Hearts PT. 13 | Virgil van Dijk

Would a fresh start bring you more than just a new job?

WC: 3.050

Summary: Y/N L/N is a very skilled and praised physiotherapist. A certain event pushing her for a fresh start, as a physiotherapist for Liverpool FC. One question always being in the back of her mind: Will she be able to let go of her past and allow herself to experience new things?

I walk into the kitchen, my eyes shooting up to the clock on the wall. I felt like absolute shit, my outside clothes still uncomfortably clinging onto my body from the previous night, not to forget the full face of make up I was wearing- well whatever was left that wasn't smudged on my pillowcases.

I groan as I notice it is almost noon. From the text messages I was sent early this morning by Virgil, I knew that it was several hours before he'd be done with training and until he would be in Amsterdam. I couldn't wait to finally visit him in his apartment he owned there.

I squint due to the light emitting from the widows, at least it was fall now and the sun wouldn't be this bright for long. The dark clouds already alluding to a rainy and cold day.

I realize the house is empty, with no sound or sign of my parents still being at home. It was a Tuesday, so they must've already left for work.

Thankfully, the dining table was still full of food. My stomach grumbling at the thought of having some delicious food as I grab the leftovers I had to heat up, knowing I would devour my mom's cooking in a minute.

I close my eyes and furrow my brows at the slight commotion in the front of the train. I loved and missed the Dutch transportation system, or at least it was better than other countries I had visited, but damn teenagers loved to be loud when coming back from school.

I grab the water bottle that was resting on my lap. Chugging it down, hoping it would relieve some of the pain in my head. The entire speech of "I'm never drinking again." running through my mind.

Why did we as humans love making promises to ourselves, then fall into the same cycle again? It would always baffle me over and over again.

I sigh to myself as I hear my station being announced through the train speakers, getting up and grabbing my mom's transportation card and checking out as the train stops. My medium-sized suitcase rolling behind me.

At first, I felt embarrassed of needing that many things for a couple of days at Virgil's place, but then I remembered that I was just a girl and if I needed something, I needed it.

I had thought of driving, but with this headache I didn't have the energy to, besides it wouldn't have been a hundred percent safe either.

I step out of the train, discarding the water bottle, and grabbing my phone to text Virgil for the exact address of his home. I stare at my screen for a moment as he types and-

I blink multiple times, wondering if I was hallucinating or genuinely seeing that address on my screen.

Did every man have to live in the same apartment complex? Was it really the only option the both of them had in the expensive ass city of Amsterdam? Both of them were practically swimming in money, but this was the place they both lived in?

I resist the urge to get back on the train again, walking in the same route I knew all too well. Hoping luck would be on my side today, or at least for a moment. The dark trees were slowly turning brown, the occasional leave crunching beneath my shoes.

The familiar building I called home once not even a couple years ago coming into my vision. No doubt there were some good memories attached to it, though this time being here they definitely left a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

I approach the front desk, thankfully the receptionist wasn't the same lady as in the past. That would have been quite the interaction if I would literally ask her for directions to another apartment. "Gold-digging-whore" it would not be a new insult thrown behind my back.

I look around me cautiously, the interior of the lobby was still the same. The marble and wood accents still very timeless looking, accentuating the contemporary design, taking me back to the time this entire place was way too intimidating and grand when I came here for the first time.

Sometimes I do wander how life would've been without my young naivety, but damn it was the reason I had gotten myself away from all that was negative in my life. Allowing me to form a much better and healthy work environment and new relationship. And I was grateful, immeasurably grateful.

I ask the receptionist for Virgil's place and how I would even get there, her eyebrows raising for a moment before she grabs the telephone to, what I assume, call up to him. The call is very short, and she walks away for a moment. She comes back with a key card in her hand, the biggest customer service smile on her face, as she hands me the key card.

"Is it your first name here miss?" She asks, handing the keycard to me.

"It is." I answer half lying, grabbing the card out of her hand, it looked way different than a year ago for some reason.

"Number fifty-three is the penthouse as you know, which requires you to use the elevator on the left." She points, the sickly sweet smile lingering on her lips.

Penthouse?

I felt my headache get worse, then a shooting pain through my temples.

Virgil was the penthouse owner Theo had always complained about? The one who barely lived there but still owned the most expensive place in the entire building? Theo had always complained he wanted to purchase the penthouse, but Virgil being the stubborn owner he was talking about? I don’t know if my ego should be boosted or if I should feel horrified.

I snap out of it quickly, hoping I didn't look crazy, redirecting my attention to the receptionist.

"Oh right, thank you." I say quickly, stepping away and walking towards the elevator, dragging my suitcase behind me.

The world is insanely small, practically mushed together at this point, and the fact that I could have a run in with Theo here was probably making it much worse.

I did everything to get away from him, even until recently deciding to never pick up anonymous calls again, to installing an expensive security system, but still, the universe managed to find a way for us to be in the same building, just like all those years ago was absolutely mind boggling.

I press the elevator button, hoping those numbers above wouldn't flash Theo's apartment level, fifty. 

Sighing in relief as the elevator arrives empty as I quickly get on it, pressing the close button repeatedly.

I scan the key card, pressing the fifty-third button. The fancy button lighting up, as I fold my arms and lean against the elevator wall. Practically sweating at the thought of ever running into Theo. I would say this was a mistake, coming back home was a disastrous mistake. Of course, I would run into him somehow and now I'm back at the place we used to live together, the universe hated me and the urge to hate it back was never this grand before.

I feel my headache get worse at the thoughts running through my mind, this would definitely take at least five years off of my lifespan.

The elevator announcing the fifty-third level takes y/n out of her thoughts. The elevator doors swiftly opening to reveal a smiling Virgil, dressed in dark jeans and a very soft looking gray sweater.

She gasps at the sight of him, her negative thoughts melting away by a mere glimpse of his face.

She practically leaps forward, latching onto him, his warm hands coming up to steady her frame. Her suitcase nearly toppling over by how fast she'd let it go. Heat radiation off of his body, washing a warm feeling over her cold one, even when she was wearing a thick jacket.

"Hello, to you too." He mumbles, his hand coming to cradle the back of her head. His fingers playing with the fabric of the white scarf around her neck. He plants a tender kiss on her forehead as she hides her face into his chest, the dull ache in her forehead getting slightly worse. Her fingers digging into the soft fabric of his sweater.

"Missed you so much." she mutters, her muffled words barely being heard. She pulls away, taking his features in for a moment before wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him into a longing kiss.

His lips are warm, his minty breath entangling with hers as their lips are pressed together. It felt like ages since they'd last seen each other, reality being only a couple of days. A breathless, deep groan leaving his throat as she presses her body further into him. Her fingers clawing at his arm, coming to squeeze his bicep with a tender touch.

Just like the days physically apart, the kiss feels like ages, only pulling away as y/n decides to. His lips automatically following hers to savor her taste longer. Though, he freezes at the sight of her scrunched brows and a hand on her temple, his eyes softening in concern. The breathlessness of their kiss shooting pain through her head.

"You still hangover from yesterday?" He asks, his hand coming to remove hers, instead softly massaging her temples himself.

"Yeah.." she groans, leaning into his touch with her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry." She goes, thinking that she should've greeted him with more enthusiasm and love, and no depressive, sad, stupid headache.

"It's alright, no need apologize to me." He soothes, his other hand coming to the small of her back, running his hands down her back gently.

"Let's take this jacket off and get comfy, yeah? You must've been freezing outside." He beams, kissing her temple repeatedly, wanting to transfer some of the love he felt into her pretty head.

"Here's some soup. It'll help before taking any medication." He whispers softly, removing the blanket off of his girlfriends face. The rain was clattering heavily on the windows outside, the dark clouds totally engulfing the surrounding view. She opens her eyes, blinking repeatedly before sitting up fully.

"Didn't have time to have groceries delivered, so I ordered some of the best and highest quality soup for my girl." He mutters, picking up a spoonful.

"You know I can feed myself right. I still have working arms and hands." She chuckles, trying to snatch the spoon out of his hands. He ignores her protest, urging her to take the mouthful of soup on the spoon.

"Wow- this is really nice- is this restaurant owned by another one of your beloved grandma's?" She teases, still aware of her pounding head but choosing to ignore the ache.

"Come on- no one cooks like grandma- except my own mother, obviously." He says, moving his spoon to grab another spoonful.

"Just give me the spoon already." She requests, the sass in her voice undeniable. He cocks an eyebrow, handing her the spoon without further ado.

"Okay- just wanted to take care of you miss independent." He teases back, watching her mix the soup.

"I'm fine- not incapable of drinking soup on my own. Just a headache I'll be fine after I take some medication." She retorts, humming to herself as the warm soup soothes her throat and warms her body temperature.

"Want some?"

He shakes his head, his hand adjusting some of the blanket.

"Besides, we haven't seen each other in days. I don't want this day to be ruined by you worrying about a silly headache." She says, sipping on the last bits of the soup.

"Babe-"

She cuts him off, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen off of the table and shaking it.

"I'll take this and you'll tell me about you- things you wanted to tell me the past days or things that happened during training. Nothing about me- Deal?"

"So you had an open training today? Were there a lot of people there?" She asks, her cheeks squished against his chest as she lays against him. His arm coming to cradle her back.

"Yeah, those kids were so cute and happy to see us, it was so sweet." Her replies, looking down at her, taking in the cozy atmosphere.

He had turned on the heater a little higher, the warm blanket now wrapped around the both of them as they both relished the feeling of the soft sofa against them. The clattering of raindrops creating a calming sound that almost put them both to sleep. The sun had set already, a conformation of the seasons changing already. The soft and low melody of a song by Brent Faiyaz coming out of the TV speakers.

"So what? You showed those kids how to tackle your teammates?" She laughs, the vibrations of it connecting with the thump of his heartbeat.

"Got show them how to do it best obviously." He retorts, a chuckle escaping his plump lips.

"Are you ready for the match against France. Though opponents, no?" She asks, sitting up and lifting her head to check his facial expression.

"We've trained a lot, it all comes down to performance now." He answers, sinking his eyes into the beauty of her face, a small smile on her lips as she nods.

"Any injuries? Are you feeling alright?" She asks, her eyebrows knotting, small wrinkles forming in between them. Being on leave never made her stop worrying about the teams injuries, always texting and calling the other physio's for updates and improvements of injured players.

"I'm alright, a hundred percent. I promise." He reassures, bringing her into his chest again, kissing the top of her ear. "Stop thinking about work or anything related to it. You're on leave, you've got to enjoy it baby." He mumbles, his deep voice vibrating against her ears.

"Tell me about you. How are your parents and friends hm?"

"They're fine, working and everything keeps them busy. My friends are just happy to see me. As you know, we had girls night yesterday." She chuckles, the flashback of her drunk friends popping into her mind.

"What did you girls do? Gossip?" He wonders, a smile tugging at his lips.

"How'd you know?" She gasps, her eyes widening.

"I've been around my mom and her friends. When that conversation opens, those doors never close up." He laughs. "What did you guys talk about? Me?" He says, cocky expression on his face.

She pulls away again, guilty expression on her face. "I told them about you, yeah.."

"That's good. Why so solemn? Do they hate me?" He asks.

"No! They're okay with us- they’re just teasing me. They think it's funny I- uhm moved to Liverpool to forget you know who. Then I met you." She explains, fidgeting with her newly done nails.

"That's fate love." He replies, running his thumb on her jawline. "They like me at least- what about your parents?"

Fate was either a bitch or it was the best thing that ever could happen to you.

Her eyes widen at the mention of her parents. They didn't know she had a new boyfriend, let alone who he was. She didn't know if her parents would be happy or lose their mind if she told them she was with someone else other than her 'useful' ex. She couldn't fully blame them if they got mad, she told them a bit of how their relationship went. Nothing about him making someone break into her apartment and the rest of the things he had done. Not how he treated her- which was definitely not how she should've been treated.

"Uh.." she trails off, the heat of embarrassment climbing up to her face. Virgil raises his brows, his thumb coming to a halt, letting his hand rest on her jaw, cupping her face.

"They don't know about us." She mumbles, avoiding eye contact and looking away.

"What?"

"They don't know about us." She repeats, a little louder. The temperature drops for a moment, his hand moving her head towards him again.

"y/n? Look at me." He says, his deep voice stern, though there is a soft edge to it.

She sighs, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, then reluctantly making eye contact.

"You don't have to tell them. I understand, but you don't look- something is up. Am I right?"

She nods, taking her bottom lip in between her teeth, chewing nervously.

"They barely know about the things that happened in between me and- my ex. Not even what happened in my apartment." She breathes out.

"They still think we have a chance of getting back together. Since our parents are in the same industry- they thought, you know that they would merge their companies- umh later on." She explains, goosebumps covering her body. Nervously checking Virgil's face for a change of expression.

A sigh leaves his lips, pulling her into another hug. His arms wrapping around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry you can't be honest with your parents."

"No, don't apologize. It's my fault for not telling them everything."

"You know that they shouldn't have pushed you so far you're hiding important thing from them, right?"

She doesn't reply, basking into his body heat, her nose rubbing against the fabric of his sweater.

He sighs at her unwillingness to speak, deciding to change the topic.

"Let talk about something else- you're coming to the match on Friday, right?" He asks, hoping it would change her mood.

"Of course." She replies, fidgeting with the fabric of his sweater. "It's a very important one, you said I could invite my friends right?"

"Yeah of course, you ready to cheer me on with my shirt on, love?"

"I don't know- thought of wearing Frenkie's or Memphis' but since they're injured I guess your shirt is alright too." She teases, a smile tugging at her lips. The jealousy was evident on his face, and it was undeniably hot. His hands letting go of her, turning away from her.

"Alright- I'm just joking. I'll wear a number four- stop looking at me like that. It was a joke!"