#Packed Portions Cooking Week

[pokemonblog]

Pokémon Sleep Packed Portions Cooking Week Part 1 featuring the debut of Mawile now underway until June 16 at 3:59 a.m. local time, full event details revealed

Pokémon Sleep is continuing to add new content on a regular basis. Read on below to learn more: Event: Packed Portions Cooking Week Part 1 Outline There’s plenty to go around—it’s time for Packed Portions Cooking Week!This week-long event is a special opportunity where helper Pokémon with the Ingredients specialty will shine. Also during this event, Strength gains from dishes will…

[heartmix]

Spoiled - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gn!reader

Word Count: 800+

Warning: making fun of the british (slightly), expired food

A/N: the idea popped into my head after watching max's stream a few days ago. Also i'm pretty sure its Lando's birthday already somewhere in europe!

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

Some days you wondered how Lando was still alive. Never mind driving a rocket ship on wheels for living, no, it was because he decide to put anything in his body without a second thought. Despite spending millions on cars and watches and other material items he didn't give a second thought about something he needs to survive, food. You blamed it on him being british and the fact that they don't have anything good to eat. You knew about the sweet potato incident, even if it was before you knew him. Finding out he went and ate spoiled food again was enough to give you the ick and put your foot down.

The plan was simple. Buy new groceries, do some meal prep and clean out the fridge for Lando while he was playing Tarkov with his friends. He mentioned that he was going to play all day and that max was going to stream later on in the night. That gave you enough time to run to the store and cook some easy meals so you could surprise him with a full fridge.

After waking up early and sending a text to Lando that you were going to drop off something later tonight, you headed to the grocery store to pick up everything you needed. A bunch of fresh produce to meal prep and some snacks that can last on the shelf for a few months. With Lando's strict diet (or lack of there) you pulled out all the stops for a healthy and tasty meal. 

As night time crept up you packed everything in bags and made your way over to his apartment. You got a notification that max started his stream a few ago so it was the perfect time to sneak in and fill his kitchen while dropping off some dinner. Any noise you made wouldn't be too out of the blue seeing as he knew you were coming and that you already had a key. 

While entering the house you could already hear the screaming and weird random sounds coming out of your boyfriends gaming room. That should keep him distracted for awhile. First you started with cleaning and sterilizing his fridge. Doubt he didn't have much which is probably why he ate expired chicken, but one could never be too careful. Once that was over with you packed away all his food that should last for the week. Seeing the finished product brought a smile to your face. At least he was going to be eating good for the week. 

Once his current raid ended you quietly made your way into the room being aware that his mic was on and that possibly a couple thousand fans could hear what could be said, even with this shit mic. When his door opened he saw you and an immediate smile was plastered on his face. 

"Hey baby." He smiled taking off his headphones and motioning you to come by him.

"Hi. I just came to drop off dinner. Don't want to keep you long." You smiled placing the plastic bag on his desk before he pulled you onto his lap.

"It's okay, raid just ended and the mic is off. Stay for a few seconds."

"Alright. I made you my famous stir fry. There's another serving in the fridge for tomorrow." You said bringing out the food and fork setting it up for him.

"What would i do without you."

"Eat expired chicken." 

"Haha i get it." He gave a fake laugh making a real one erupt from your throat. 

"Yeah you seriously gave me the ick. This was going to be a surprise but i stocked up your fridge and did some meal prep. You just have to heat it up in the microwave, although i'm scared you'll even mess that up." You laughed at another joke your boyfriend seemed to be the butt of. 

"Move in with me." All of the joking mood went out of the room as he looked at you with a serious almost pleading expression. 

For you it came out of the blue. Sure you've been together for almost two years and you've spent a good portion out of the year traveling with him to races, but moving in together never crossed your mind. It seemed like the next logical thing in the relationship but neither of you brought the topic up till now. 

"What?"

"Sorry, i was either going to blurt out that or marry me. I figure it's best to go in order." The words came out like it wasn't the most bizarre thing he could say in the moment. 

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, for you. So what do you say?" How could you say no to that adorable smile.

"Well someone needs to keep you alive." a smile slowly crept upon your face liking the idea of seeing with him more and being closer to him. Also it would save you money, monaco wasn't cheap. 

"Perfect." He said leaning in for a kiss before you pulled away. 

"I'm not kissing you after you just ate expired chicken."  

"That was yesterday!" 

[sheerfreesia007]

Love at Lunch Time

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,636

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You’ve been dating Chan for two months now and have started to pack him a work lunch each day with a little extra sweet surprise for him in the form of cute love notes left in his lunch box. What happens when the boys start to realize that ever since you started dating and packing him lunch Chan now takes his lunch break seriously? What happens when they find one of your sweet notes in his lunch box?

Pabo:  Fool

The smell of homemade cooking fills your kitchen as you hum along to a tune that is nameless inside your head while you stand over the stove watching the pan as it sizzles.. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and you’re preparing meals for the work week ahead, your kitchen island is littered with containers and brightly colored lids ready and waiting to receive the food that you’re just finishing up. Snacks have already been packed and are ready to put away in each of your lunch boxes and Chan’s for tomorrow. A smile slowly unfurls on your face as you think about packing lunch for your boyfriend for tomorrow.

Ever since the two of you started dating two months ago you’ve started packing a lunch for him, at first it had been because you were worried about him not eating during his work day and now it had just become the norm for you and a way for you to show him that you love and cared about him. It was just an added plus that Chan had confessed that he loved your homemade lunches, but it also made him actually take his lunch break and look forward to seeing the meal that you had prepared for him. You enjoy making your work lunches and now that you’ve got Chan to care for and look after you’re even more excited to make him meals. It always made you feel great when he would come home and tell you that he loved his lunch and that he really enjoyed it.

Turning off the stove you begin to portion out the meal into each of the containers for the both of you just as Chan enters the apartment with a bright happy grin on his face. He had been spending time with the guys this afternoon before promising to be home for the evening to spend the rest of the day with you. Walking into the kitchen he eagerly grabs the large pan you’re holding and helps you finish dishing out the meal into the containers. When that’s done he rinses the pan out in the sink before setting it down in there, he then turns back to you as you hurriedly put the lids on the containers knowing what’s coming next. He grins fondly at you before stepping close and wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder as his eyes watch what you’re doing.

“So what little surprise am I going to get in my lunch tomorrow?” he asks softly before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck causing you to flinch away from him. You chuckle softly at his question knowing he’s trying to find out early what cute little note you’ll leave him. Not long after you had started making and packing lunches for him you started to leave little notes in his lunch box for him to find. They often would just be little notes with words of encouragement or just little doodles that you made for him. But now they had evolved into little love notes where you confessed how much you loved him or certain things about him that you loved and cherished. 

“It’s a surprise.” you scold him gently and he pouts at you before burying his face in your neck to nip and kiss at you trying to make you crack and relent to him. You flinch and twist trying to get away from his tickling actions as he continues to nip and kiss at you while his arms tighten around your waist maneuvering you to lay flush against him

“Tell me.” he pleads as he turns you in his arms until you are facing each other and he’s holding you up just so that your toes graze the floor not allowing you to touch down. You shake your head at him and he pouts prettily for you and you scowl at him softly knowing that he’s trying to get you to tell him what the note will say and he’s using his dirty tricks to get his way. You lean up and peck his lips quickly trying to distract him but Chan quickly follows your retreating mouth with his own, capturing your lips with his in a heated kiss. You kiss him back just as heatedly for a few moments before you pull away from him panting slightly.

“I have to finish.” you tell him softly and he pouts again at you. “And you know I don’t write your notes until the morning of. Otherwise you’ll spoil the surprise.” you chastise him gently and he sighs softly at your words.

“I know, but I gotta at least try to get you to tell me what they’ll say. I always look forward to them.” he says softly and you beam up at him feeling the love you have for him pouring into your body. “You finish up and I’ll order dinner for us before we pick a movie together?” he asks as he stares into your eyes lovingly. You nod your head at him before he presses his lips to yours once more in a sweet tender kiss before he slowly lets you down onto your feet. He turns from you and you quickly finish getting all the containers ready and put away before joining him on the couch as he scrolls through the selection of movies you guys have.

*-*-*-*

The next morning your alarm wakes you and you groan softly as you try to snuggle deeper into your warm blankets not wanting to wake up yet for the day. Chan grunts heavily from behind you and pulls you in closer to him as you both cuddle further into your bed. But just as you’re about to fall back asleep Chan’s phone alarm goes off making the two of you groan loudly.

“Why did we agree that having an alarm on both of our phones was a good idea?” you ask grumpily as you begin to rub the sleep from your eyes. Chan chuckles softly and presses a tender kiss to your temple.

“Because if we didn’t we would just fall back asleep.” he says knowingly and you grumble softly causing him to chuckle at your antics. “C’mon babe, we’ve got work to get to.” he tries to cajole you out of bed and you grumble some more before rising from your comfortable bed.

“Fine, I guess so.” you sigh out loudly and Chan chuckles once again as he sits on the edge of the bed trying to wake himself up. The two of you quickly get ready for work and soon you’re in the kitchen grabbing both of your lunch boxes to set them on the island before grabbing yours and his travel cups. As your coffee brews you pull open one of the kitchen drawers and grab the cute wolf decorated stationery pad and your favorite sparkle glitter pen. You lean against the counter for a moment silently mulling over what you want to write to him today before grinning softly and writing down your note. Just as Chan is entering the kitchen all dressed for work you’re pouring coffee into your cups. You hand him his cup and lunch box before grabbing yours, the two of you exit your apartment and you press a sweet loving kiss to his mouth before you have to go in the opposite direction of him towards the bus stop.

“I could drive you.” he offers as he chases your mouth teasingly while a grin graces his face and you smile sweetly up at him.

“But then you’d be late.” you tell him softly which causes him to shrug his shoulders at you.

“It’d be worth it.” he tells you honestly and you smile fondly at him before pressing another quick kiss to his pouting lips.

“I’ll text you when I get to work. Have a good day babe. Love you.” you tell him firmly and he sighs while nodding his head knowing that you won’t allow him to be late to work.

“Alright, love you too sweetheart.” he responds before he heads to the parking garage where his car is parked..

*-*-*-*

Chan stares at his laptop screen and sighs loudly as he comes across another issue with the song. Han sits next to him and looks over with a worried look on his face, Seungmin stands in the booth staring concerned over at Chan through the glass as he waits for more direction while Changbin and Felix sit on the couch behind Chan watching with silent shared looks between them. Just as Chan feels the tension and anger begin to rise up in him his eyes dart to the small clock in the corner of his screen and he grins widely all of a sudden. 

“Alright, take a break Seungmin. It’s lunch time.” Chan says after pushing the speaker button to be able to be heard in the booth. Seungmin stares at him shocked for a moment and Han grins widely as he turns to give a look to Changbin who grins at the younger man.

“Lunch time?” Felix asks curiously and Changbin smirks widely as Seungmin exits the recording booth.

“Since when do you eat lunch?” Seungmin asks with a scoff and Han nearly vibrates in his chair as he watches Chan roll his chair away from the desk and grab his black lunch box and exit the room with an eager grin on his face. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin asks as he turns to Han and Changbin while Felix nods his head. Han excitedly turns to face all of them in his chair as he grins mischievously at Changbin.

“So ever since Chan started dating his girl she’s been packing him homemade lunches and he’s actually been taking his lunch break instead of working through them like he normally does.” Han said conspiratorially as if it was a secret.

“Oh, that’s actually really sweet.” Felix said softly as Seungmin gags loudly with a look of disgust on his face while Changbin laughs softly.

“But there’s more. I think she leaves little notes in his lunch box for him to find. He always sneakily stores something away in his safe in here.” Changbin says knowingly as he shares a look with a nodding Han.

“We want to see the notes.” Han says suddenly and Felix frowns at his words before he begins to shake his head.

“I’m in.” Seungmin says suddenly and Han and Changbin grin widely at the younger man.

Just then their leader enters the recording studio and they all turn to him silently. He’s not paying attention to them as he looks down at his phone with a soft smile on his face while his fingers type away on the keyboard. He places his lunchbox down on the desk and Seungmin swiftly flips it open, surveying the contents before his eyes land on the cute wolf stationery with sparkle handwriting on it. He quickly snatches the note and Chan looks up with wide shocked eyes.

“Give that back Seungminnie.” Chan says almost sounding threatening as Han and Changbin quickly stand to help their friend. Seungmin looks over at Chan quietly before he grins and rushes out of his reach as the older man lunges for him. Chan tries to chase Seungmin around the studio while the younger man dances out of his reach with help from Han and Changbin keeping the note away from their leader. Changbin finally has the note while Han and Seungmin hold Chan back as he watches Changbin with avid eyes trying to make sure the note doesn’t get destroyed.

“WHAT IS GOING ON!?” sounds your voice loud and clear making all of the men whips their heads to Felix who is holding up his phone with you on a video call. Instantly the younger men let Chan go who rushes to Changbin and carefully grabs his note from the man before stepping back over to his desk where his lunch box is still sitting. “I didn’t stutter.” you say scolding the younger men who all duck their heads in embarrassment.

“Noona, we just wanted to see Chan’s notes. He’s been actually taking his lunch break ever since you started packing him a lunch and Changbin and I started noticing little slips of paper that he’ll save from his lunch box. We got curious and wanted to see what you were writing to him.” Han quickly explains and Changbin makes a noise in agreement as he nods his head. Chan is amazed at how easily you’ve stopped the boys from teasing him and stealing his note from him and he can’t help but feel his heart thud heavily in his chest.

“And let me guess Seungmin say a chance at being a menace and said I’m in?” you asked knowingly and Seungmin pouts softly at your all telling words. “Listen just because you’re jealous Chan gets notes in his lunch box doesn’t mean you get to tease him about it. Once you all get girlfriends maybe she’ll send you little love notes.” you scold them gently and Seungmin twists his face with slight disgust. “Don’t give me that look Seungmin, you’re one of the biggest tsunderes out there, you pabo.” you chastise him and ducks his head as his ears burn pink causing Chan to grin fondly at you successfully calling out the younger man.

“You really think that’ll happen for us?” Changbin asks suddenly as he looks over at Felix’s phone where your face is displayed. Chan watches the faces of all the boys and sees the hopeful looks there and wonders if all of his members feel that way, hopefully for someone to treat them like you treat him.

“I hope so, Bin. Yuy guys deserve it.” you say truthfully and Changbin giggles loudly while Seungmin scoffs again.

“I should write a song about receiving love notes. That’s actually a really cute idea.” Han says suddenly before he grabs his chair and begins to furiously write in his lyrics book. Felix suddenly hands his phone to Chan who eagerly takes it and turns it so that you can see him on the video call, your face lights up with happiness when you finally see him and he can’t help but mirror your grin. 

“Thanks sweetheart for shutting the boys down and for my lunch and notes.” he says fondly to you and you chuckle softly at him.

“Any time babe.” you tell him happily with a chipper tone that has him smiling.

“Oh! Let me show where I’ve been keeping all your notes.” he says suddenly realizing that he can finally show his hiding spot. The boys all watch him eagerly and he shoots them a glare which makes them back off.

“Wait, you’ve saved all of them?” you ask surprised and Chan looks down at the phone bewildered.

“Of course I do. They’re special to me and make my day brighter. They give a little boost of energy at lunch time.” he confesses softly as he opens the safe that’s in the corner of the room. He directs the camera into the safe and you gasp softly as you see the cardboard box that has all of your multicolored stationery notes that you’ve given him over two months of dating.

“Oh you’re too sweet for keeping all those notes.” you say softly and slightly teary eyed. Chan beams at you as he blushes cutely. “I’ll have to make sure I never miss a day of notes for you.” you tell him sweetly and he grins at you.

“You better not.” he says seriously and you chuckle happily at him before blowing a kiss to him which he happily accepts before letting you get back to work.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[betweenstorms]

butcher!simon… he’s so husband… his big rugged calloused arms… you know how those men are… arms the thick and strong, veiny but not in a way a nurse/vampire would love, but in a way you can see subtle long bump of it through the length of his tattooed sleeve… my gosh. i despise going to a butcher shop bcs i'm sensitive to the smell and loud noises scare me but for butcher!simon ? i'd deliberately buy just enough meat for one day worth of my meal + extra portion to give to him the next day as i go for another cut of meat… i'd bat my lashes and sweetly ask "i want to make soup… which cut do you think will cook quickly ?" ARGH. and like use scrap bones and veggies to make cream mushroom soup at the end of the week and pack it nicely with fresh sourdough… and on thanksgiving of christmas i’d take it as my chance to ask “celebrating christmas with your family ?” as a way to invite him to my homeeee aaaaa 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

I love this so much anon! This is how I imagine the situation...

Part Two of What's Between Fridays (previous part) (next part) (masterlist) Butcher!Simon x fem!Reader

The scent of the small butcher shop never quite sat well with you.

It clung to the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the cold chill of the room. No matter how many times you stepped through the door, the sharp tang of raw meat always hit you, a sour note that made your nose twitch. And yet, you found yourself there almost every Friday afternoon, drawn by something far stronger—something that had nothing to do with the cuts of meat behind the glass.

Simon Riley.

He always stood behind the counter when you came in, broad and imposing. His bulky arms marked with the same ink that wrapped around his soul like a storm cloud, curling up his forearms like violent vines, disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his worn shirt. You had traced them in your mind a hundred times, wondering where they began and where they ended.

His presence commanded the room without a word, the quiet strength of a man who had spent years carving through flesh and bone. He moved with the ease of someone who knew his power but never flaunted it, his hands deft and skilled as they handled the cleaver with a precision that was almost artful.

You were never sure how to explain the pull that kept you coming back, your heart a little too quick in your chest every time he glanced up, those dark hazel eyes catching yours with an intensity that almost made your breath hitch.

Perhaps it was the way his silence spoke louder than words, the way he listened without speaking, as if he could hear the questions you didn’t dare ask. Or maybe it was the way his presence lingered, even after you’d left, a shadow that clung to your thoughts like the scent of the butcher shop clung to your clothes.

You came back that Friday afternoon too, the bell above the door chiming softly as you stepped in.

The air was cool and hard, and there was Simon—his name stitched onto the apron that hugged his broad chest. You murmured a soft hi as you neared the counter, your eyes drifting over the display, but you felt his gaze settle on you, intense and unyielding. His eyes were sharp, like the blade he held, cutting through your flesh and bones, leaving you exposed and raw.

“I want to make soup... which cut do you think would cook quickly?” you had asked him once, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the heavy silence between you, your wide eyes filled with quiet devotion as you waited for his answer.

Simon’s head tilted slightly, those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, like he was studying you, as though your question held layers he hadn’t yet peeled back.

His hand moved to the display, selecting a small cut of meat with the same deliberation he used in everything.

“These'll do,” he said, his voice low, a rumble that seemed to fill the quiet space between you.

When he handed you the package, your fingers brushed his, and the warmth of his skin against yours was enough to send a shiver down your spine, despite the cold of the shop.

You took the package, your heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. For a moment, you stood there, unsure of what to say, but then his gaze softened, just slightly, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. You smiled, murmuring your thanks, the sound of his voice still echoing in your ears as you left, feeling the weight of his gaze linger on your back long after the door closed behind you.

Weeks had passed since then, and yet, like clockwork, you returned every week. The butcher shop had become more than just a place to buy meat. Visiting him, Simon, was a quiet ritual, one that you couldn’t seem to break. 

You hadn’t known how it started, but after a while, you began bringing him food. At first, it was just a small gesture—a way to thank him for the beautiful cuts he’d handpicked for you, the subtle nods and quiet exchanges that had started to feel more personal than professional. He always seemed reluctant, a slight hesitation in his movements when you handed him a carefully wrapped package of the food you had made. But he accepted it nonetheless, those hard lines in his face softening just a touch when your eyes met his.

As time went on, it became a silent exchange between the two of you. You’d bring him food, and in return, he’d set aside the best cuts for you—the most tender meats, the freshest products, pieces that were meant to be savoured. It felt intimate, in a way that neither of you acknowledged, but both understood.

And with each passing week, the quiet between you grew less suffocating, replaced by something that hummed just beneath the surface of your interactions—an attraction, a connection, but still undefined, still lingering in the unsaid.

Then came that particular afternoon.

You had made cream mushroom soup this time, the rich scent of it filling your small kitchen as you prepared the dish with more care than usual. The holiday season was approaching, and the streets outside had already begun to sparkle with festive lights, the world around you glowing with a soft anticipation. There was something about the air, something about the warmth that wrapped itself around you as you stepped into the shop that made you bold.

He looked up when you walked in, his hazel eyes meeting yours, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing in the dim light of the shop. 

After exchanging your usual greetings, you handed him the small container of soup, your gloved fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped from your lips.

“Are you… visiting anyone during the holidays?” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, the question hanging in the air between you. “I mean, celebrating with your family or…?” You winced at your own awkwardness, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. But you couldn’t stop now. “If not, I was thinking, maybe… you could join me for dinner this week? At my place.”

For a moment, Simon didn’t speak.

His eyes searched yours, unreadable, his expression as steady as ever, though you thought you caught the faintest flicker of surprise in those hazel depths. The rain outside tapped softly against the windows, filling the quiet space with its gentle rhythm, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for his answer.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on you, and then, to your surprise, he nodded. Just a small tilt of his head, but enough to send warmth flooding through you, enough to light something in your chest that you hadn’t expected to feel.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low, a quiet promise whispered between raindrops.

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in weeks, the weight of your nerves lifting as you took your package from the counter.

The cold winter air wrapped around you as you stepped out into the street, but it felt different now, like a secret you were carrying with you, a warmth that Simon had unknowingly placed in your hands.

[nemisuki]

The Wolf and Bunny

Hybrid AU | When a blonde steals food from a cottage in the woods, it leads to him falling for the cook?! Just a random moment of two idiots loving each other in secret.

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, no manga spoilers, pure fluff, no smut, no angst, aged up, wolf bkg, bunny reader, lots of physical touch, forbidden love trope, they're both whipped, two idiots in love, fluff for days, oneshot, 1.4k word count

The blonde treads through the forest with ease - a path he's grown too familiar with these past two weeks.

On the small journey he constantly monitors his surroundings, making sure none of the idiots from his pack are trailing him.

Some have grown curious, asking where he wanders off to during the afternoon, noticing the blonde has been spending time elsewhere.

In response he simply brushes off the question, refusing to elaborate further, stating it's none of their business. Hiding the secret he's been keeping to himself for a month.

It doesn't take long for him to reach the small cottage. The inviting ambience of the home making him feel at ease almost instantly. As if the air is cleaner, the grass is greener and the sky is brighter. 

His own home is just as beautiful yet there's something so serene about this place. It's in the middle of nowhere, isolated from the chaos of small villages and kingdoms, free of such headaches.

You would expect a single house in the middle of the woods to be categorized as eerie, nevertheless that's not the case here.

The freshly trimmed hedges, the array of flowers scattered around the plush grass, the stone walkway to the front of the house.

It was all so welcoming.

The space around the structure was clearly well taken care of, birds chirping with delight as he made his way towards the residence.

The house was like a beacon of light that shines in the midst of the empty woods. Something always calling him back day after day or maybe it was the owner. 

As usual, he carefully sneaks through the backyard.

And with his keen nose - already catches a whiff of delectable seasoned meat. The scent never fails to make his mouth water with hunger.

He follows the smell to the open window, crouching down to detect any sounds from inside.

The hybrid waited a few seconds, making sure the coast was clear before poking his head up to look around the interior.

Spotting no sign of her, his gaze locks onto the kitchen countertop, zeroing in on the plate of steak.

His stomach is already threatening to growl at the sight of it - the heavenly dish taunting him as it glistens in the sunlight.

He's naturally about to climb inside, already used to stealing a portion for himself, but halts when footsteps are heard approaching. 

As fast as he could, he crouches back down, hoping she didn't see him. He mentally curses at himself for not taking the chance sooner, already in a crappy mood for missing his opportunity.

It's not as if he couldn't make himself steak. His small village often goes hunting for such feasts, the meat being extra fresh that it's frankly addicting, yet it's the way she makes it that has him returning for more.

The first time he stumbled across this place he was merely passing by. But what made him stay was the aroma of the savory meals being prepared from inside.

After stealing a steak from under her nose, he's been trapped in this trance ever since.

He freezes as the footsteps grow closer, heard directly from the other side of the window. In an instant, he's about to go rushing back into the woods all embarrassed but...

"You came for steak again, yes? I was waiting for you!"

He hesitantly looks up, seeing a plate being put on the windowsill. Her head poking out as she looks down at him, a bright smile on her face as their gazes meet.

Her bunny ears perked up with delight at the mere sight of him. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

His skin begins tingling with pride, knowing he’s the cause of that and no one else.

"Tch how'd you know I was here?" he grumbles, standing up with defeat and leaning against the open framework.

Not wasting any time to dig in on the feast served before him, forgetting manners as he chows down on the appetizing steak.

Practically licking the plate clean in such a short amount of time.

He will never admit it to her but she certainly knows how to cook, after every bite he takes it feels like pure bliss. His tail unknowingly wagging with satisfaction.

"Us bunny folk can hear better than anyone else you know. And enter through the front door for once please" she giggles, finding his actions simply adorable, especially that fluffy tail of his.

"Want another one?" she hums out, noticing he's already finished his meal.

The blonde shakes his head with a much calmer expression, pointing back to the forest, "Can't stay long today. I have to get back to my pack, there's been other wolves trying to infiltrate my area lately" he huffs, growing annoyed at the mere thought.

At his words, he can see the way her ears flop down with dejection. A small pout growing on her face. Those beady eyes of hers making his heart lurch with something he can't comprehend.

"But how come?" she mumbles, a worried look casting over her.

"That's just how wolves are, some packs want more territory, so they often find places to take over - pick a fight with the pack leader and whoever wins gets casted out" he sighs, leaning over to pat her head in order to calm her nerves.

His fingers gently rub at the soft fur on her ears, causing her cheeks to grow warm at the heightened sensation. A hybrid's most sensitive body part is their animalistic features after all.

"Don't grow all sappy with me. I told you many times, I've never lost a fight” he says, rolling his eyes and reluctantly pulling his hand back - already secretly missing the soft feeling beneath his fingers.

His gaze meets hers and it's as if everything else is drowned out in the background. 

"I know but if the impossible becomes true then.... you're always welcomed to stay here... you know?" she says, so softly that it could be mistaken as a whisper.

Her eyes darted away from his face as her ears twitched with shyness, feeling bashful under his gaze all of a sudden.

"....that so? I see."

He gently pinches her cheek after a few seconds, making her yelp in surprise, looking back at him as he speaks, "I'll probably be a bit busy for the next couple of days so don't wait up for me idiot."

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart thumps wildly in her chest - the idea of being apart makes her whole body grow uneasy. She's gotten used to his presence being here everyday. 

She immediately nuzzles her cheek closer to his palm, wanting to prolong this form of affection for as long as she could.

Bunnies can grow attached quite easily, so her seeking out physical contact was nothing unusual.

Maybe that explains why he silently begins caressing her cheek, that he's grown used to her actions.

Or maybe because he just wants to. 

"M’kay just be safe" she mumbles, her eyes fluttering close as she waits impatiently for him to say his goodbye, in his own way. 

“Always so damn clingy” he scoffs, but no malice detected in his tone whatsoever. 

He slowly leans closer but pauses, temporarily getting distracted by the wagging of her cotton ball tail, a testimony to her eagerness.

And it takes everything in him to not laugh at the sight - biting the inside of his cheek as his lips curve upwards in an amused smile.

She’s truly an odd one.

Not wanting to make her wait any longer, he leans in not a second later, pressing his lips against hers. His eyes falling shut at the warm sensation coursing through him at the joint contact. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Their lips moving in unison as they share a long soft kiss before he ultimately pulls away. Before he fully could though, she quickly wraps her arms around his torso, trapping him in. 

“Just stay a bit longer” she whines, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Holding back the urges to innocently nip at his skin like she always does. 

Letting out a reluctant sigh, he holds her in a tight embrace, “Yeah yeah. Only a few more minutes though.”

He was far too gone with her and he knew it.

The blonde buried his face in her hair at the realization, hiding the rosy tint spreading across his cheeks. His mind remembering her offer from earlier, him staying with her, just them two.

“One day I promise we will..”

“Hm? What do you mean Katsuki?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it furball.”

The mere thought has his heart palpating like never before and he quickly shakes his head to get rid of such ideas, continuing to melt in her touch. 

Drowning her in his scent - purposefully of course.

Bakugo couldn't believe this, him being so soft for a mere girl, a bunny at that? Damn it all!

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| i was supposed to write this literal months ago but it slipped my mind. this fic was inspired by a prompt @ch3rryjampi3 posted a long time ago i believe? i think? it's genuinely been so long that i forgot who suggested this. so mootie sorry if i tagged u by accident :( tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[banmitbandit]

Pots 'N' Picks Week 2024: Day 7: Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner/Snacks/Dessert/Family/Goodbye

[Dungeon Meshi spoilers (with a big amount of canon divergence) and a long, long caption beneath the Keep Reading]

November 20th, 1484 Dear Senshi, It's been a little over eighty two years since you've been gone. In that time, Merrywinn, the newborn baby you held in your arms days before you passed, became a great-great-grandmother, and her funeral last week was as rancorous as every other half-foot funeral we attended. Soon, it will be my one thousandth birthday, and I can only hope that, like you and Marcille, that's when this curse will finally be lifted, and I can see you again. If that's true, then that means I'm the beginning of an end. Instead of twenty one years, Laios will only have to wait three until he dies after me, and Falin will only have to wait three after that. In twelve years from now, Izutsumi will pass on too, and the six of us will get to share a meal together once again. I've missed your cooking, sure, but most importantly, I've missed you. Do you remember when we first shared that bottle of wine in my new house in Kahka Brud, over nine hundred years ago, before we had the slightest idea that something was wrong? I told you that I didn't want to make you feel the way I felt when Fayfinn left me. You said you didn't care, that it was worth whatever small amount of time you had me. Obviously, it turned out that fate had different plans for us, that the Winged Lion had cursed Marcille too, that we'd each live as long as she would. It's been hard, but since then, you've been there for me every step of the way. When Fayfinn passed, when my girls passed, when their children passed, and theirs too. You've been there for everything, and I'm thankful for it, from the bottom of my heart. I knew I wouldn't be prepared to lose you, and I wasn't. But no matter how much I hurt, Izutsumi was worse, even if she'd never admit it, and I had to be strong for her, too. She's strong and independent, just like she's always been, since the day we met her, but you were the closest thing to a father she ever had. She loved you, Senshi. She said so herself at your funeral. I just hope she doesn't miss me enough to cry at mine. I don't care what dwarves or tallmen or elves think, you and I both know funerals are supposed to be celebrations. Fun is in the name, isn't it? I haven't been okay in a long time, but these days, I feel somewhat peaceful. I have lived my life to the fullest, like any good half-foot should. My birthday gets nearer and nearer with each passing day. Tomorrow, Lochlee, Merrywinn's great-grandson, is helping me collect my things so that I can return to Merini for Laios and Falin's birthday in a few days, and I plan to stay there at the castle until my time is up. I've packed the cheesecake recipe you perfected, and I'm going to sneak it to the cooks whilst Laios isn't looking. I'm sure he'll end up eating yours and Marcille's portions too, but I know you won't mind. After that, it's Marcille's birthday. Then Izutsumi's. Then mine. I'm looking forward to it; like funerals, birthdays are for celebrating. Even elves know that. I can't wait to see you again, Senshi. Yours, -Chilchuck Tims

An AU I proposed back in the Chilshi Nation server a while ago seemed to be a good way to break my heart when rounding off Chilshi week. A lot of people bring up the tragedy of Chilchuck and Senshi's lifespans being so different, and it makes me wonder what it would be like if Marcille's misguided wish had long term consequences.

This wasn't intended to be seven pages long with the lyrics to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri shoved in, but that's what it ended up being. The song seemed a little too perfect not to include.

All of my Chilshi posts were drawn up on the day, and I used them mostly as an excuse to experiment, whether it be posing, body types, shading, comic layouts... My later entries got to be a little more ambitious with what I wanted to do with them, so they're maybe not as polished as I would like them to be, but I hope you can enjoy them anyways.

Whilst I'm here, I'd like to extend a special thankyou to @dumblilracoon for dealing with my awful brainstorming and struggling all week. Couldn't have done this without you. And of course, the Chilshi Nation discord server for being so lovely! :)

If you reblogged or liked or commented on even one of my Chilshi week posts, thankyou so much! Chilshi week has been a blast and working on it and seeing all the lovely art and writing that's come up from it has been a treat.

Happy Chilshi Week, everybody!

[papathe5th]

WAS I NOT ALL YOU WERE DREAMING OF? (WIP)

After almost two weeks, I have decided you deserve to read what I’ve been working on, Anon.

It’s nothing more than the set-up, but it does include Papa being a love-bombing (hence the title) manipulative bastard and Frater Imperator as Reader’s work husband.

You couldn’t breathe without Papa V Perpetua.

Tonight, as your text messages piled on top of each other without an answer to topple the rising tower, your heart sank deeper into your stomach and thrashed as if it were caught in the digestive process.

Forgive me, Papa.

Whatever I did, I regret it.

Please forgive me.

🖤🥀💀🥀🖤🥀💀🥀🖤🥀💀🥀🖤🥀💀🥀🖤

It began like all of your late night shifts, with an email. And, like all of the emails you sent out, you signed it with “From the Office of Frater Imperator.”

Do you have a name, or should I call you Office?

The response came a minute after midnight, and it was from Papa V Perpetua himself. Or, as he signed everything he got his hands on, PpV.

Shouldn’t it be PVP?

You texted him months later, when he convinced you that it was perfectly acceptable to reach him on on his personal phone. And when you took it upon yourself to become his confidant and not just The Office of Frater Imperator.

PVP? Player vs. Player?

A laugh escaped from you and your boss caught it. You made sure he didn’t catch you slipping your phone back into your hidden suit jacket pocket.

“What are you squeaking about, little mouse?”

You weren’t lucky he was in a good mood that evening. You had worked hard on keeping him happy. Cooking his favorite dish to take to work and pretending to be too full so that he could have the rest of the huge portion you packed was one of the many ways you laboured for The Ministry.

It was extra labour nobody was paying you for, but you gained a feeling of satisfaction watching Frater Imperator, the Papa Emeritus at the time of you joining The Clergy, moan while enjoying something of yours.

So, when you made your excuses and said you were happy that he loved your cooking, you meant it. You were happy to see him eating at all.

When he first ascended to the highest position, you watched him waste away in his temporary office for weeks. It was you who encouraged him to eat and to go to sleep while you took over his duties from 5 PM to midnight.

That was how it all began. During a late night shift, when you met the new Papa, his fraternal twin. And you used your real name to sign an official email for the first time.

🖤🥀💀🥀🖤🥀💀🥀🖤🥀💀🥀🖤🥀💀🥀🖤

Papa.

I’ll stop now.

I’ll stop texting.

Tonight, you were hopeless. A hopeless hyperventilating mess. After a couple of hours of boundless bliss in Papa V Perpetua’s presence, you have fallen into the bottomless pit of despair.

You met him in the flesh during Black Mass. It was his first time preaching to The Ministry, and he was fresh off performing the newest plasm to the European congregation. He was equally as excited as he was nervous and he shared these secrets with you. He shared all his secrets with you.

During the Mass, he made sure you knew that he appreciated your presence. He made eye contact with you, making you melt in the pews. When he winked your way, you had chills running up your down your body, almost as if his long lash had stirred a wind inside the chapel. And, as he placed the Body onto your tongue, his thumb pulled at your bottom lip before you placed the upper one atop it.

You lingered behind after every other sibling had returned to the dormitories.

“There you are!” He appeared once more at the altar, looking relaxed after discarding his mitre and opening his collar. He even rested on the edge of it, his head leaning on one side and his smirk halfway up his painted cheek. “What would I do without you?” Patting the spot next to him, he sighed like he had just shrugged off a heavy weight off his shoulders.

“You would’ve figured something out,” you smiled wide, walking slowly towards the marble slab so that you wouldn’t sprint into his arms.

“I mean it,” he lowered his voice, looking down at you, so that not even the Dark Lord Himself could hear his latest secret. “You are my guiding light through these trying times. My angel.”

The hand that had patted the hard surface was now squeezing the soft flesh of your side, the leather it was wrapped in keeping you body safe from being electrified by his touch. It was too late for your soul for he had you burning yourself out like the light he needed you to be.

And he breathed into you. When he pulled down your bottom lip all the way and your mouth fell open for him, he breathed into you.

Now, without him, you can’t breathe on your own anymore.

[feedybot]

Owning Up

She told herself it was temporary. Just a few weeks. Maybe a month, max. After everything that happened—after the breakup, the fallout, the public fallout—she needed space. A safe place. Somewhere no one would expect her to be.

Ethan’s offer had come so quickly it almost felt rehearsed. “Stay as long as you need,” he said, eyes steady, voice soft. “I’ve got the extra room. No expectations.”

They hadn’t spoken in years—not really. A few birthday texts. The occasional like on an Instagram story. But when she messaged him—half desperate, one suitcase packed, makeup still streaked from the night before—he replied within minutes.

And just like that, she was living with him again.

The first night, he made pasta. Nothing fancy—just garlic, butter, a little wine. It smelled incredible. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She kept saying she wasn’t hungry, that she’d had something earlier, but her stomach betrayed her halfway through the lie with a growl so loud they both heard it. Ethan just smiled, set the bowl in front of her, and said, “One night off won’t hurt.”

That became the rhythm. She’d try to resist—offer to cook, insist on a salad—but he was always two steps ahead. A warm plate already waiting. Her favorite coffee just how she liked it. The couch fluffed, blankets folded, music low. Comfort without question. Kindness without pressure.

At first, it felt like healing. She didn’t realize how much she’d needed someone to make decisions for her. To care without needing anything in return. To feed her when she didn’t even know she was starving.

But the days blurred. And the meals got heavier. Creamier. His portions never matched hers—his plate always had less. His body, lean and quiet, moved through the kitchen with quiet efficiency while she sat more and more, curled into herself, sleepy after every meal. Her clothes started fitting differently. Subtle at first. A little tightness in her sports bras. A button that refused to close.

She blamed stress. Water retention. The adjustment to not being in the gym twice a day. But deep down, she knew something was shifting.

The moment it became undeniable, she was in the laundry room, tugging on a pair of jeans that had fit just two weeks ago. They stopped halfway up her thighs. She stared at herself in the mirror, breath caught in her throat, watching the way her hips pushed out now, how her stomach didn’t quite flatten when she sucked in.

She heard him behind her. “You okay?”

She yanked her shirt down. “Fine. These just shrank.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her carefully. Not judging—never that. But something else. Something more curious.

“I can toss ‘em. You’ve been looking more comfortable in sweats anyway.”

She flushed. “That doesn’t mean I want to need them.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

She didn’t answer. She just turned away, heart pounding.

The next night, she told him she was going to start eating clean again. He nodded, didn’t argue, didn’t push. But when she came out of her room the next morning, there were fresh scones on the counter. Blueberry. Still warm. He didn’t even look up from his laptop when he said, “I made too many. Didn’t want them to go to waste.”

She ate two before she even realized it.

Something about him made it hard to say no. He never asked for anything. Never commented. But the way he watched her—not with hunger, but with this quiet satisfaction—made her stomach twist. It wasn’t judgment. It wasn’t desire.

It was approval.

And she found herself craving it more than she wanted to admit.

She started weighing herself again, late at night when she thought he was asleep. The numbers crept up. Slowly. Steadily. She skipped dinner twice in a row to try to push them back down, but he noticed. He always noticed. The next night, he made something so rich and nostalgic she cried after the first bite, then ate the whole thing in silence.

He never said, “I told you so.”

He just refilled her glass of wine and asked if she wanted to watch something funny.

By the end of the second month, she didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. Her body had softened, filled out in places that had always been sharp. Her movements were slower. She stopped running. Her sports bras gave way to loose shirts and stretchy leggings. The illusion of control was slipping, and she didn’t have the energy to grab it back.

One evening, she found herself standing in the kitchen long after Ethan had gone to bed, licking frosting from her finger, staring at the half-eaten cake he’d baked “just to try a new recipe.” Her reflection in the oven door caught her off guard—her belly pressed forward slightly, her cheeks fuller than they’d ever been. Her shirt clung where it never used to.

And still, she went back for another slice.

That night, lying in bed, stomach aching slightly, she whispered to the dark, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

*

She tried to pull back after that night. Not a full stop—just small corrections. Water instead of juice. A few mornings at the gym again, though her sports bra cut into her ribs now, and her leggings rolled painfully at the waist. The treadmill felt harder. Slower. Her body moved differently—heavier, softer. Like it had betrayed her.

Ethan didn’t comment. He never did. He still made breakfast. Still packed leftovers into glass containers with her name on sticky notes. Still left little things on the counter he knew she’d have a hard time walking past—warm banana bread, muffins, buttered toast already cut in triangles, always arranged just so.

She resisted for three days. Barely.

The fourth, she broke again.

There was a tray of cinnamon rolls on the table, and the kitchen smelled like her childhood. She stood there staring, arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself back, like maybe if she stood long enough the desire would go away.

It didn’t.

When she finally caved, she didn’t stop at one. She didn’t even sit down. Just stood at the counter, sticky fingers pulling roll after roll apart until she realized she was breathing hard through her nose and her stomach had pushed up against the edge of the counter. Her shirt had ridden up, and she could feel the cold kitchen air against the curve of her belly.

That’s when she heard the floorboard creak behind her.

She froze.

Ethan’s voice was low, calm. “I thought you didn’t want these.”

She turned, cheeks flushed, mouth still sweet, the last bite still dissolving on her tongue. “I—I didn’t. I don’t. I just—”

But he was already walking past her, not looking at her like she was pathetic or greedy, not smirking, not surprised. Just setting down his coffee and starting the sink.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said casually. “You’re not the kind of girl who eats like that by accident.”

She swallowed, throat dry. “You saying I’ve let myself go?”

He looked over at her then, eyes sharp and steady, and shrugged. “I’m saying you’ve let yourself be. That’s new.”

She didn’t have a reply. Not a good one. Not one that wasn’t tangled up in self-hate and arousal and guilt.

Her stomach pressed against the edge of the counter again when she shifted. She hated how full she felt. She hated how warm her skin had gone. She hated that her thighs touched in a way they hadn’t before—and how aware she was of it now.

But she didn’t hate that he saw her. Not really. She didn’t hate the way he watched her eat. Or the way he never told her no.

Later that night, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror for a long time. Pulled up her shirt. Let herself look—really look. Her belly curved now, rounder, heavier, no longer something she could pass off as bloat. Her hips had grown, love handles pushing just above the waistband of her leggings. Her face had softened—cheeks fuller, jawline gentler.

It was all still reversible, maybe. With enough effort. Enough hunger. Enough hate.

She touched her belly lightly. Let her fingers trace its new softness.

But she didn’t feel hate. Not exactly.

She felt… surrender.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

*

It started as a joke.

She was trying on old clothes—her idea. A burst of frustration and self-loathing had led her to pull open the storage bins she’d shoved under the bed when she moved in. All her before clothes. Slim, sculpted things. Tight jeans. Cropped tops. A dress she used to wear when she still cared about being seen.

“Let’s see just how far I’ve let myself go,” she muttered, half-laughing, half daring herself not to cry.

Ethan, sitting on the edge of her bed, looked up from his book. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Nope,” she said. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

The first pair of jeans didn’t get past her thighs.

The second she could wriggle into, but she couldn’t button. Not even close.

She stood in front of the mirror, breathing hard from the effort, stomach pressed thick and soft over the waistband, her reflection swollen with failure. She stared at herself, disgust crawling up her throat—but before she could speak, Ethan’s voice cut through the silence behind her.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

She frowned. “See what? That I look like I’ve been trapped in a bakery for six months?”

He stood, walked over slowly, calm as ever. “No,” he said, stepping behind her. “That you’ve grown into something… undeniable.”

She turned to glare at him, but his gaze was on her reflection. Not on her face. Lower. Watching the way the denim cut into her soft hips, how her belly curved over the button, how her thighs had spread to fill every inch of the fabric.

“You’re not hiding anymore,” he said, almost admiring. “Every inch of you says exactly what’s happened.”

She swallowed hard. “You make that sound like a good thing.”

His voice dropped. “It is a good thing.”

He reached out, hand sliding over the front of her belly. She flinched, just for a second, but he didn’t grab. Just held. Warm. Heavy. His fingers spread slightly, enough to feel the roundness. The weight. Like he was showing her something she hadn’t been willing to touch herself.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Trying to wear the past like it still fits. But this…” His palm pushed just a little. “This is you now.”

Her breathing hitched.

“This isn’t failure,” he said, voice low and close to her ear. “This is surrender. And it looks so good on you.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

She stared at her own reflection, suddenly seeing herself through his eyes—soft, flushed, round in all the places she used to punish. No longer disappearing. No longer pretending. Just real. And wanted.

And the worst part—the part that made her want to crawl out of her own skin—was that she liked it.

She liked the way the button dug into her belly. She liked the way he touched her like she was made of something precious. She liked the shame. And the praise. And the way her body answered to both.

“You don’t have to go back,” he said gently, like an invitation.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her body already had.

*

She hadn’t seen these friends in over a year—some even longer. The invite came through a group chat she’d muted months ago, a last-minute dinner thing, nothing fancy. A casual night at a downtown bistro with too many cocktails and not enough seating. She could’ve said no. She should have.

But something inside her—pride, maybe, or guilt—told her to go. Just to prove she still could.

She stood in front of her closet for almost an hour. Every outfit she tried either hugged the wrong place or wouldn’t zip at all. The jeans were a nonstarter. The black dress with the square neckline had always been her go-to, but now it clung to her belly and left little to the imagination. She finally settled on a long skirt with an elastic waist and a blouse that hung loose in the back, praying it would pass as effortless instead of evasive.

When she stepped out into the living room, Ethan didn’t say anything right away. Just looked up from his book, eyes lingering a little longer than usual.

“Well?” she asked, arms crossed under her chest.

His mouth lifted into something unreadable. “You look… very aware of yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not a compliment.”

“I didn’t mean it as one. Or not just one.”

He stood slowly, walked over, and before she could move, he slipped his hand behind her and tugged the fabric of her blouse taut across her back.

“You’re hiding,” he said softly.

“I’m not.”

“You’re stunning.”

She turned away before he could say anything else. She didn’t want to hear it—not now, not while she felt like she was one hard blink away from crumbling. “I’ll be late,” she mumbled.

The bistro was small, loud, packed. She recognized faces immediately—people she used to run with, lean and polished, wine-glass laughers with their nails done and their comments sharpened just enough to cut if you weren’t looking.

The hostess led her to the table. Heads turned.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the greetings started. Warm, fake, familiar.

But she felt it. The glances. The double takes. The subtle flick of someone’s eyes to her stomach. Someone’s hand patting the back of her shoulder with a little too much emphasis, like they were trying to find what was underneath.

She sat carefully, suddenly aware of the way the chair creaked under her. Her skirt pinched at the waistband. She crossed her arms without thinking, leaned forward to keep the blouse from pulling against her chest.

Across the table, a woman she hadn’t seen since her fitness brand launch gave her a tight smile.

“You look… different,” she said. Not unkindly. Not exactly kindly, either.

She felt her heart stutter. “It’s been a long year.”

The woman’s smile tightened. “Haven’t we all.”

And just like that, the blood drained from her face. The shame hit in full.

The rest of the night blurred. She laughed too loud. Ordered too little. Felt her body every time she shifted, every time she breathed. When someone tried to take a group photo, she ducked out early, mumbling something about the restroom. She never went back.

When she got home, she didn’t say anything. Just dropped her bag on the floor and stood frozen in the entryway.

Ethan looked up from the couch, eyes soft, unmoving. “Rough night?”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

He said nothing, just waited.

“I used to walk into places like that and feel—seen. Not like this. Not like some before-and-after nightmare.” Her voice cracked. “They looked at me like I’d given up.”

Ethan rose slowly, walked toward her, stopped just close enough for her to feel the weight of his calm.

“They looked at you,” he said, “because you can’t be ignored anymore.”

She laughed bitterly. “Not the same thing.”

“It is to me.”

His hand brushed her hip. Not possessive—just enough to remind her he saw her. All of her. Her softness. Her discomfort. Her fight to stand upright in a world she used to command with sharp lines and hard edges.

“They saw someone who’s become real,” he said. “Who’s stopped performing. You weren’t invisible—you just weren’t apologizing.”

She blinked hard, willing the tears not to fall.

“You want them to love you,” he said, stepping closer, “but what you need is to start loving this. The you who walked in anyway. Who felt all of it and came home anyway.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

But when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away.

He pulled her close. Held her. Let her feel the difference in their bodies now—how she filled more space, how he fit around her. She buried her face against his chest and let the shame melt, slowly, quietly, into something heavier. Something warmer.

He whispered against her hair, “You are so much more than who you used to be.”

And for the first time, she started to believe he might be right.

*

She didn’t say much after the hug. Just slipped out of his arms and wandered into the bathroom like her body didn’t belong to her anymore. The overhead light felt too sharp, so she left it off and stared at herself in the dim mirror lit only by the hallway glow. Makeup smudged. Her blouse creased from sitting too long. The waistband of her skirt still faintly marked on her skin.

But something Ethan had said—“You weren’t invisible. You just weren’t apologizing.”—echoed louder than anything from dinner.

She hadn’t felt like herself in months. But maybe that wasn’t because she’d lost who she was. Maybe it was because she’d outgrown her old skin, and she was still trying to crawl back into it.

When she came back out, Ethan was still in the living room, lights low, music humming soft and forgettable from the kitchen speaker. He looked up, wordless, and didn’t ask how she was feeling. He just waited.

She sat beside him on the couch, not too close. There was something sacred about the quiet that she didn’t want to rush. Her voice, when it came, was almost too soft to hear.

“Do you think it’s really okay… to stop trying so hard?”

He didn’t look surprised by the question. If anything, he looked like he’d been waiting for it.

“I think… you’re exhausted from trying to be smaller. In every way.”

Her throat tightened.

“I think you don’t need permission from them. Or from me. But if it helps…”

He shifted, turning to face her more fully. She felt the weight of his attention, the gravity of being seen like this—tired, stretched thin, emotionally bare.

“I like the way you take up space now.”

She blinked hard.

“I like that your presence isn’t something you have to shrink anymore. I like that when you laugh, it fills the room. I like that you’re not hiding in angles and tricks and tight clothes to prove something to people who never really knew you.”

He leaned closer, not touching her yet. Just letting the space between them burn slow.

“I liked you then, sure. But this you? The one who came home instead of running, the one still showing up even when it hurts? This version is extraordinary.”

Her breath caught. For a second, she thought she might cry again. But instead, she just moved—leaned into him, let herself be held again. Really held. Not as something fragile or broken, but as someone whole.

They stayed like that for a long time. Quiet. Warm.

And maybe for the first time in forever, she didn’t feel like she needed to earn it.

[asunflowerana]

Salmon - Inumaki Toge

summary: you always wanted to meet your soulmate; you just didn't thought he would have to save your life along the way.

warnings: soulmate!au, comedy, curse appearance (nothing frightening), and some good old fluff.

“Finish your soup, _____, you don't want to faint in front of your soulmate.” Says your grandmother, trying to persuade you to eat another portion of her still-warm pumpkin with ginger soup.

She’s been using this tactic since you were four, and to her delight, sooner or later you’d end up lifting your spoon and serving your empty bowl again. You can’t help your heart’s greatest desire, yearning for the day you’ll finally find the person who, according to other people’s experiences, will brighten up your whole world.

It sounds almost like something out of a fairytale, your destiny tied to someone especially made it to love you. To be honest, you wouldn’t believe it if it weren’t for the bold letters embedded on your wrist since the beginning of your life. The “soulmate brand”, as your grandmother once explained — the literal first words your soulmate will say to you. Each person has it somewhere on their skin, and nothing, absolutely nothing, can erase it, as the mark is part of your entire being as much as your beating heart is. 

“Will you grant me this dance? ” is your grandma’s brand, the first words your grandfather said to her after gazing for a long time at the prettiest woman he has ever seen around the neighborhood festivals.

And the brands are varied, but they usually make sense for a first meeting, from simple “Hi” and “Excuse me”s, to “Would you like some coffee?”. Well, most of them are understandable, but there are some not-very-funny cases, like yours, that they’re completely senseless.

“Salmon” hides under the long sleeve of your shirt. 

What does “salmon” have to do with all this? Why not something simpler, like a “nice to meet you”?

You’ve created so many theories over time, trying to find a logical scenario where this would be a first-thing sentence. Maybe your future partner is a cook, and he’ll prepare you a Baked Salmon; or maybe he’s a fisherman, trying to sell you one of his late products; or maybe, you’ll work as a waitress at a seafood restaurant, and he’ll just order the best fish of the restaurant. Sometimes you laugh at yourself, just imagining one of these scenes actually happening.

You know that finding soulmates takes time, but if you could only get a hint. Almost all of your friends already found their partners, so why haven’t you? You sincerely don’t care about appearance, or culture, you just want to meet your “universe’s best gift” and understand why the heck his first words to you is a marine fish.

Months pass by, and still, nothing comes your way. You can count on hope, and move forward with your life.

As you finish your second bowl of soup, you wish your grandma a good day and pack your purse to head off to the library two blocks away. The historic building is the best place to spend your autumn afternoons, sitting on a comfy armchair with a book in hand and a tasty hot chocolate along the way. However, your oasis received an interesting addition in the past weeks: something, or rather, someone, has been catching your attention. You don’t know the new customer’s name, but from what you’ve observed (stared, to be frank), he enjoys a lot of mythical books, and prefers to sit alone at a table. 

You know you shouldn't be spending time trying to take note of someone else’s life, but there’s something about him that attracts your mind and takes your eye's attention off the book. It could be the fact that he always wears his coat’s collar up to his mouth, his intriguing grayish hair, or the shape of his beautiful purple eyes that perfectly match his face. 

Okay, maybe you’re noticing too much. 

Sometimes you catch yourself daydreaming about a date with him. He seems like someone polite, even if you never heard him speak. But you don’t have the courage to start a conversation with him, he’s just so… focused on his reading, you wouldn't want to intrude. And besides, a guy like him probably has a girlfriend already.

You return to your previous reading, and by the middle of the sunset, you leave for your house. Grandma said she was going to the supermarket early, so you weren’t surprised to find the place empty when you entered.

But you were surprised when you spotted a finger on the dinner table.

As an instinct, you grab the white porcelain vase from the shelf near the doorway and use it as a protection, your gaze scanning every spot of the living room, and every room of the house. You frown, not finding anything broken or messed up, and the windows are all closed. How did a human finger get on the dinner table then? As far as you know, your grandmother only collects shells.

You type 911 on your phone, anxious by the whole creepy situation, eyes, and ears alert to any signal. While the call is on hold, you approach the table to inspect the unknown finger: It isn’t fresh or dripping with blood, but it strangely looks well-preserved, not marks of degradation. A wave of shivers runs through your body.

“What’s your emergency?” A female voice says through the call.

“Hi, I-”

In one second, your body is thrown hard against the wall by an incomprehensible force. The hit is all your senses can figure out, the sudden pain increasing on your right side while potent dizziness takes over your brain. Fallen on the wooden floor, you take the last of the strength that remains in your muscles to look for what hurt you.

You immediately wish you didn’t make that decision, for you wouldn’t face the haunting creature staring in your direction. A monstrous black shape slowly approaches you, a mouth full of sharpened teeth, and a single lifeless white eye glazed at your form. It mumbles unfamiliar words as it levitates above the floor, a horrid sound that makes you tremble in pure panic.

Is this how you’re gonna die?

Suddenly, you hear the sound of the window breaking into dozens of glass shards, caused by a human form that lands inside your house. You swear, from a quick glimpse, that is the library man five feet away from you, but maybe you’re too dizzy to actually see right. Scared, your eyelids close, and you can only hear the sounds of furniture falling and the creature’s terrifying shrieks. It’s a vivid nightmare, one that you can’t wake up from, but that fortunately ends.

You only open your eyes when you feel two warm, human hands gently holding your shoulders, filling you with the hope that the creature it’s gone. Your gaze widens at the face of your savior.

“It’s you.” You whisper, and unknowingly to you, your sentence is exactly the same words embedded in Inumaki’s wrist. His eyes widen as he realizes it, being able to contemplate the unnatural glow that comes out of your being, the glow that only soulmates can find. 

He found his soulmate.

“Salmon.”

And so did you.

a/n: not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite creation so far. hope enjoy it and giggle with it as much as I did.

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[enmstorytime]

The Hike

My two best friends and I decided to take a month off to hike a portion of the Pacific Crest Trail last summer. In preparation for the hike, we gathered all of our supplies together the week before and divvied them up between backpacks. In order to give us opportunities to take walking breaks we decided to pack a light backpack, a medium backpack and a heavy backpack.

Our heavy backpack held our food, and our cooking supplies. The medium backpack held all of our night supplies: the toiletries, the tent, the camp chairs. Our light backpack held our clothes. All of our spare clothes. We liked the idea of rotating through the backpacks.

But on the second day, we stopped on a cliffside for our lunch break. I was carrying the light backpack, the one with all the clothes we brought, except the clothing we currently had on.

I don't know if I can be blamed, but my friends certainly thought I could be. I didn't place the backpack right by the cliff face, but I propped it up against a tree near the cliff face.

The small earthquake hit about fifteen minutes after we had stopped for our break. We watched the earth ripple, and held onto each other, not realizing until it was too late that our lightest backpack had slid from its pace positioned against the tree, and was inching toward the cliff face.

We watched in horror as one final ripple of the earth bounced the backpack with all our spare clothes off the side of the sheer cliff wall, down, down, down.

"Fuck," one of my friends shouted. "Goddamn, shit, fuck, fuck."

"Our clothes," the other friend stated the obvious. "That was all of our spare clothes."

"Spare clothes?" The first friend asked, "Spare clothes. Those were just our fucking clothes. Do you expect me to finish this month in the same underwear I'm wearing right now?"

"We can wash our clothes," I said, trying to talk my friends down from the catastrophe I worried they'd blame me for.

"We can wash our clothes?" My first friend asked. "You want me to strip naked and climb into the river with my cock out to wash the only clothes I have left for the month?"

"Yeah," my other friend pitched in. "You got some homoerotic fantasy about us all bending over in the river, asses out, scrubbing our clothes together?"

I did in fact have some homoerotic fantasy about watching my two best friends with the water of a river matting their pubes to their dicks while they scrubbed their clothes. My imagination also moved onto imagining them airdrying in the nude, laid out on sunlit river rocks while their clothes dried beside them.

"Wasn't it your bright idea to put our clothes so close to that cliff?" One of my friends asked.

"I couldn't predict an earthquake," I said.

"This is fucking California," he replied. "Couldn't predict an earthquake, my ass."

"Yeah," my other friend said. "If this had cost you your clothes, that would be one thing, but now we all have to pay the price for your stupidity."

"Look," I said. "I'm sorry. If I could make it up to you, I would. If I could scale the side of the cliff and get our clothes back, I would. But I can't."

"I can think of another way to make it up to me," one friend said. "You lost me a change of clothes, so I want your clothes as a change of clothes."

"What?" I asked. "You can't be serious."

"I think we should split his clothes," my other friend said. "You take bottoms, since it was your idea, and I'll take his top?"

"Fair enough," my first friend said. "Hand 'em over."

"I'm not stripping naked on this trail, and just hiking with my dick out." I said.

"We don't need you to get naked," my first friend said, "Strip to your skivvies, keep your socks and boots, and let's get on the trail."

"I really don't want to do that," I said, shaking my head.

"Listen," my second friend said, "Either strip to your undies, or we'll tackle you and take your underwear too."

I looked back and forth between them. Neither of them grinned, or showed me any sign that this was a joke. I really only had the two options: hand over my shirt and shorts willingly or be stripped down to just my hiking boots. I took the first option, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to my second friend.

"Promise you won't laugh," I said, as I started to push down on the elastic waistband of my shorts.

I was wearing tighty-whities under my hiking shorts. And my friends smirked at me as I stepped out of my shorts and handed them over.

"You're a little sweaty," my friend said, taking my shorts from me and staring down at my package which was pressing against the near translucent wet white fabric.

"Stop looking," I said, covering myself with my hands. "Let's get hiking."

"You carry the food for a while," my second friend said. "Lead the way."

We got on the trail, me in my hiking boots, semi-translucent tighty-whities, and the heaviest backpack. My friends hiking behind me, cracking jokes about my underwear of choice.

"They're supportive," I shouted back at my friends, already sweating into the backpack, and certain that my underwear was doing little to conceal me."

We hiked for three more days in this state. Me in my underwear, my friends switching between their clothes and the clothes they stole from me. On the fourth day after the tragedy, we stopped by a river, and my first friend declared it was laundry day.

"You've been a good sport about hiking in your underwear," my first friend said. "As a reward for your positive attitude, Give me your socks and underwear, and I'll go wash them."

I should have been suspicious, but I was grateful. I'd carried the food backpack for the past four days, and I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was set up camp and collapse onto my sleeping bag. So, I stripped naked, handing my socks and underwear to my friend. They hadn't seen me naked before, but by this point my underwear had been sweat in so much, there wasn't much they had left to imagine, and I wasn't concerned about them finally just seeing all of me.

I caught a smirk passed between my friends, but didn't question it. Instead, my friend and I set up our shared tent, me completely naked, my hiking boots left by the food backpack, my friend still fully clothed.

When the tent was pitched, I rolled out my sleeping back and fell on to it, face up, not bothering to shield my cock.

"I'm gonna go wash my clothes now," my friend said. "Should I bring your hiking boots in?"

"Yes please," I said, closing my eyes.

He walked away, and then came back and I heard the thump, thump of my hiking boots being dropped on the tent floor nearby.

I must have slept for a couple hours before I woke to the sounds of my friends coming back to camp.

"Bad news buddy!" I heard the sound of my first friend's voice. "And by that I mean, bad news for you."

My stomach plummeted. I couldn't imagine worse news than the sentence bad news, buddy, after giving my only clothes to a friend. I sat up quickly and unzipped the tent, poking my head out, but unwilling to climb out of the tent.

"We're sorry for giving you such a hard time about losing our clothes," my second friend said, an evil grin on his face. "I guess it can happen to all of us."

"What do you mean?" I asked, although I knew.

"I slipped while washing your underwear," my first friend said. "Long story short, those tighty-whities are floating down the river miles from here."

"This had better be a fucking joke," I said.

"Not a joke," my second friend said. "But I did manage to hang onto your socks... Well, one of them anyway."

I stared at them dumbfounded.

"We know you're worried about sunburning that precious little cock of yours," my first friend said. "So, we figured you could slip this sock over it."

"You don't really have any other options," my second friend said. "Since your sock and boots are the only clothes you have within hundreds of miles."

"And you really expect me to just hike in nothing but a sock on my cock?" I asked.

"We don't see what other choices you have," my first friend said.

"You could give me back the shirt and pants you took from me," I said.

"Wish that we could," my second friend said. "But wouldn't you know it, those sailed down the river too."

"You dropped all my clothes down the river?"

"Except a sock," my first friend said. "I think you understand the position you're in."

I didn't speak to them for the rest of the night. My second friend was kind enough to bring me dinner in the tent, but as he zipped the tent back up, he said, "Enjoy hiding that body of yours tonight, because tomorrow you're gonna feel the sun in all kinds of new places."

We had only brought the one tent, so when my friends came to bed, they unrolled their sleeping bags on either side of me.

"Good night, naked man," they said.

In the morning, I tried to stay in my sleeping bag for as long as possible. But my friends wouldn't let me stay hidden forever. Plus, I couldn't deny that we did only have a month's worth of food. Any wasted days would mean starvation.

I gritted my teeth, and climbed out of my sleeping bag, quickly pulling my sock over my dick and sliding on my hiking boots.

When I climbed out of the tent, my friends quickly packed the tent, and hoisted both backpacks onto their own backs.

"You know I could carry one of those," I said, thinking about the coverage a backpack offered.

"You've already done so much carrying," my first friend said.

"And you'd try to cover that ass," my second friend said, slapping the spot of real estate he'd just mentioned.

I yelped.

"How else are you supposed to turn the lesson," my first friend said, reaching out and pulling the sock off my dick and dropping in the dirt.

"Knock it off," I said, bending over and grabbing my sock, to quickly slip it back into place.

"Fine," my first friend said.

And we started the hike. They let me hike behind them this time. My sock swinging back and forth, the sun hitting my back and my ass.

We hiked that way for the whole day, my friends in front, sneaking peaks behind them, while I clomped along behind them, practically naked except for the boots and the single sock.

As evening fell, we climbed to the top of a flat, treeless plateau. Without the regular scrub trees around us the wind picked up and blew hard against our faces and our bodies. I watched the wind blow my friends clothes taught to their bodies, and felt myself growing stiff under the sock.

Only, as I looked down, hoping that my woody wouldn't be noticeable under the sock, I watched a gust of wind slap against my cock-covering sock, and tug the sock clean off my semi-chubbed dick.

I gasped, and stretched for it, clomping forward in my hiking boots, my cock bouncing painfully against my thigh, but I couldn't reach it.

For a second, the wind pressed the sock to my first friends chest, and I hoped he would reach up and grab it, to save me from a humiliating 3-week, butt-naked (except for the boots) hike. But another gust of wind from a different direction caught the sock and hurtled it over the side of a cliff.

I stood naked, hard, and horrified as I watched my sock, my last hope at maintaining any modicum of decency, fly pell-mell over the side of the plateau, to join the rest of my clothes lost to the wild.

[pokemonblog]

Cooking Week Bundles Vol. 1 S, M, and L will be available in Pokémon Sleep to accompany Packed Portions Cooking Week

Pokémon Sleep is continuing to add new content on a regular basis. Read on below to learn more: Cooking Week Bundles Vol. 1 Include Mawile Incense! Thank you for playing Pokémon Sleep! To accompany Packed Portions Cooking Week, Cooking Week Bundles Vol. 1 S, M, and L will be available! Included within are items that can help you befriend and raise Mawile.You can encounter Mawile by setting…

[borathae]

Cozy | Yoongi x f.Reader

"In celebration of your anniversary, Yoongi surprises you with a cozy winter holiday in your own little mountain cabin. The days are spent enjoying the tranquility, the evenings are spent enjoying yummy cocoa and the nights are filled with love making. On your fourth night, you surprise Yoongi with a very special massage."

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Witch!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life Fluff, Smut

Warnings: the supernatural aspect of them is basically not present, so this is also for all the besties who don't like supernatural stuff, Yoongi being the ultimate boyfriend, she gets such princess treatment, casual nudity, cuddles and kisses, the next ones are for the smut part: the coziest love making, sub!Yoongi, service Dom!Reader, pillow prince!Yoongi, soft Dom!Reader, massage with a massage candle, can you call this waxplay?, use of lube, anal fingering, prostate massage, use of a prostate vibrator, she just wants to make him feel good, multiple orgasms (m.receiving), he has sensitive thighs, cock worship, body worship, kisses, praise, loving dirty talk, loveliest aftercare, this is so sweet and comforting, they're so in love holy fuck

Wordcount: 9.7k

a/n: being treated like a princess and treating my boy like a king in return? yes. this is the ultimate life and nobody can fucking stop me. enjoy besties, i love them so much that i want to cry 🤎 ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOONGIE I LOVE YOU <3

It will be your anniversary this Wednesday and Yoongi surprised you with a trip to the Austrian alps. He rented out a cabin high up a mountain, which was only accessible by a narrow one lane path. He told you to pack warm and take your favourite books and then took you in his jeep. 

You and he haven’t left the cabin yet except for your second day where you drove down to the local supermarket to buy groceries for the week. You will be here for six nights. Yoongi cooks for you. He already announced that he will. You also take a lot of walks and built a snowman in front of your cabin. The afternoons you spend doing your own things. You like to read, while Yoongi likes making music on his laptop. Every now and then, one or the other would look up for a moment to catch a glimpse of the other person. Come dinner time and you find yourselves cooking together whilst chatting about the most random of things. 

Tonight’s dinner was authentic Carbonara with local eggs and bacon. It tasted wonderfully. You went for two portions because you couldn’t get enough. Yoongi was so happy, watching you enjoy the meal and feeling full just watching you. 

The latter has been occupying the bathroom for the last thirty minutes, but seems to finally be done. You are reading on the couch when the bathroom door opens. The scent of his shampoo instantly fills the room. 

“The bathroom's still toasty if you wanna go now", Yoongi says as he leaves the room. He is wearing his sleep pants, but no shirt, rubbing his hair dry with his towel.

You follow him with your eyes, feeling your heart flutter. He is so perfect. His arms tense and flex as he dries his hair, his chest stretches in the position and his tummy looks so soft. Your eyes linger on it for longer. He isn’t sucking it in anymore. 

In the beginning of your relationship, Yoongi always sucked in his stomach when he was shirtless in front of you. Years passed and the once conscious act turned into something subconscious, something his body did on reflex. For a few months now, you began to notice that he stopped doing it more and more. It has been four days since you came here and not once have you seen him suck in his stomach. 

“What?” Yoongi asks as he sits down on a chair in front of the floor mirror, “why are you looking at me?” 

“It’s nothing. I don’t wanna say it yet”, you say and get up to use the bathroom as well.

“What do you mean?” he asks and you can watch how his stomach instinctively tenses up. 

“No, it’s nothing bad. You’re just so handsome. I was swooning over you again”, you assure him and give him a back hug. One kiss to his cheek. Another to his neck. The last on top his shoulder. 

Yoongi looks at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“I’m taking a shower now. Okay?” you ask as you give his shoulders a gentle massage. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“My handsome prince”, you say and snicker when this makes him lower his eyes bashfully.

You close the door, but don’t lock it. You are in the midst of stepping inside the shower when Yoongi knocks.

“Yes?” 

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

The door opens. Yoongi doesn’t look at you on purpose. 

“Sorry, I forgot my brush”, he says and fetches it from the counter. He waves it in the air, “found it.”

And with that, he leaves again, keeping his head lowered in respect. You snicker to yourself. He is such a sweetheart. You wouldn’t have minded if he looked at you, but he still made sure not to be disrespectful. It is the same with any kind of touch which could be interpreted sexually. He could kiss you, grope you, fuck you and ruin you without asking if he wanted to, but would he do so? Of course not. He only touches you when he knows you want it, just as he only looks when he knows you want it. He makes you feel so important and loved with it. You aren’t a piece of meat to objectify for him, a pretty thing to perform at all times. You are his most precious person, his favourite human and the treasure he will only worship if you allow him. Oh it feels so good to be with someone who allows you to be so disgustingly human. 

Which makes the fact that he started relaxing his stomach in your presence all the more precious. He is finally allowing himself to be so disgustingly human in your presence. 

You love this man so much.

Yoongi is wearing the full pyjama set once you leave the bathroom. His hair is dry and fluffy. His bangs hang into his face, making him appear so much younger.

He lifts his eyes and lowers them instantly when he realises that you were naked. 

“It’s okay to look, I don’t mind” you assure him and leave for the bedroom, “I forgot my pjs. Silly me.”

You return soon. You and he are matching. You had the idea and Yoongi instantly took the soft pyjamas you offered. Even your fluffy socks are matching.

“Did you brush your teeth yet?” he asks you.

“Not yet. Why?” 

“Do you want hot chocolate?” 

“Oh yes”, you gasp with sparkly eyes.

“Okay”, he says and gets up from the couch to hurry to the kitchen. 

You in the meantime get cozy on the couch, bundling up in a woollen blanket.

The cabin is made up of four rooms. The small entrance area where one can store their outside clothes and skiing equipment if needed. Then a sturdy door separates it from the living room and kitchen area, keeping the chill air out that way. 

At the other end of the living space, were two doors next to each other. One for the bathroom and the other for the bedroom. A metal wood burner in the corner closest to the bedroom door keeps the small cabin warm and in the corner closest to the entrance way door, a corner bench with a dining table and three chairs was located. Everything was made out of wood, the floors, the walls and most furniture. It looked traditional and cozy. 

The couch was very obviously from Ikea though. It didn’t feel out of place. 

You turn on the cozy sofa, resting your chin on the edge of the backrest so you could watch Yoongi make hot cocoa.

He makes it on the stove with fresh, local milk and actual chocolate. Apparently Austria has this very famous chocolatier, who also makes chocolate especially for hot cocoas. You and Yoongi picked out a few flavours from the store, which piqued your interests.

Yoongi walks to you with his hands balled into fists. He presents them to you.

“Do I gotta pick?” you ask.

He nods his head.

“What are the flavours?” 

“Banana milk chocolate or cinnamon nougat.”

“Ooh okay uhm”, you tap on his left hand. 

He turns it and opens it, revealing the small chocolate bar. It looks tiny in his big hand.

“Nice, cinnamon nougat”, you say.

“Mhm, good choice”, he says and turns to strut back to the stove. 

He stirs in the chocolate, humming to himself as he does. You keep watching him, kicking your feet giddily. When will the limit of your love for him be reached? You always think that your heart can’t take anymore, but then it grows and grows and grows and it never gets too much. 

Yoongi divides the cocoa into two mugs, giving you more than himself. He fills the pot with some water so it would be easier to clean later and then struts back to you.

You stretch out your hands so he can give it to you over the backrest.

“Careful, it’s really hot.”

“I know. Uh, ah.”

“I told you it's hot”, he whines and tugs the mug away from you again.

“I got it now”, you say and pull your shirt sleeves over your hands.

“Careful.”

“I got it. See? Just had to use my brain.”

He snorts and chuckles, rounding the couch so he could sit down next to you.

“Thank you so much for this. It’ll warm me up in no time.”

"Are you cold? I'll get more wood. And a second blanket”, Yoongi babbles and tries to get up. 

You, however, keep him down by laying your legs over his lap, “I’m cozy. Don’t worry.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Thank you.”

“Okay, yeah. Just tell me if you change your mind.” 

“I will, my love”, you speak softly as your eyes wander over his features adoringly. You are resting back, keeping the hot cocoa on your tummy for now so it could cool down a little. 

Yoongi is sitting up, fumbling with the edge of the mug by tracing it mindlessly. He glances at you and looks away. His cheeks gain colour. 

You notice and give his tummy a little nudge with your toes.

He glances again. You give him a smile. He barely retorts it because then he is looking away bashfully again.

He takes a breath in the distinct way he always does when he wants to talk. Nothing comes. He is hesitating. 

“What do you wanna say?” you ask him.

“How did you know that I wanted to say something?” he gasps, looking at you with widened eyes.

“Just the way you breathed.”

“Ah”, he flusters, “am I that predictable?”

“No, it’s just that we’re spending so much time with each other.”

“I guess, yeah.” 

“What did you wanna say?”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I won’t laugh, promise.”

“What did you mean by what you said earlier?”

“What did I say again?”

“That you didn’t wanna say it yet”, he says and touches the side of his neck in self soothing, “it made me feel insecure”, he adds in a whisper.

“It did? No Yoongi, I’m sorry”, you gasp and sit up to close in on him. Your legs are still thrown over his lap. The mug rests on your thighs for now, “I’m sorry that it made you feel this way. It was something totally positive, but I just didn’t wanna say it yet in order not to ruin it.” 

“What do you mean? I don’t know what to make of this.”

“Okay so, uhm, please don’t take it to heart, but I noticed that you stopped sucking in your tummy when you’re shirtless with me.”

“My tummy?” he touches it, “I’m sucking in my stomach?”

“Not anymore. You did so for the longest time and I understand why you did it, but since a few months ago, you stopped doing it and I guess I just looked at you because I thought that you were so beautiful this way.” 

“Oh. Uhm”, he lowers his head shyly, “okay. I didn’t know that I did that.”

“That’s okay. I understand, you have issues with your torso.” 

“Yeah”, he nods his head, “fuck sorry, I’m an idiot. I thought you were thinking something bad, that I looked weird or something.”

“No, my love. Not even for a millisecond.” 

He nods his head, sagging his shoulders in relief.

“Okay. Uhm, thank you. I needed to hear this.”

“Of course, my love. Thank you for communicating.” 

Yoongi glances at your lips, “can I give you a kiss?” he whispers.

“Yes, but careful the choco”, you allow him. 

Together you make it work without spilling anything, ending the loving kiss with a little stub of your noses. 

Yoongi leans back with his eyes racing over your face.

“Did I seriously suck in my stomach all the time?” 

You nod your head.

“I didn’t realise that I did it.”

“I figured. When my current life started out and being naked in front of someone else suddenly became a regular thing, I began sucking in my tummy too until you helped me gain a lot of self confidence. I think we’re all a little too mean to the part of our body which literally keeps all our important organs safe and cozy”, you say and rub your tummy gently. 

Yoongi chuckles, his eyes soften. You giggle, scrunching your nose.

“Does it look weird now that I’m not doing it?”

You shake your head, “it didn’t look weird as you did it and it doesn’t look weird now. You have the perfect tummy”, you say and give it a little rub.

Yoongi looks into his mug, trying not to smile but failing miserably. His cheeks are rosy.

“My cutie”, you say and kiss his cheek.

He turns his head, begging for a kiss with longing eyes and parted lips. You can’t deny him, not when he looks so pretty like this. You kiss him as best as the mugs allow you to. 

You only break the kiss once air gets sparse. 

“This was nice”, you whisper. 

“Yeah. Nice”, he breathes, studying your lips as if they were his favourite artwork. 

You kiss him unexpectedly, resulting in his lips to tremble and his breath to hitch in his throat. You don’t let it deepen as it was only supposed to be a quick kiss, sitting back and taking the first sip of the cocoa.

“Mhhm yummy”, you say and drink again.

Yoongi tries his’ as well, nodding his head in agreement.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Really sweet though.”

“Yes, but that’s the best part. The sweet really makes it so yummy.” 

“Yeah”, he agrees and licks his lips after taking a sip, “do you still wanna watch a movie?” 

“Sure, I’d still be down. You?” 

“I guess, yeah.”

“So no”, you chuckle.

“No, sorry.”

“That’s okay, we could do something else. Oooh, do you wanna try the game?”

The cabin offers a Wii (mounted to the dresser because people can be assholes) with some multiplayer party games installed. You have been talking about trying Mario Party ever since you realised that it was on there. 

“Yeah we could do that. I’ll suck really bad though”, he says. 

“That’s okay. I’m not the best either”, you say and get off the couch to turn on the Wii, “should we compete against each other?” 

“Can’t we be a team? Is that possible?” he pouts, “I don’t wanna compete against you”, he murmurs sadly. 

“Fine, we’ll be a team. Okay, idea. One round we’re a team and another we’re competing? Just for fun?”

“Yeah, okay. I like this idea.”

The game is so much fun. You and Yoongi make up the perfect team. There is not a moment where one of you raises their voice or snaps at the other. The only times you and he get a little louder was during your victory cheers and especially thrilling moments during the mini games where you squealed and squeaked in excitement. It was shared squealing however and based on the thrill of the game.  

The second round was just as fun. Your cocoas have long been finished and you are cuddling under the blanket. You have your head on Yoongi’s chest while he is resting against the pillows. You can feel his voice whenever he speaks and you always get gently shaken around whenever he is caught by the thrill of a mini game. 

Yoongi ends up winning and despite his initial distaste against competing, he is very smug about it. 

“What can I say, I’m natural”, he says, putting the control down, “waaah, I’m a genius”, he sighs and drops his head into the pillows, smirking like the cocky little shit he currently is.

“Wah, look at you gloating”, you tease, nudging his chin.

“I’m not. I’m just saying. I’m a total natural.”

You shimmy up his body until your chests are touching and you have him under you. Your elbows rest in the pillows, his big hands rest themselves on your lower back. He is looking up at you with a smirk, yet fond eyes.

“You’re cocky”, you say, combing your fingers through his hair mindlessly.

“You’re just salty that you lost.”

“Wow”, you laugh, “and here I was thinking that you didn’t wanna compete against me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Mh-hm sure”, you joke.

Yoongi chuckles deeply. His face is glowing in adoration. You brush his bangs out of his face, giving his forehead a little massage as you do it. Over and over. It feels so nice to Yoongi. He feels in paradise right now. Your weight is on him, the blanket traps your shared body heats and your heart is beating so calmly against his chest. Your touch is also so gentle and filled with love and Yoongi thinks that you look especially pretty right now. 

He is in heaven. 

You giggle and rest your head on his shoulder. You can nuzzle your nose against his neck like this and Yoongi can hug you so, so tightly. He does it instantly, rubbing your back up and down and in little circles. 

“This is so cozy”, you whisper.

“Yeah, it’s cozy”, he agrees with his eyes closed. 

“Can we stay like this for a while?” 

“Yeah. Please.”

And so it happens that you cuddle for heaven knows how many minutes. It is so wonderful to both of you. To be so close, to share warmth, to hug and snuggle and adore. It is truly the best ending of an already amazing evening. You don’t talk a lot during the cuddles and that’s perfect. There is no better kind of comfort than truly enjoying the cuddles without any kind of distractions. 

You are soon starting to get sleepy however. Well, Yoongi more than you. And so you agree on leaving the couch for bed cuddles instead. You brush your teeth next to each other and while you leave for the bedroom first, Yoongi stays back to use the loo. 

You are sitting on the bed when he comes in. A candle is burning on the bedside table. Yoongi joins you on bed, lying down on his side while you keep seated. He looks up at you with a toothless, cute smile and reaches out to hold your hand. He is tracing your knuckles as he does. 

You retort the smile, shimmying into a more intimate position by taking a second pillow and using it to support your left arm. You are also on your side, giving Yoongi an opportunity to hide away in your chest. He takes it instantly, stubbing you with his nose as content, little purrs leave him. 

You close your arms around him, burying your right hand deep in his hair. You play with it, massaging his scalp and his exposed ear whenever you get the chance. His purrs grow in volume each time you pay attention to his ear, and from what you can tell, he rubs his feet together under the blanket whenever it happens. 

“Are you comfy?” you ask him in a soft voice.

“Yeah”, he whispers, nodding his head. He slides his hand under your shirt, rubbing your waist slowly. His palm feels incredibly soft against your skin, he warms you so well.

“Me too, my love”, you say and peck his ear. You follow it up with a little rub of his earlobe. Yoongi purrs and wiggles his toes. If someone would ever ask him the definition of perfect moment, he would say it is this one. To know that no one else is around and that he can truly let all his guards down is so incredibly relaxing to Yoongi. He likes life at the estate, he likes living together with his forever family, but sometimes he still feels a little too nervous to let go because of the possibility of someone walking in on you and him. So this holiday has been a dream for him. It’s just you and him and that means he can be the cuddly, snuggly boyfriend he so longs to be.

“Boongie?” you whisper into the silence.

“Mhm”, he hums, sounding sleepy.

“I have an idea.”

“Mhm.”

“What if I used the candle to give you a massage?” 

‘“Mhm? What?” he breathes.

“It’s a massage candle and I could use the wax to massage your back. You know? Rub your shoulders, trace your spine, get that tension out your lower back”, you say, scratching his back in demonstration. 

Yoongi shivers at the touch, rubbing his feet together. 

“Would you like that? I just think that it could be romantic.”

“Yeah”, he whispers.

“Yeah?”

He nods his head.

“Oh Yoongi”, you hug him against you, “I’m so happy. Wow, I’m gonna make you feel so good and cozy”, you say and break the hug to get the candle instead. 

Yoongi takes off his shirt in the meantime, lying down on his tummy. He lifts his arms above his head, hugging the pillow this way and squishing his cheek against it. He is watching you with half-lidded eyes, anticipating the massage with a fluttering tummy. You could do anything to him right now. Anything, as long as it means that he can stay in this cozy dream forever. 

“Oh? You’re already shirtless. Wow”, you say and crawl to him. The candle you have already blown out, holding it safely in your hand, “are you excited?”

He nods his head.

“Me too. I like massages.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say more.

“Actually, I like pampering you in general. Have you noticed?”

Yoongi thinks of all the countless, wonderful times you pampered him. All the baths you made him, all the times you washed his hair and soaped his body, all the massages and “super duper special king spa treatments” you give him, all the flower bouquets you make him and all the small little rubs and touches you give him throughout the day. Yoongi thinks of every time he felt adored and pampered by you and he feels his entire body tingle in reaction.

“Yeah”, he answers you, arching his back into your touch because you placed your hand on his back.

“I really like doing it”, you confess and sit down on the back of his thighs.

Yoongi hopes that you never stop doing it. He feels so unworthy of it sometimes until he remembers that you wouldn’t like it if you knew that he is putting himself down. Then he starts feeling grateful for it.

“Are you comfy like this? Am I too heavy?”

“You’re never too heavy. You’re perfect”, he lulls his words, having his eyes closed.

“Thank you, this is so sweet of you to say.”

You rub your right hand up and down his back, tracing the way his spine swirls with your fingertips.

“Are you ready? It will be really warm.”

“Yeah, ready.”

“Okay, here it comes”, you say and tilt the candle.

Yoongi reacts in a full body squirm and his thighs tensing under you. You trace his spine, painting a waxy line from between his shoulder blades down to his tailbone.

“How is the temperature?”

“Nice”, he sighs.

You place the candle aside and begin spreading the massage oil with the flat of your palms.

“Oh it feels so nice. Really warm. It’s like a warm oil pour”, you say as you work carefully to cover every inch of his back with the oil.

“Mhm”, he hums, nodding his head slowly.

“Oh my love”, you gush, “my love, your skin is so soft. You’re so perfect, my love.”

Yoongi flusters. He stays silent because he is shy and doesn’t know how to react to your compliments, but he hopes that you never stop with them. He loves being adored. He loves it so much. Staying alone and sheltered was never better than having someone like you in his life. He loves being loved and he loves loving in return.

Now that the oil is evenly distributed, you begin with the massage. You start off with his shoulders, using your thumbs to locate the tenser spots and using them as well to break them down in circular motions.

“You barely have knots, my love”, you tell him, massaging along his shoulder blades.

“Is ‘cause you always massage me”, he mumbles with his lips naturally pouted by the position he finds himself in.

“Yeah, that’s true. I do massage you a lot”, you say, “but then, you massage me a lot too.”

“Mhm. Is nice.”

“Very nice.”

“All of it is nice.” 

“Yeah? Am I doing well?”

He nods his head and shivers as you run your fingertips along his skin. 

“All of it’s nice”, he repeats, “I like this trip so much.”

“Me too, Boongie. I like it so much. You really picked out the perfect place.” 

“Thank you. I wanted it to be perfect. You’re my love.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest. You run your eyes over his features with butterflies dancing in your tummy. He is such a loving person. He always says that he is cold and unfamiliar with romance, but he is so full of love. He is warm and sweet and loves without being aware that he does. You lean down and kiss the shell of his ear.

“You’re my love too”, you whisper.

“Mhm”, he hums happily and smiles slightly, “I like the cocoa every night.” 

“Yeah, me too and all the yummy food you make.”

“Yeah, thank you. I try to be good.”

“You are the best. I’m so spoiled with you”, you kiss his ear again, “and lucky”, you add, giggling sweetly as you squeeze him gently. 

“No, I’m lucky”, he corrects you and shifts as you trace his spine, “I like it there.” 

“Yeah? There?” 

You trace his spine by massaging along each side of it. He has little dimples at his lower back. You include them in circular motions before going up again. You repeat it over and over. Down to his dimples and up to his shoulders.

“There is nice.” 

“Then I’ll keep doing that”, you say and fall silent together with him.

You and he share in the silence for a while. The only thing audible is the faint sound of your hands gliding over his oiled-up back. The sound is just as relaxing as the massage. For both of you. And while Yoongi enjoys the touch, you find great relaxation at the sight. You love how his skin and muscles shift and move under your fingertips. It is both fascinating and deeply relaxing. He looks so soft and squishable. You love it.

“Can you do my legs too?” Yoongi breaks the silence in a whisper.

“Your legs?” you whisper as well.

“Nevermind, it’s fucking stupid.” 

“No, it’s not. Of course I can do your legs. You just gotta help me with your pants, I got oily hands.”

“Yeah, okay. Cover my butt with something.” 

“Okay I will.” 

Yoongi shimmies out of his pants, kicking off the last few inches. You place one corner of the blanket over his butt, giving him a little pat.

“There we go. All modest.” 

“Don’t touch my butt.” 

“I’m not touching your butt, doofus”, you chuckle, “stay still, I’m getting more oil.”

“I’m serious, don’t touch my butt.”

“As a matter of fact, I will, Yoongi. I will only touch your butt from now on", you tease him sarcastically. 

“Whatever", he murmurs, closing his eyes again because you are moving to his legs.

You snicker, “doofus. By how you keep talking about it, Imma think you secretly want me to touch your butt.”

“No, I don’t. You’re wrong.”

“Okay okay if you say so”, you say with a fond chuckle on your lips. You begin spreading the oil on the back of his calves, “are your legs in pain?”

“Yeah, they’re sore from walking.”

“I’m surprised that you can get sore.”

“Yeah well….it’s bad.”

“Aaah I see. It is so bad and not just a scheme to get me to massage you longer.” 

“Yeah, it’s bad.” 

You snicker, “you’re cute”, you say and begin feeling up his calves, “and genuinely tense. Wow, does this hurt?” 

“A little. It’s okay.” 

“Sorry, I gotta loosen you up.”

“It’s okay”, he assures you, “we gotta take a break from walks tomorrow.”

“What? Noo, I was so excited for the walk. Can’t we do it again?” 

“Fine, okay. We’ll take a walk tomorrow.”

“Yay, thank you Boongie.” 

“Mhm”, he hums. A second of silence then he chuckles.

“Tickles?” 

“No, I’m just laughing at myself.”

“Why?”

“You give me one whine and I’m already saying yes. Fuck, I’m so weak for you”, he says and laughs.

“Yeah, true”, you snicker, “maybe I’m just a really good convincerer.” 

“That’s not even a word”, he cackles.

“Yeah it is. Just like skincarer is. And massagerer.” 

He snorts, shaking his head. He covers his eyes with his own hand, laughing with his shoulders.

You laugh with him, wiggling your shoulders happily. You love making him laugh. This is your greatest joy in life. 

“You’re so silly”, he says and sighs loudly, “god. Convincerer”, he murmurs and snickers to himself. 

“You must admit, it got a ring to it.”

“I guess, yeah.” 

You snicker and lower your eyes back to his legs. You guide your hands up his calves until you have his thighs under your palms. You continue the path, applying pressure to get out some of the tension. You stop at the edge of the blanket corner and drag your hands back down his legs again. All the way to his ankles. Back up with the goal of going down at the end. 

“Is this doing something for you?” you ask.

“Yeah.” 

“Good.”

You want to keep doing this motion for a bit because it really helps loosening everything up. Yoongi falls silent and so you share it with him. The wonderful thing about being with each other is that you can both talk and be quiet and it’s equally nice to do. Massages are the perfect time for both and it seems that Yoongi is in the mood for silence right now. 

What you don’t know however is that Yoongi has very sensitive thighs (you know that) and that your innocent touches suddenly start to feel very exciting to him. They feel nice and tingly on his calves and the back of his thighs, but feel almost electric on the inside of them. 

You rub your hands up his thighs, guiding your thumb along his inner thighs this way. Yoongi follows the touch, feeling flutters in his stomach.

He wants to get back in control. He doesn’t want to ruin this sweet moment by being horny. He isn’t like this. Not him.

Your thumbs draw circles on his upper most thighs. Yoongi shivers and bites down on his own lower lip.

But it’s so hard to stay calm. Oh it is so hard. 

Down again. Your attention is on his calves for now, while Yoongi wishes for it to be on his thighs instead. You draw relaxing lines for a little while and then you finally take on your journey up his thighs.

Nice and relaxing on the back of them, but electric on the inside. Yoongi opens his legs just a little. 

“Is that nice?” you ask him and stay lingering on his inner thighs.

Yoongi had hoped you would. That is why he spread his legs like a needy boy in the first place. 

“Nice”, he sighs, twisting a bundle of the pillow as his senses blur. He can feel every second of your touch. 

It is so obviously innocent. So full of love and adoration and the desire to relax. Yoongi feels so guilty for making it into something so exciting, but he can’t help himself. He’s got such sensitive thighs and your fingers carry special magic in them. One touch was enough to enchant him and now he is paying the consequences. On top of that, he is feeling so cozy and good tonight. This is a happy kind of horny. 

Your fingers slide under the hem of the sheets, brushing against the swell of his buttocks. Yoongi tenses up, not in discomfort but desire. He is on fire. This is making him so needy. 

“Oops, sorry. Too far”, you gasp, retreating your touch instantly.

Yoongi lifts his butt, aching for your touch.

“Please.”

Your stomach tingles. You feel intensely overwhelmed for just a second. He looked so needy. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask him, gawking at him with widened eyes and your hands resting on the back of his thighs.

“Mh-hm fuck”, he gets out and squirms. He lifts his hips again, tensing his thighs.

Your heart flutters. He is needy. This isn’t just a silly trick of your mind. Your innocent touches made him needy. You genuinely didn’t plan on doing this to him, so this is speeding up your pulse insanely.

“What’s the matter?” you ask him, rubbing his inner thighs to soothe him. This touch is not of innocent nature. This is meant to make him needier.

“Horny”, he whispers and lifts his butt again.

“Wow, this just made me so excited. You just opened the floodgates”, you say and chuckle, “are you serious?”

He nods his head and squirms, opening his legs further.

“Touch me. Please”, he begs quietly.

“Your bum?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you specifically tell me not to touch your butt?”

“I was dumb. Wanna be touched. Please.” 

“Fuck, you’re hot. Wow Boongie, I didn’t plan for this evening to go that way, but I’m so excited”, you say and giggle. You claim the space above him for a moment, leaning down to bite his ear gently.

Yoongi sighs, tilting his head to give you better access. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You?” 

“Mh-hm yeah. What do you want me to do?” you ask him.

“Just do anything.”

“Not enough, I need you to use your words.”

Yoongi whines in embarrassment, shaking his head. You close your fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze in warning. He mewls quietly.

“Finger me”, he chokes out, following it up with a shy, “fuck, please.” 

“That’s better”, you praise and caress his neck, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, my love”, you whisper, basking in his breathy sighs. He looks so pretty making them with his lips parted and his eyes closed. You kiss his ear, “now stay. I’m getting the lube.”

Being organised is awesome because it only takes you a few seconds to get what you need. Lube and a little surprise for later. You’ll make sure to include it once Yoongi is blissed out. 

You climb on top of him and rub his back. Yoongi moves into the touch, relaxing under it. He is so excited. Being touched and pampered made him feel so needy tonight. Ninety percent of your massage nights don’t end in sex. They are truly just relaxing bonding moments to you and him, so tonight is an exception. An exception you are more than willing to take advantage of. You love when Yoongi gets the kind of needy where he begs for your touch. Those occasions are rare and precious. And leave you way too needy for more.

You draw circles on his lower back, using the opportunity to pull off the blanket. Yoongi arches his back the moment he is exposed, presenting his bubble butt to your eyes. 

“So pretty”, you say and grab his buttocks to knead them. He’s got so much to offer. For someone who is naturally petite, he has the most voluptuous butt ever. You love it and how it feels between your fingers.

Yoongi purrs, feeling his head begin to blur. You are exposing his hole every now and then, making him need it to be touched and explored. The air feels so cold on his skin, all he wants is your warm touch and the stretch of your fingers filling his hole.

Except that the first experience you give him is that of your insanely warm and wet tongue grinding against his hole.

“Ah”, Yoongi moans loudly, tensing his thighs. He wants to cum. That’s how fucking good the surprise feels. He is suddenly so fucking excited and turned on and giddy that he could genuinely burst.

“Mhm, mhm, mhm”, you let out as pull back with a sigh, “mhm so good”, you lick his hole, “so good, mhm”, you bury your face between his buttocks and grind the flat of your tongue against his hole by nodding your head.  

Yoongi didn’t plan on being loud, but here he is. Being loud. And it is solely because you decided to start it off by using your mouth on him. Him. The man with the biggest oral fixation ever. The man who absolutely loses every functioning brain cell the second your mouth is on any kind of pleasure spot. Yoongi didn’t plan on being loud, but it’s fucking impossible when you are giving him his favourite thing.

You break away again with a slurp. It is just for gathering your saliva because seconds later, you are spitting on his hole. You pick it up with your pointer and middle finger, spreading it on his hole in upwards and downwards motions. 

Yoongi reaches behind himself and spreads his own ass, dimpling his buttocks this way.

“That’s my good boy, spread yourself for me”, you talk to him sweetly, gazing at his exposed hole with love drunk eyes. He is so pretty.

Yoongi obeys gladly, feeling hazy. You made him wet, which makes the air feel so much colder on his skin. Never before did he crave your warm touch more than right now.

He mewls softly, arching his back. 

“You’re so pretty”, you say and place your hands over his’. You lower your tongue back to his begging hole and lap at it in quick, short licks. He flinches each time you do, clenching under your tongue needily. 

“Fuck…”

This is driving him insane. It feels so good. Your tongue is so wet and warm. Your hands over his’ feel so adoring and safe.

Yoongi buries his face in the pillow and groans. He drags out the sound until he has to breathe in, doing so in gasps and wiggles of his hips. 

“You’re cute”, you say, lifting your mouth from his hole. You make up for the loss of contact by rubbing his wet rim, playing with his balls with your other hand. He has the softest skin. You love feeling it up and giving it a good massage. 

“Good. Good what you’re doing”, he gets out, parting himself wider. He sticks his butt out just a little, presenting his hole almost proudly. 

Oh what a contrast to his once shy nature. He talked about covered butts and you staying away from it and now look at him. He is arching his back and parting himself willingly. 

“Keep it like that, love”, you order him, lifting your hands for just a few moments so you could reach for a spare pillow. You place it under him, guiding hid hips down gently. 

Yoongi loves when you guide him, rolling his hips into the pillow as if he was making love to it. 

“So needy”, you giggle and reach to your side for the lube.

“Yeah”, he agrees.

“Mhm, I love it. Spread yourself again, my love.”

He obeys instantly, waiting for your touch with bated breath. 

You open the lube bottle and tilt it over his hole, letting some of the lube trickle down. 

He doesn't react to it, but that is because he is Yoongi and he sometimes likes to stay quiet during sex. He also doesn’t react when you touch his rim to spread the lube, but you don’t mind these days. 

It was a little different at first. Of course it was. Having him be quiet even during something normally as vocal as sex was surprising at first, but with time and learning each other’s intimacy languages, you really started to enjoy his quiet moments. Because as long as Yoongi is quiet, it means he is so lost in the pleasure that he forgets to make sounds. 

“You’ve got the prettiest hole”, you praise because you love filling the silence with words of adoration. He deserves them. 

“Mhm.” 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah, ready”, he says and lifts his hips a little. 

“I’ll start with one.”

“Do it.” 

You rub the pad of your finger up and down his hole a few times before finally pushing in.

Yoongi loses all kinds of tension in his body instantly, sinking into the pillow as if you just pushed the turn off button to his muscle functions. He releases an audible sigh, following it up with a small “mhm”. 

“Slipped right in. You’re so soft, my love”, you purr, moving your finger in and out carefully, “hurts? You’re so tight.” 

“No. Good. So good.” 

“That’s good to hear. Tell me if it’s uncomfy.”

“Is good, keep going please.” 

There is something deeply meditative about fingering Yoongi. Which is something highly unusual to say about such a sexy act, but it really relaxes you tonight. You aren’t going fast or rough, chasing the pleasure like a madwoman craving her high. No. Tonight, you are going slow and gentle, making it all about the journey rather than the destination. 

You are taking time to really savour it and worship him in the process. While your dominant hand is busy with loosening his hole gently, your other hand is busy caressing his back and sides. You rub your palm up and down, trace his spine and give the softer spot a little squeeze. All while your finger gives him the feeling of being full he so dearly craved. 

Yoongi feels in paradise. He likes when you are rough and you force the pleasure to the surface. But there is something insanely healing about being eased into it. You take time, take it slow, keep it gentle. Yoongi feels so cherished and safe when you give it to him slowly. 

And how much more intensely it builds up. The warmth goes so much deeper and feels so much hotter than if you did it fast.

It has been quiet for some time already until Yoongi breaks it with a whisper of your name. He sounds so out of breath and hazy.

"Yes, my love?" 

“Can you use a second finger?” 

“Of course”, you say and slip out to put more lube. You give his rim a little rub and slide back inside. Two fingers at a time, you go slow to prevent pain. The pain never comes, only warm tingles so, so deep inside him.

He groans, clenching around you needily. 

“So tight again”, you speak softly, pumping your digits in and out of him. You curl them each time they pass his prostate, sending electricity all through his body.

“Mhhm”, his voice shook as he made the sound. 

“More lube?” 

He shakes his head, “feels so good.” 

Your stomach tingles. He is so sexy when he talks like this. 

“Mhm”, you hum and lean down to kiss your way up along his back until you have his ear under your lips. You keep the rhythm of your fingers going, nibbling on his ear slowly. 

Yoongi sighs, chasing your kisses with shivers running down his back. They go straight to his prostate, allowing your fingers to feel so much better than they already. Which means a lot because he is genuinely so far gone in paradise. 

“You feel so good”, he sighs and follows it up with a deep, happy moan.

“Mhm, my good boy”, you praise him and sit back up so you could really concentrate on fingering him. 

The tranquillity returns. Slow and gentle, you fuck open his pretty hole. You watch every shift and change, take in how it hugs your digits and moves around them and caress his back as you do it. Truly, you could do this for hours. Tranquillity might have returned, but Yoongi is a lot noisier than he was before. 

He gasps and sighs. He lets out little moans and deep groans. He even purrs and whispers your name every now and then. You kiss his back or ear with every sound he makes, feeling so entirely high on this moment that you have to moan with him every now and then.

You are sitting, gazing at his loose hole when Yoongi speaks again. Or begs for that matter.

“Faster.”

“Faster. Like this?” you ask and speed up by curling your fingers against his prostate repeatedly. 

“Ye-yes. Holy fuck, urgh god”, he groans and lifts his hips off the pillow to press back on your fingers.

“Shit, is this doing it for you?” 

“Yeah, yah, y-yeahah.” 

“This is so hot. So fucking hot, oh god.” 

“___, please don’t stop aaah.” 

“I won’t, my love. Fuck, this is so hot”, you moan, switching between looking at his flushed hole and his scrunched face. 

It is buried halfway in the sheets, glowing in bliss. Strands of his hair are sticking to his forehead, his brows are furrowed tightly. His cheeks are so pink, his lips are as well. 

“You’re so handsome, it’s insane”, you croak and look at his butt.

He can’t stop fucking back onto your fingers in squirmy arches of his back. It must feel so good. You are hitting the right spot. The truly, perfect right spot. 

“I wanna make you feel so good, Yoongi love. Shit, wanna make you shake”, you confess and speed up, adding movement to the curls. You use your wrist for it. 

Yoongi’s moans grow in volume and in quantity. If he isn’t moaning, he is gasping and breathing out the neediest curses. 

“Holy fuck, it feels so good. What the fuck are you doing?” he chokes out as he tries and fails to get on his knees. His legs are shaking too much to hold his weight. He is destined to drop back into the pillow and use what little strength his hips offer to fuck back onto your fingers.

“What are you doing to me? Oh god”, he keens, shaking under you.

“Is it that good?” 

“Yeeeees”, he groans and grabs the sheets above his head to twist them desperately, “fuck ___, fuck holy fuck.”

“I’m going insane, you are so sexy”, you moan, staring at him with blown out pupils. His ass is so noisy all of a sudden. So wet and greedy. You need to give it to him harder and make the noises grow. 

And oh how they grow. He sounds so wet, matching the volume with loud moans and needy variations of the word “yes” and your name. Truly, two words are enough to drive you mad. 

“You’re taking me so well”, you try to praise him, but quite frankly you can barely get the words out. He is stealing your sanity by being such a handsome, perfect man for you.

“A-ah ah aha ha”, Yoongi moans loudly, arching his back repeatedly as you abuse his prostate in the most amazing ways. He is close. His stomach is so tight, his legs so weak and the fire between them is reaching unbearable levels. You worked him up and now the crescendo is close. Yoongi swears he might need to scream soon.

“Mhhm Yoongi, that’s it. That’s my kitten.”

He is so restless, so squirmy and shaky. It is turning you on like crazy. Your fingers are starting to get tired, but you don’t slow down. You want to give him the fingerfuck of the century. He deserves to feel amazing.

“I have to cum”, he moans, shaking like crazy, “ah ah”, he squeaks breathily, getting on his knees to fuck back. His legs tremble uncontrollably, but he preservers, arching his back oh so prettily. 

“You’re so sexy. You’re so fucking pretty.”

“I have to, to cu-cum. ___ ah”,

“I’m not slowing down baby, cum on my fingers. Go on, show me.”

Yoongi yelps up in pleasure, breaking apart on your skilled fingers. He is clenching and pulsating around you, burying his face in the mattress so he wouldn’t scream. His fingers are twisting the sheets, his body twitches repeatedly. He isn’t leaking from his cock, which means he is currently experiencing the best kind of orgasm ever. A prostate orgasm. So intense and deep inside and insanely addictive, that one is never enough. 

Yoongi drops into the sheets once the shaking finally subsides. He huffs out air repeatedly, writhing weakly. He is tensing around your fingers, fucking the pillow as he keeps chasing the warmth. Of course one isn’t enough. 

“More”, he begs, “more please.” 

“You’re driving me insane”, you croak, “god, my fingers are gonna cramp. Give me a second, yeah?” you say and pull out.

“Please back. More please, don’t stop. Back”, he begs desperately.

“I am. Feel it”, you say and drag the tip of the prostate vibrator over his hole, “do you know what this is?” 

“Yeah”, Yoongi exhales, feeling drowsy in excitement.

“Do you want it?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Here it comes”, you say and push it in easily. 

Yoongi purrs, pushing back onto it. Once it sits snug inside him, you turn it on with a press of the button, switching to his favourite setting instantly. You don’t want to make him wait, not when he is so beautifully lost in bliss. Tonight is about him and giving him as much pleasure as possible.

Yoongi turns into jelly instantly, melting into the pillow. He releases small moans and purrs, enjoying the intense vibrations with parted lips and closed eyes. His prostate is throbbing. No words will ever be able to describe how good the toy feels after such an intense high.

“Feels good?”

He nods his head vigorously. His cheeks are flushed, his pink lips so wet from his drool. 

“That’s good to hear”, you say and lay down beside him, running your hand up and down his back. You prop yourself up on your elbow and lean down to kiss whatever parts of his face are exposed.

Yoongi chases you with needy purrs and quick gasps. He spills tears, whimpering so heartbreakingly that you get worried.

You shoot up, cupping his cheek.

“What’s the matter? Does it hurt?”

Yoongi peels his eyes open, looking at you in devotion. He spills a few tears.

“I love you”, he chokes out.

“I love you too”, you whisper, “oh Yoongi, you are so full of love.” 

He whimpers and touches your hand. You hold it instantly, enjoying how he is squeezing you weakly.

“Am I yours?” he asks.

“You’re mine. So entirely mine”, you whisper, brushing his hair out of his sweaty forehead.

Yoongi rolls his eyes back and closes them, growing slack in blissed relief. He is yours. Entirely yours. This feels so good to hear.

He furrows his brows and moans. The reassurance makes the toy feel insanely good all of a sudden. Better than it already did. 

“Touch my cock, please”, he hears himself beg even though his brain currently can’t process anything other than the addicting pleasure deep inside him. 

“Of course, my love. My beautiful love”, you say and give his forehead a kiss for good measures before you shimmy down between his legs again. 

His cock lies perfectly so you can take it between your fingers and jerk it. You pick up some lube as well, spreading it all over his cock and balls.

The vibrator still purrs and pulsates inside him as you begin your cock massage. You go slow for now, paying attention to his balls as well. They are so big and hard already. You know he is going to cum so fucking messily once it’s time.

“Oh god”, Yoongi croaks and twists the sheets, curling his toes as well. His hips chase your hand, trembling weakly because the pleasure is making him so feeble. 

“Now I can feel you all up”, you say and run your hands all over his cock, “you’ve got the prettiest cock. Such a pretty cock.” 

“I can’t do this for long.”

“It’s okay. Tonight’s about you, my prince. Let go whenever you need to.”

Yoongi melts even deeper into the sheets. Yes, that’s possible. You are ruining him to the very core and it feels so good that Yoongi loves every fucking second of being so entirely weak. Your hand is moving exactly how he needs it to. There is pressure around his cock, your warmth is seeping deep into him and your skin is so incredibly soft. You touch him with love. Yoongi can feel it. This isn’t just a touch meant to make him climax, this is a touch placed with love and adoration and because he is important to you. 

Yoongi fears that he might black out once he has to orgasm. You have him so weak. 

“I have to- ah.” 

“It’s okay, my prince. Let go. Just let go”, you encourage him with your sparkling eyes glued to his cock. It is so pink and flushed, glistening prettily because you make him so, so wet. 

“___”, Yoongi moans your name, which makes the orgasm which follows even more intense. Your name means everything to him. Having it be the last thing he can form before his orgasm utterly ruins him, makes him feel actually fucking high. 

Guttural moans follow after your name, his body shakes so much. 

“That’s it. Give me everything. That’s my prince, you’re such a good boy. Give me everything”, you talk him through it, feeling dizzy at the view. He is shooting so much cum and doing it so aggressively at that, that it is covering all of your hands and most of the sheets between his legs.

“God baby, I’m milking you dry. You’re such a good prince, my love. Such a good pretty prince.”

“___ please don’t- ah! stop!”

“I’m not stopping, my love. I want everything of you, you’re such a good boy like this”, you speak softly while your hand pumps his throbbing cock quickly. You apply pressure whenever you reach his tip, squeezing ever single droplet of cum out of him this way.

“___ please, ___”, Yoongi moans into the sheets, shaking harder with every repetition of your name.

He won’t be able to go again after this one, you can already sense it. You are completely destroying him to his very core and he loves it. You love it too. You really, really fucking do.

“Good boy, that’s my good boy. Give me everything”, you moan, allowing him to truly release everything with just a squeeze of your fingers around his tip and a gentle fondle of his balls, “fuck look at you, that’s my prince, squirt for me. Fuuck.”

Yoongi is screaming. At least what he considers screaming. Fuck, it feels so much better than good. This is healing. He didn’t even know how much tension he had inside until you finally squeezed it out of him.

Yoongi doesn’t know how long his orgasm takes, but he knows that once it starts to die down, everything begins to hurt fast. He feels so drained and ruined and his nerves beg for a break.

“Stop”, he croaks weakly, tensing up in discomfort.

“Enough?”

He nods his head, fleeing your hand.

“Good boy, I’m already stopping”, you say and drop his cock to turn off the toy. You go to pull it out, but Yoongi stops it. 

“Leave it, please.” 

“Okay, I will”, you and bend down to kiss along his spine, “god Yoongi, you’re such a good boy. And you’re so handsome and pretty and beautiful. My love, my beautiful love”, you whisper as you worship his back with kisses and touches.

Yoongi melts into a puddle of safe relaxation. There is no better way to recover than being adored by you. You do it so honestly. He always feels so much because of it. 

Once you reach his face, you lie down on your side again, propping yourself up on your elbow. You run your fingers over his face and through his hair, tracing his ear as well. You want him to feel how much you adore him and that he can feel safe with you.

Yoongi enjoys your touches with closed eyes and soft purrs. He feels safe and adored. You are doing such a good job in showing it.

Like this, you and he share moments of tranquillity again where no words need to be exchanged because being with each other is already enough to understand everything. 

The tranquillity gets broken by Yoongi fluttering his eyes open. You smile at him instantly. 

“Thank you”, he whispers. 

“That was a hell of a massage wasn’t it?” 

He chuckles tiredly, nodding his head. If it was humanly possible, his pupils would be little hearts right now. But it isn’t possible and so he gazes at you as if you were his fucking everything (which you are).

“Mhm”, you peck his cheek, “I had so much fun. I love when you’re so relaxed and clearly enjoying it. I love your moans, my love.”

“I loved it a lot”, he says and closes his eyes again, “you’re perfect.”

“No, you are perfect, my love. Gosh, I could eat you”, you say and bite his cheek.

Yoongi chuckles as much as he whines, leaning into it.

“Heh”, you let out, “now lie still, I’m cleaning you up. You made such a mess”, you say as you sit up to start cleaning.

“It felt so good. I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t apologise, my love. I told you, I’m obsessed with you when you’re being like this.”

“Mhm.”

“The sheets are gonna be so cold and wet tonight though. Oh god, I think we need to pay for deep cleaning.” 

“Afterwards. You’re gonna get them messy too.”

“Oh? Ohoho Yoongi, what do you mean?” you coo playfully as you squeeze his buttocks softly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Mhm, I do. I’m really excited for it.” 

“Mhm.”

“Wanna keep the toy still inside?” you ask as you run your hands up and down his messy inner thighs.

“Maybe a bit longer. Sorry, it’s so nice.” 

“Don’t apologise. You can keep it in for as long as you want to”, you say and lean down to bite his left buttocks.

Yoongi complains loudly, but soon breaks into happy giggles with you. The giggles will continue all throughout the cleaning where you and he can’t seem to stop joking around and will only slowly die down once you and he are cuddling because for some reason, Yoongi can’t stop making funny noises and cracking you up with them.

[cassatelle]

Day 5 of @bucktommypositivityweek: outsider perspective 1128 words Rating: General Audience Tags: Fluff, Soft, Coming Out, Referenced/Implied Homophobia

The sound of the doorbell jingling broke the quiet of the nearly empty restaurant. Debbie glanced up from her spot behind the counter; it was him again.

It was hard to believe it had been two years since he first stumbled in, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. She remembered that night clearly. The clock was nearing closing time, and Debbie had been lingering by the counter, dreading the inevitable task of throwing away the uneaten food she’d so carefully prepared. The place had been too quiet, too empty, and her heart had been just as hollow. He really missed his husband on the days like this.

Then, he’d walked in, all exhausted, asking if it was too late to order, mumbling about not having the energy to cook. His words had been tentative, almost apologetic, as if he was expecting to be turned away. Debbie had told him it was no problem at all. Though the truth was, she hadn’t even closed yet because there hadn’t been enough customers to justify it. She’d packed his order with trembling hands, filling the container with a far larger portion than he’d asked for. 

Since then, he’d become a regular, showing up almost everyday—some days at the weirdest time, late in the evening or early in the morning— with occasional absences for a few days of the week. He’d always arrived with a smile, though the tiredness still clung to him like a shadow. He’d ask her how she was, how business was going. One evening, she unconsciously referred herself as Tía. Then, on a whim, she started to call him Sobrino. To her delight, he kept coming, as if he didn’t mind the name she threw. She took it as a consent.

It wasn’t until he showed up in his firefighter uniform, soot-streaked and weary, that she finally understood why he skipped those few days. He’d explained it with a tired smile, mentioning his overnight shifts. And from then on, she’d made a habit of giving him even bigger portions, claiming it was her way of thanking him for his service. In truth, she simply liked him—liked the way he brought a bit of life into her otherwise boring routine. Sometimes, she’d keep the shop open until midnight or flip the close/open sign a few hours before she was supposed to, just in case he had another late or early finish and needed a warm meal to end his day.

He always came alone, ordering one portion with the same polite smile. She’d tease him sometimes, asking him to bring his girlfriend, promising to throw in an extra shrimp. He’d only smiled in response, never giving much away.

But lately, there has been a change. His tired face had started to light up more, his eyes brighter than she’d ever seen them, his steps lighter. She’d caught him laughing at his phone once, and another time, he walked in wearing a new scent. Then, one evening, he started ordering two portions, or began asking her to add or exclude certain ingredients. And that's how she knew he had a girlfriend.

Tonight, as she prepared his order, she couldn’t help but mention it. “You seem really happy these days, pequeño,” she said, her hands moving with practiced ease as she assembled his meal.

He chuckled. “Yeah, things have been good, Tía. How’s the restaurant today?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Eh, my story can wait. So, who’s this lucky woman, hm?”

His reaction was not what she expected. Instead of the shy smile or fidgeting she’d imagined, he seemed taken aback, face unreadable for a moment. Debbie almost apologized, thinking she’d overstepped, but then he smiled, a little weakly. “Uh, it’s a man, actually. I have a boyfriend. Not that he’s lucky to be dating me or anything, but yeah… a boyfriend.” He looked at her cautiously, guiltily. “Is that… okay… Tía?” he added, it took her a moment to realize why.

For a brief second Debbie could see the hurt on his eyes. She wondered what could have happened to turn the brave, cheerful boy she knew into a frightened, cornered mouse. Whatever it was, she felt bad for bringing that memory back.

She blinked, collecting herself quickly. “Ay, of course! Men, women, no different. Love is love, no?”

His usual big, crinkly-eyed smile returned, and with it, the warmth she’d come to expect.

“So that’s why you so happy? Must be nice having a boyfriend, eh?” she teased lightly.

He let out a laugh, a genuine sound that made her smile in return. “Yeah, it is, honestly. I haven’t been dating for so long and it’s... it’s really great. He's really great.”

Debbie gave him a big smile. “You should keep him, then.”

“I’m planning to,” his whole face softened, glowed.

Debbie handed him the food and gently patted the back of his hand. “Tonight’s on me, as a celebration. And I’m serious—it’s fine, I’ve had enough customers today,” she quickly added, seeing the protest forming on his lips. “I’m happy for you, mijo.”

“Thank you, Tía.” He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You should get a boyfriend too.”

She clicked her tongue, playful. “My husband’s ghost will come to me if I dare to find another man.”

The day finally came. He walked in as usual, but this time hand-in-hand with a tall, handsome blonde man.

Before she could greet them, the blonde man flashed a grin and spoke up, “Hola, Tía, me llamo Buck. Uh... or, Evan. Well, Tommy calls me Evan, you can call me whatever you like.” but before Debbie could respond, he continued, “Did I say it wrong, Tía? My friend told me that. Please, tell me if that’s wrong and I will kick his ass.”

Debbie burst into laughter. “That’s really good. And mo kicking ass, please.” She then turned her gaze to him—the regular, Tommy, apparently. Funny how she learned his name from his boyfriend instead, after two years exchanging conversation. “So this is the one making you so smiley, eh?” She gave him a teasing look.

Tommy simply smiled, cheeks a little pink. 

But Buck, clearly enjoying the moment, wasn’t going to let it slide. “Aww, do I? Do I make you so smiley, Tommy?”

Tommy grinned, titling his head slightly before admitting, “You do.”

Debbie, not wanting to interrupt but knowing they came for the food, clapped her hands together. “Bueno, can I take your order now? You two can continue your lovey-dovey over the seat there.”

They both chuckled. “Sorry, Tía. And yes, the usual please.”

“One spicy, one not spicy?”

“Perfect,” Tommy confirmed with a nod. Then, he raised an eyebrow playfully, “And please don’t forget our extra shrimp.”

[3amfanfiction]

You and Johnny have the team over one weekend afternoon. The boys are sitting in the living room, having a drink and shooting the shit when you head into the kitchen to start on dinner for everyone.

You’d already brushed off the offers to help. The kitchen was your space and you enjoyed cooking for the people you loved. You and Johnny had been together for years and his teamfamily was your family. It wasn’t the first time they’d been over for the weekend or even longer in the case of Simon. Just last summer the water pipes had burst in his neighborhood and he had ended up spending a few weeks at yours while it was fixed. You don’t think you’d ever heard Johnny talk as much as he had then. Just a constant stream of thought to his best friend who only replied a fraction of the time.

Today you were planning quite the spread and you were eager to see how the boys would like it. You hadn’t made a bad meal yet and you knew Kyle constantly pestered Johnny for a bite when he brought leftovers to base for lunch. If you started packing bigger portions, that was no one’s business but your own.

They were halfway through a discussion on the most recent play of football on the tellie when they hear, “Johnathan Hamish MacTavish!!” from the kitchen.

John, Simon and Kyle all pause and turn to look at Johnny who is shrinking in his seat. His wide eyes darting between the three of them in terror.

Almost as one, the other three stand up and collect their drinks. They make their way to the back porch, ignoring Johnnys half strangled, “wait—“ as they step outside and close the door, none of them turning to look back into the house.

With a nervous swallow he jumps up and wipes sweaty palms across his jeans before hurrying around the corner towards you.

When he gets to the doorway he sees you standing beside the counter, the dishwasher open and your face set in an unimpressed mien.

“Hi lovie, did you need some thing?” A puppy dog look trying to soften the obvious irritation you were sending his way.

Before you get a chance to do more than raise an unamused eyebrow he notices the dishwasher standing open beside you, filled with the dirty dishes from the night before.

“Shite! I was supposed to run the dishwasher, wasn’t I? I’m so sorry, hen, I flat forgot.” He does look genuinely apologetic but it’s not the first time he’s forgotten to do something youve asked. You’d even reminded him last night before going up to bed, but it’s no surprise he forgot with how quickly he followed you upstairs.

“I need half the stuff in there for dinner tonight. Kind of hard to cook with dirty dishes, isn’t it?” His sheepish expression intensified as he slowly started to shuffle towards you, attempting to soften your ire.

“I’m so sorry love. I’ll fix it.” Earnestly looking through his eyelashes as his chin tucks towards his chest.

“Damn straight you will. You’re going to wash everything in there.” You say sternly, not allowing him to pull you into his arms. “AND put it away!” You sidestep his grasp and head to the fridge, pulling out a beer of your own.

Without another glance his way you head out to the back porch to sit and relax with the others while he does the dishes.

Next || Story Repository

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

02 fly high. where you have yet to realize what ushijima will mean to you.

<< 01 clear skies. | >> 03 shining light.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: double post this week, I'm feeling like i need some motivation to keep going. i wrote this a while ago, and am super excited with how this part ends, but i still feel like the flow isn’t the best here… word count: 1.4k warnings: some angst if you squint terms: furoshiki -- cloth that is used to wrap bento

june, first year

“curry rice!” you grin at the ash blonde haired boy, plopping a neatly wrapped bento on his desk as you slide into the seat in front of him. ever since your brother introduced you to him, he has become a constant in your everyday school life to the point that the two of you are almost inseparable. 

“are you coming over after practice again? we have that japanese homework that i need your help with” you shrug off your jacket, sweat sticking to your skin from the walk to school. summer is coming on quickly now, coaxing the spring blossoms that you loved so much away. 

semi hums in agreement as he unties the furoshiki and opens the bento excitedly. “it smells amazing, y/n! i am hungry thinking about it now even though i had breakfast.” he pouts at you. 

you laugh wholeheartedly, feeling something like satisfaction. it is one thing to have your family compliment your cooking, another to hear such sincere praises from your friends. you think this might just be it. high school might be better than you thought after all. after all the disappointments and heartbreaks from junior high and even before that. 

“thanks, eita. now keep it before you make the whole class hungry.” you poke fun at him as you pull out another set of wrapped bento, this one in plain cat print. it was the plainest, non-feminine-screaming furoshiki you could find after the one with crashing waves that you wrapped semi’s bento in. 

you didn’t normally bring bentos to school since both your parents are always busy with work. even this furoshiki is a recent addition after you graduated from junior high, when you started packing some meals for yourself. 

“so, you remember how ushijima-san helped me with my wound a few days ago?” you sound hesitant even to yourself. inside, you wanted to kick yourself for following through with this now that you are actually in the process of it, but it is too late. so you might as well get it over with. “i made an extra portion for him to thank him for his help… could you pass it to him at practice?”

“ehhh, why does he get one too? i have known you for two months now and it’s only my first time receiving a bento from you.”

you roll your eyes at the boy. “if you help me, i will make you a strawberry shortcake.” bribing him is easy when you knew he enjoyed the cake you shared last week. you breathe a sigh of relief when he does not pursue the topic any further. 

semi is quite the competitive persona, so it did not surprise you when that was the tangent he went off in, instead of the typical, do you like him? that other people would assume. this is good for you. you do not want him to misunderstand your intentions, and it’s not like you harbor those feelings for ushijima. you just strongly dislike the feeling of being in anyone’s debt. 

“how is practice for interhigh matches going anyway?” you smile at your newfound friend who you got along with as naturally as breathing. 

yes, high school will be different. i will see it so. 

it is pouring outside later that afternoon regardless of how clear the skies were when you walked to school in the morning. the sound of volleyball practice fades into the background as you pull out a blank music sheet and start scribbling the tune that has been rattling around your head today. 

today, when you climbed the stairs to the gymnasium and watched the practice match your school is playing against the college team that came in, you had expected to experiment with the melody when you get home later. you note that the usual starting lineup were on court, with the exception of one of the wingspikers being subbed out for ushijima. even though he is just a new first year. perhaps this is the lineup that the coach has in mind for the interhigh tournament, you had thought. 

and even though you have seen countless of your brother’s matches over the years, this one felt different. the spiking form of the player as he begins his approach, swinging both arms backwards before leaving the ground, feet kicked out behind him, and making contact with the ball with his left hand, sending it back into the opponent’s courtside, felt different. 

it had felt like you were given wings to soar high above the clouds when all life did was cover up the blue skies that you loved so much. it had felt like coming up for a full breath of fresh air after being dunked in water. it had felt like you were alive again, for once in a very long time. 

and the melody that you had been crafting takes on a life of its own, taking its first flight from your hands and rise high up into the sky. twisting, turning. triumphant. the notes flow onto the sheet as your hand struggles to keep up with your mind. 

before you know it, you hear semi calling your name from the court. eh, the match is over? you glance at your watch, showing two hours after when you arrived at the court. “yes! be right there!” you yell back, swinging your belongings onto your shoulder and making your way downstairs. 

music sheet in hand, mind far ahead of yourself, wanting to play it on your violin already, you venture to find your friend. semi is standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed while waiting for you. “were you paying any attention to the game, y/n?”

“what– take a look at this first,” you shove the paper in his hands, excitedly waiting for his response. one could say one of the reasons you two got along so well is your love for music. 

he takes his sweet time reading your rough draft and giving you a “hmph” before returning it to you. “fine, i forgive you for missing my set. this is an acceptable excuse, i suppose. it is no small feat to overcome a creative block.”  

semi shoots you a mischievous smile before slinging his arm over your shoulders and messing your hair up with his other hand. “SEMI”

“well done! but no next time though” “no promises”

another voice cuts through the air, stopping both of you from making a bigger scene. you had resorted to trying to make his hair stick up vertically as revenge. 

“miyamura-san…” ushjima holds out the cat clothed bento to you, slightly amused by you and semi. “thanks for the curry rice, it was delicious.” 

“waa, a compliment from ushijima-san, your cooking must have been amazing, miyamura-san,” a red-haired boy pokes his head out from behind ushijima, whom you would later learn is none other than tendo satori, a troublesome boy who always seemed to be able to see through you. 

you beam at his compliment, “heh, thanks guys.” swinging your bag to the front, you shuffle the things around in your bag to make space for the box. he had neatly tied the furoshiki around the box, which caught you by surprise, as semi had returned his to you in a clumsily packed fashion. you surmise that the rising ace in front of you is an athlete who probably likes to keep his life neat and in order, he seems like the type. 

“so what are you up to later, semi-semi?” 

“ah, i am going to y/n’s to study”

“can i come with? i have nothing else to do.”

“no! if you’re so free you can practice more volleyball.” 

semi banters with the red-haired boy, which sounds like a regular occasion to you. you chuckle to yourself, picturing ushijima, the stoic spiker, playing the referee between the two boys. now that would be entertaining to watch. 

your eyes meet ushijima’s, to which he raises his eyebrow at you as if he’s saying what’s so funny? you shrug, feigning innocence before turning away from him. 

neither of you realized it at the time, but ushijima gave you wings to fly, even before you really knew each other. 

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[papathe5th]

I've been very feral at the idea of Papa V Perpetua slowly conditioning the reader until he has complete control over them. Bonus points if this reader is close to Copia--possibly even Copia's assistant? :3

- 🦇💜

At long last, I have completed your order, 🦇 💜 Anon. And, if you liked the WIP I posted, then I know you’ll love the finished product.

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader

Rating: E (explicit)

Words: 3700

Tags: love-bombing; manipulation; co-dependency

You couldn’t breathe without Papa V Perpetua.

Tonight, as your text messages piled on top of each other without an answer to topple the rising tower, your heart sank deeper into your stomach and thrashed as if it were drowned in acid.

Forgive me, Papa.

Whatever I did, I regret it.

Please forgive me.

Tonight, as you scrolled through all your shared secrets and sweet nothings, you bitterly remember the beginning.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

It began like all of your late night shifts, with an email. And, like all of the emails you sent out, you signed it with “From the Office of Frater Imperator.”

Do you have a name, or should I call you Office?

The response came a minute after midnight, and it was from Papa V Perpetua himself. Or, as he signed everything he got his hands on, PPV.

In your journey to the past, through the many messages you sent ecah other, you stumbled upon the first time you ever addressed his signature.

Shouldn’t it be PVP?

You texted him weeks later, when he convinced you that it was perfectly acceptable to reach him on his personal phone. And after you took it upon yourself to become his confidant and not just The Office of Frater Imperator.

PVP? Player vs. Player?

A laugh escaped from you and your boss caught it. You made sure he didn’t catch you slipping your phone back into your hidden suit jacket pocket.

“What are you squeaking about, little mouse?”

You weren’t lucky he was in a good mood that evening. You had worked hard on keeping him happy. Cooking his favorite dish to take to work, then pretending to be too full so that he could have the rest of the huge portion you packed. It was one of the many ways you laboured for The Ministry.

It was also labour nobody was paying you for, but you gained a feeling of satisfaction watching Frater Imperator, the Papa Emeritus at the time of you joining The Clergy, moan while enjoying something of yours.

When you made your excuses and said you were happy that he loved your cooking, you meant it. You were happy to see him eating at all.

When he first ascended to the highest position, you watched him waste away in his temporary office for weeks. It was you who encouraged him to eat and to go to sleep while you took over his duties from 5 PM to midnight.

That was how it all began. During a late night shift, when you met the new Papa, his fraternal twin. And you used your real name to sign an official email for the first time.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

Tonight, you were hopeless. A hopeless hyperventilating mess. After a couple of hours of boundless bliss in Papa V Perpetua’s presence, you have fallen into the bottomless pit of despair.

Papa.

I’ll stop now.

I’ll stop texting.

You had met him in the flesh for the first time only hours earlier, during The Black Mass. It was his first time preaching to The Ministry, and he was fresh off performing the newest plasm to the European congregation. He was equally as excited as he was nervous and he shared these secrets with you. He shared all his secrets with you. You were his confidant.

Papa V Perpetua let you know that he appreciated your presence without a word. He made eye contact, melting you in the pews. When he winked your way, you had chills running up your down your body, almost as if his long lash had stirred a wind inside the chapel. And, as he placed the Body onto your tongue, his thumb pulled at your bottom lip before you placed the upper one atop it.

Hours earlier, you lingered behind after every other sibling had returned to the dormitories.

“There you are!”

He appeared once more at the altar, looking relaxed after discarding his mitre and opening his collar. He even rested on the edge of it, his head leaning on one side and his smirk halfway up his painted cheek. “What would I do without you?” Patting the spot next to him, he sighed like he had just shrugged off a heavy weight off his shoulders. “You really are an angel.”

“You would’ve figured something out,” you smiled wide, walking slowly towards the marble slab so that you wouldn’t sprint into his arms.

“I mean it,” he lowered his voice, looking down at you, so that not even the Dark Lord Himself could hear his latest secret. “You are my guiding light through these trying times. You are my angel.”

The hand that had patted the hard surface was now squeezing the soft flesh of your side, the leather it was wrapped in keeping you body safe from being electrified by his touch. It was too late for your soul for he had you burning yourself out like the light he needed you to be.

And he breathed into you. When he pulled down your bottom lip all the way and your mouth fell open for him, he breathed into you.

His tongue slithered inside and your surrender was immediate. It lay flat against the bottom half and allowed him to slither across it, the lingering smoke and a sting of red wine seeping into your taste buds, saliva splashing against him like waves. And just as you adjusted your jaw to fit him, Papa pulled away and dragged a string of drool. And it tethered your moaning mouth to his sharp grin.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he sighed in satisfaction, licking his lips and breaking the link, clearing more black paint off the pink. “I dreamed of you looking at me just like this.”

And you almost cried out when you saw your saliva disappear between the pink, puffy exposed lips of his. You wanted to melt into his mouth. Or have him shove himself down your throat. Whatever it took to meld your mortal souls together.

Papa pressed his chest against yours, smashing your lungs. His hand on your side held you high against him and his fingers under your chin kept all your attention on him. As if you could ever survive without the white flame in his left eye to warm your your chilled spine.

“I dream of you every night,” you gasped, grasping onto his forearm as if you would fall down. “Every day, too.”

You couldn’t picture tomorrow without seeing your phone screen light up next to you on the bed. And you didn’t want to fall asleep while he was still awake.

I can’t sleep. I can’t believe you’ll finally be at the Ministry tomorrow.

Tomorrow will come sooner if you sleep. Sweet dreams, my angel.

He filled your dreams with the same two words he fulfilled them this evening.

My angel.

This evening, your phone buzzed in your hidden pocket, under your black ceremonial robes. And Papa felt it as he shoved his thigh between yours. You didn’t, being too busy listening to the beating of his heart as it slammed against your ribs.

“Who is that?” His smirk shrinked, teeth tucked away and his hand patting you down. “Who’s calling you?”

“Oh,” you settled your breathing, but it was a struggle. “Nobody.”

“That’s not what my brother is called,” he read the notification out loud.

“Fuck,” you focused your glazed over eyes on the screen when he forced you to face it. “It’s a timer. I…I’m supposed to have dinner ready for him in an hour.”

“Hmm?” Papa pressed his naked lips together, a line of pink on the white canvas of his painted face. “He still hasn’t learned to keep himself from starving?”

“He’s been…stressed.”

You tried to take back your phone, but Papa insisted on looking at the notification again.

“Too stressed to meet with his long lost twin brother,” he turned his lips into a frown, a shadow falling on all that white paint. An exaggerated expression. “He’s lucky he has you to calm him down.” His lips returned right side up, showing you his smirk.

“I can try talking to him again.” Your hand slid from his shoulders to his chest, soothing the wrinkles in his silk cassock and the broken heart it was dressing.

One was Papa’s biggest secrets were his feelings about his brother. He had confessed to you that the rules Frater Imperator enforced in his Office were not only insulting, they were arrows aimed at his heart. And, when your boss didn’t even bother to welcome him in The Ministry, sending Marika Psaltarian to give him a tour that skipped the wing in which you worked out of, your heart bleed for him.

“Don’t bother, angel,” he sighed, but the heavy burden didn’t slide off his shoulders this time. “You’re not the one who made up those ridiculous rules. And I don’t want you breaking them by mentioning my existence in his presence. You did say he has been stressed lately.”

Many a messages have been exchanged between the two of you about Frater Imperator’s moods. And, while Papa sounded understanding in text, and even over the speaker of your phone, the pain of those pointed arrows couldn’t be masked anymore.

This evening, he returned your phone and sent you off to your night shift with a kiss to your forehead. And, tonight, you replay it in your mind until his kiss fades from your brain like it had after you rubbed the smudge of stage paint off your skin.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

Tonight, without him, you couldn’t breathe. You replayed everything he ever wrote to you, recorded for you or said to your face. All his emails, his text messages, voice notes and the memory of his mouth. We’re within walking distance but we can’t be with each other.

The last words he ever said to you tonight. The text message you keep scrolling back to.

Was he feeling your absence? Or was he setting your boundary? Did he miss you now? Will he hate you forever?

You sent out one more message before tears flooded your eyes and headache clouded your mind.

Papa.

I’ll stop talking. I’ll stop texting.

I’ll stop coming to your sermons.

But I want you to know that if you were on the other side of the door, I’d let you in. I wouldn’t keep you waiting like your brother.

Tonight, while sitting alone in Frater Imperator’s office and wallowing in your own misery, a knock came at the large, locked door.

The sound of it startled you out of your sorry state, and your eyes cleared of tears enough to see the time: eleven o’clock. The others left six hours ago, Frater Imperator had left four hours ago and you had another one to suffer through. There was nobody left here but you.

“I thought you weren’t going to keep me waiting.”

“Papa,” you cried out, choking on the bitterness until your throat opened up and you could breathe again.

“My angel,” he breathed down on you and blew a wind to fill your lungs.

His face paint and mask was in place and his clerical robes were nowhere to be seen. He manifested out of the darkness, coming to you in all black, from where the paint ended on his throat to the tips of his boots. Black suit jacket thrown on casually and a button up that blended into the paint. His trousers seemed to grow out of shadows under his shirt and his boots made themselves heard on the new polished floors.

“Breathe, angel. Breathe. Have you been crying?”

His gloved hands reach for your face and you let him smother you to his chest where you can relearn the music that his heart plays and teach your own the rhythm in which to beat again. And you apologized. You lost track of how many sorties you spilled all over his shirt. But you still remember the burn of his lips at the crown of your head. It was one for each apology.

“I can’t leave you alone ever again, can I?”

You begged him not to. And, when he brought the both of you into the large, airy office, as he sat you down on the big, soft sofa, Papa had you confess.

And your own secrets poured out of you, while his were written down for you to read. You feared that you might’ve upset him. You feared that Frater Imperator might’ve been keeping the two of you apart. You feared that your own fear got in the way of the two of you being together. And you feared you let him down when you couldn’t use your position to have the two brothers finally see eye to eye. Literally. Then, if Satan was willing, spiritually.

What you feared the most is not being his confidant anymore.

“You’re not my confidant anymore,” he whispered, the warmth of the words against your wet cheeks invoking chills. “Don’t you know that, my angel? Don’t you know I’d be lost without you? I wouldn’t even be here without you!”

Before you could answer, with another round of tears of which you were drained or a prayer which you knew many of, his black lined lips sealed your mouth with a kiss. A kiss that suffocated you and also breathed life back into you.

When you remembered how to breathe on your own, he released you. He freed you of his embrace, and let you fall back into the feather-stuffed pillows. And you could’ve died under the light of his left white eye right there and then. Before he shined it on the surroundings.

“And I need you to give me a tour.”

You held onto Papa’s arm with both hands as you took a walk around the room. He had something to say about interior decor, even as he admired he knew next to nothing about it. It was mostly about teasing the tastes of the brother he had never even spoken to. And he had a lot of praise for you when you made it to Sister Imperator’s personal tome collection, the one you organized and preserved yourself. He admitted to you that he remembered his mother though he never met her. And he feels like maybe he’ll get to meet her once he has access to these pages.

“Mother was on the road with me,” he laughed, something sour in the sound of it. “So was Father,” he squeezes your hands, settling in Frater Imperator’s chair as you rest on the edge of the desk. “My uncles. Hell, the whole family was there.”

“Except for the one I shared a womb with,” he hid his eyes from you, looking down at your hands before bringing them up to kiss. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even know about his poor health. And I wouldn’t be in any better shape either.”

In text form, he appeared like he had a dark sense of humour whenever he brought up his family. Tonight, in person, you see how much your Papa has been suffering in the absence of his only living family member.

Tonight, you struggled to reassure him that Frater was getting better at taking care of himself. As his lips moved from your knuckles to your wrists and further up your arms, you struggled to speak. And you had the most difficult time sitting straight before he pulled you down into his lap, guiding each legs on either side of his thigh.

The sweetest of struggles was the thrashing of your heart at the side of your throat, inside the vein that his mouth chose to close around. He suckled the skin and tenderised your flesh with his teeth and you begged he make your body sore.

“How many months have you been dreaming of this?” he laid his lips under your ear.

“Three,” your own lips trembled, your fingers fidgeting on his shoulders.

“You’ve been touching yourself to the thought of your Papa?”

You gasped, the growl that he let out as he let his teeth sink into your skin. No sound came out as your mouth went slack and no more air entered your lungs without his explicit permission.

“Breathe,” he licked the puncture wounds and poured his sweet words down your blood stream. “Breathe, my angel.”

While your body sufferendering to your senses, your mind pleads fealty to him. And he orders you to give in. So you listen to your instincts and strip your coat, and unbutton your shirt. And he follows the flow and undoes your buttons.

“Turn around,” he kissed your cheek so tenderly, and ripped your trousers off so savagely. “Spread ‘em,” he groaned when you grind down on his groin, lifting your legs and laying them on either side of the keyboard on the desk surface. “Now, my angel, give me a hand.”

You offer both of them, and do as he orders, you undo the lacings in his lap while the leather of his gloves teases you between your thighs. Once your fidgeting fingers figure it out, Papa pulls himself out of his trousers, the shimmering of precum hitting your eyes before the swelling of his shaft does.

Tonight, between the burn of his tongue at the side of your throat and the head of his head at your entrance, your insides are incinerated with the passion of your own flesh.

“You better keep breathing,” he nips at your beck as your body opens up to him, as his cock crams himself into you, and your mouth falls slack in the shape of him.

“Papa,” you praised the sheer size of him, the pain muffled by the pleasure.

He grited his teeth, squeezing your thighs until they bruise as they twitch around his leather grip. “That’s good. You’re doing good.” His praise lubricates your heart and soothes the sting.

“You feel so good, angel,” his teeth take hold of the other side of your throat, his fangs sinking in as his cock bottom out.

Tonight, you breathe in the smell of the two you, the sweat and the tears running down your skins and meeting at your sexes. You breathe him in as he knocks the air out of your lungs. He stole your breath away every time he picks you up by your shivering thighs and shoves you down his twitching cock.

“You’re not dreaming, angel. We’re under the same roof, we’re in the same room. And I’m inside you.”

You rolled his head back on his shoulder, reaching your hand behind you and raking your nails through his hair. And Papa presses your lips against yours, stamping more black and white paint onto your flesh, marking you over and over again.

And, when he finally forces you down on him and secures you atop his sack, he marks your insides with a lung-emptying moan that has the two of you harmonizing as you come together.

Tonight, you heard Papa V Perpetua giggling for the first time. You felt it bubbling in his chest, the rise and fall of it against your spine. You sensed it as he blows air out his nose and over your punctured, sweaty, paint-smeared neck. Then, you heard it in your ear and it wiggled its way into your brain and you began to echo him.

“Did we just fuck in my brother’s chair?”

“No,” you shook your head, caressing his curls. “We fucked on my boss’ chair.”

Tonight, only minutes to midnight, you and Papa untangled your limbs and unlatched your lips. As you broke into giggles again, revealing to him the boxes of tissues Frater Imperator stored in his desk, you both hurried to wipe away any evidence.

“Do you really want to be rid of my paints?” Papa spit on the side of your neck where there was an open wound. He was teasing you, dirtying you with even more of him. Come, sweat, spit and paint. He seemed proud of all of it.

“Papa,” you begged, but you weren’t sure what. Was it to use that spit to wipe away any trace of him or to continue covering you with it.

Papa made the decision of you, and slowly cleaned the wound and the streaks of black and white,

Taking all the tissues out of the office and into a trash bag, you closed all the lights and locked the door behind.

Tonight, because you couldn’t be seen walking together out of Frater Imperator's wing, he gave you a bare-lipped open mouthed kiss. He pulled you into the shadows for it, suffocated your protests, squeezed your sides until you were smothered into his chest again, and then returned the air to you when blew it over your swollen lips.

Waiting for you back in the dormitories, in your phone’s inbox was a good night text.

💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀💜💀☠️💀

This morning, you stopped breathing for an entire minute. In front of Frater Imperator's office, in your pockets, you couldn’t find the keys. And you were close to fainting, of collapsing on your knees, before Mrs. Psaltarian came to the rescue.

“You’re late,” she held the door open for you. “I told you all those late nights will get to you eventually, child,” she welcomed you inside.

While your mind was still racing, tracing your steps back to the dormitories, your eyes closing while picturing every marble floor your keys might’ve fallen onto, Frater Imperator arrived. And he was in a worse state than you.

“Little mouse,” he called to you, inviting you to collapse onto the couch next to him. “Did you come to me after midnight?”

He had given you permission to come to him before. He had even invited you. Though you knew he didn’t mean while he was resting. You had to convince him to spend time in his own room during the night. You had to work until midnight to keep him in his room. Why would you want to rouse him from his rest? Why would anyone want to?

“You probably thought you were being funny scaring me, but do you see me laughing?”

“Frater, it wasn’t me.”

“Who the fuck else has the keys?”

This morning, you were hyperventilating. The room spun and you couldn’t stop it. It moved so fast, some of Sister Imperator’s tomes had fallen off their shelves and into the shadows. You lost your balance. You lost your keys and your mind last night. And your ability to breathe on your own.