#continuous butter maker

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you and jungkook splurge on in the seom.

> fluff, suggestive ? / wc: 2.6k

> warnings: mention of recording a sex tape oop

note: look . . . i don’t know how my drabbles end up the way that they do i also question the stream of my thoughts constantly. anyway the mobile gaming continues 🫡 this game got me hooked i needed to write while i’m in the zone. + feedback is always appreciated <3

—

“wow, you’re so rich.” you comment absentmindedly, watching jungkook’s tattooed hand making multiple in-app purchases of gold and gems.

“babe, babe,” you panic and slap his hand away from clicking the largest amount of gems for the third time. “i think thirty-seven thousand gems are more than enough for now!”

he makes a noise of disagreement from behind you, his body vibrating against your back. his arms circle around your waist again, using both words and touch as his ways of persuasion. “did you see the top one? they’re in like level 600! let me buy more so we’re set for until level 300 or something.”

you sigh in defeat, letting him hold the ipad propped up against your thighs again. “well, i guess the money just circles back to your bank account.”

“i know right?” he giggles in delight. “ohhh, i’ll buy the tany pass so we can get the butter costumes.”

sparkling gold coins replace your irises like they do in the cartoons. the said costumes are too adorable and you want to see them wear the matching outfits in the island. moreover, your boyfriend knows how much you loved his long purple hair.

“does it come with all seven?” you ask curiously as jungkook lifts up the ipad to level with his head for umpteenth time, using the face id to confirm the $8 dollar purchase. the purchase successful! notification flashes on the screen, and you can’t hide the stupid smile forming on your face.

“i’m not sure? let’s see.” he hums, tapping each member on the screen to check their available items.

“oh wait! i need to complete the tier first. hold on.” he exists the tab to go back to the event, purchasing the keys to unlock all the prizes without having to collect anymore. he claims them one by one. “oh, so there’s only jin-hyung, jimin-hyung, taehyung-hyung, and me.”

“but i wanted everyone- oh my god, you guys are so cute.” you hold down the squeal in your throat, zooming in on the characters wearing their butter outfits. “his rainbow hair is really pretty. i saw they released the butter funko pops too? looks great as everything.”

he nods with a chuckle, watching jimin walk around the island. “he’s the only one who can pull that off.”

“well now i wanna see you try it.” blonde jungkook was also very pretty- the evidence of your honesty being the three weeks you only referred to him as barbie.

“barbie, i miss your face. what time are you coming home?”

“hey barbie, what you cooking for dinner?”

“that’s not how lasik surgery works, barbie!”

“good morning, pretty barbie. i’m not sure but i think i . . . burned the coffee maker?”

the name rhymes with baby, your term of endearment for each other. you know what? it’s basically the same word, so he got used to it right away. if he hears someone saying it in public, he will most probably still react to it. obviously, you stopped using the name when he dyed his hair another color.

so if he tries the sprayed on pastel colors on his blonde hair? you get the living, breathing barbie doll of your childhood and teenage dreams.

“we can try for fun when i want to bleach my hair again.”

jungkook is an angel who always lets you indulge in the desires of your heart.

“hmm, soon then. your natural hair is very pretty and healthy right now. i hope it grows out the way you want it to this time.” your hand reaches back to caress his head. his hair is as smooth as silk as it glides across your palm, freshly dried from the shower not even two hours ago.

you remove your hand to entertain yourself with the game again, dragging the members to the army bomb to make them dance to their songs.

“oh! they’re playing still with you?” you exclaim in pleasant surprise, laughing at his character dancing cutely to his precious song. the other members have the biggest smiles on their faces dancing along too. jungkook watches the scene with you in pure amusement.

“ah, the game has captured the group’s dynamics very well. they got all the inside jokes and nicknames researched and written down.” he shares his review before the sight of namjoon and seokjin crying while eating mint chocolate ice cream makes him burst with laughter.

“see? they are this dramatic over this in real life! i can attest to this!” he makes them do it again to point it out, the speech bubble that says i’m brushing my teeth right now sounding awfully familiar.

“you and taehyung are my favorite.” you drag him over to taehyung to show the two of them holding hands and moving side-to-side like two little kids who won prizes at the fair. “so cute!”

you wish you had a penny for every time you say the word cute today.

“oh, that looks familiar but i can’t remember where we did that anymore.”

he suddenly grabs your hand and places it on top of his head.

you look back at him confusion. “yes, baby?”

“play with my hair while i buy more outfits and decos please.”

his soft voice makes flowers bloom in your chest. how endearing is your boyfriend?

“of course, baby.” you resume stroking his hair, occasionally twisting the strands in your fingers and raking your nails on his scalp.

he shifts around to lean more comfortably on the pillows, one arm holding you by the waist and the other holding the ipad. you allow yourself to completely relax between his thighs, his body enclosing you into a cocoon of warmth and affection. if you only you could stay in this position for the rest of your life, you would.

but the hand playing with his pair pauses when he starts messing around with the game again, replacing the free items he got with the other designs that cost the most diamonds. the tent, the dining area, the luggage, the camp fire, the cocktail bar, the sun beds, the umbrellas, the hammocks.

huh, you haven’t quite gotten used to it yet.

it is pleasing to watch- having the luxury to choose and being able to buy the one that you want. you both know it’s just a silly little game, but the satisfaction that comes with decorating the island can be addicting. apparently, you and jungkook have a knack for finding entertainment in the silliest things, which further strengthens your bond. you firmly believe you were childhood friends in another life.

meanwhile, he moves on to opening ten lucky boxes at a time.

“booster. booster. booster.” he mumbles while tapping on the screen. “hah! i got suga-hyung a top. and shades. booster. booster. a windmill? streetlamp. booster. shorts. no way- the car from daechwita? ice cream truck . . . light it up like dynamite~”

you swear, there is a kid trapped inside your boyfriend’s big body. if he was to be prohibited from speaking or moving for twenty four hours, he wouldn’t be able to follow the rules even if his life depended on it. perhaps that is why there is always the need to protect him despite knowing the fact that he is way stronger than you- he is such a kind and free spirit. a rare gem. your one in seven billion. you want to protect him from mosquitoes and storms and shipwrecks and exposed wires and slippery floors and sharp edges and treadmills (it flung him off that one time two years ago) and any other form of bad energy in the universe. atleast, you’re trying to.

after opening about thirty? forty? boxes, he dresses up the remaining members. however, “can i make them naked? oh. i can pay for it. i’ll make namjoon-hyung naked- shirtless. oh-ho-ho! sexy with the hair as blue as the ocean.”

your laughter is louder than the ipad’s speakers blasting the game’s original soundtrack, your boyfriend’s hilarious live gaming commentary exactly being your style of humor.

to be honest, if only you weren’t in a healthy relationship, you’d think he was in love with namjoon.

after displaying the decos he bought, jungkook decides to make a club.

“you really posted on your ig story.” you chortle in disbelief, scrolling through the seemingly endless amount of requests. “this is so fun. hold on-”

“everyone’s on level 100 and 200. how are they so fast?!” he cries out at the three digits beside the nicknames of the users. “we need to catch up to them after this.”

“they’re all sending you flowers. and fruit baskets? pearl necklace. these literally cost gems.” you curl up between his thighs from laughing so hard, your grip on the ipad loosening until it slips down next to jungkook. “my stomach hurts. i can’t breathe.”

his wide frame also shakes in mirth, but he securely wraps his arms around you to prevent you from falling off the bed. for the record, it is a king-sized bed. for some reason, however, the two of you always end up being tangled together on the one edge or the other. (most of the time it’s actually you subtly moving closer and closer until he pays attention and cuddles you)

“okay! let’s start accepting requests.” he announces while manhandling you back into your previous position. you grunt at the pressure pressing against your stomach, holding onto his forearm to push it away lightly out of reflex.

you’re literally on the bed, why does he feel the need to carry you all the time?

once you’re settled down once again, you start accepting requests to join the club together. you take turns in picking random users based on the nicknames that catch your attention, and it is peaceful for a while until you’re looking for the one final member and-

“jeon jungkook’s future wife . . . that doesn’t sound right.” you read the nickname out loud, tilting your head to the side with a click of your tongue.

“well, i do like that they’re brave.” with a shrug, you accept their request and open the door for them to enter the club.

jungkook snickers behind you, obviously loving how his ego is being spoon-fed at the moment.

you sit up to accusingly look at him with hooded eyes. “all the flowers and gifts and proposals. you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“maybeee.” he offers you a playful beam. “but it’s our game. i’m doing this for us! we can get lots of hearts from the club!”

we- they don’t even know i exist. but he still makes you smile anyway. your lovely jungkook, who is always too good to you.

spontaneously deciding that you want to splurge on lucky boxes to make the countless purchases of gems worth it, you soon find yourself unable to stop. oh, you understand him better now.

“it’s fun, isn’t it?” he smiles at the childlike look of relishment on your face. you tap and tap and tap, collecting prizes like a panicked thief picking up gold coins forming a long trail, except that unlike the thief, you are overjoyed.

“keep buying until we get six of the cars.” he instructs you, clicking the cart that takes you to the lucky box again. he plans for each of them to be designated to the members who have a driving license. perhaps it’s unnecessary, sure- but he wants to prolong your small joys as much as he can.

“kay, since it’s your money.” you answer gleefully. you free yourself from the hesitation of spending gems since you can’t get a refund for them anyway.

you end up with six daechwita cars and three dynamite ice cream trucks. jungkook parks them all beside each other, like a team huddling together before a basketball game. he also buys taehyung’s hansung costume from the kdrama he starred in called hwarang, later on claiming that taehyung looks like he has been the immortal guardian of the island since the day the dry land was created on planet earth.

his words exactly. not yours. your boyfriend’s imagination tends to wander around like a free bird soaring through the sky for the first time in its life.

after chatting with the club members for a bit, he decides to pick up your level from 31. the motivation kicks in like a race horse when he realizes that your account is top 30 out of 30 in the club.

on the spur of the moment, he begins worshipping the boosters he was previously irritated at for constantly popping out of the boxes instead of the costumes and decos that he wanted.

you have never loved the word DOPE! more in your life.

“my favorite boosters are the whale, the double top, and the axe.”

“the whale is the best one for sure. it’s a lifesaver.” you mention cheerfully as you mix the two whales that wipe out the entire puzzle, mimicking a black hole that swallows everything that dares to come near it.

“oh my god, it’s so fucking satisfying to watch.”

jungkook grabs the opportunity as soon as he sees it. with a mischievous grin he declares, “title of our sex tape.”

yup, you should have foreseen this right when the words came out of your mouth.

you sit back up to look at him with a disapproving look. “you just had to do it, didn’t you?”

he pouts sadly, but his bunny smile promptly lights up his face again upon hearing your follow-up statement.

“like i’m sure we can come up with a better title than that!”

the familiar notification sound rings from the ipad, and you both peer down at the pop-up that appeared on the top of the screen.

it’s from cats&soup— another game you play together almost everyday.

Cats are missing you!

jungkook goes for it again without a single beat of thought or hesitation.

“title of our sex tape!”

the displeased expression on your face turns sourer. “you gotta try harder than that, babe.”

“that is not a good title. we have a beyond satisfactory sex life.” he whines, the joke he cracked backfiring on him.

“well then get back to me when you think of a good one. we need to feed our cats for now.” you exit in the seom to tend to the other game for the meantime. does my face look like that i’ll become a king will have to stay in level 80 (the bottom of the rank list) for now.

but then the gears in his head immediately starts turning after being given the challenge, and a new found motivation drives him to, in fact, try harder this time around.

he clears his throat, alternately looking at your face and your fast fingers upgrading the cats’ facilities. just waiting for the right timing to bring it up.

is this ever a right timing to talk about this type of stuff? oh, fuck this. ask the million-dollar question already.

he swallows thickly in anticipation. “uhm, so i was just thinking. if you approve my title, will we record one for real?”

you shrug without looking at him, focused on collecting money from the food your cats cooked. “sure. why not?”

jungkook’s doe eyes sparkle with doubled, tripled- no, quadrupled adoration for the sweet creature sitting between his legs.

“you are the love of my life.” he utters breathlessly.

—

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[britt-kageryuu]

Mikey is streaming, he's testing a new system that allowed him to try a cooking stream with his VTuber model. So his model is dressed as a chef. River is sitting on the counter with her own chef hat, and a little bandana around her neck, while holding a wisk and mixing bowl.

He's grabbing what he needs for a few recipes.

"Okay, we're going to test out a new recipe, Pizza Waffles!" He exclaimed happily.

"You need 2 cups of flour, 1 tbsp of baking powder, 3/4 cups of milk, 1/2 tsp salt, 1/2 cup cold butter cut in small chunks, pepperoni and shredded mozzarella, or your preferred fillings." River lists off the ingredients with conversations all being listed above her head.

Mikey also preps a waffle maker as River virtually prepared the batter. "Don't forget to oil or grease the waffle maker so they don't stick."

River looks over the recipe while preparing. "Sift together the dry stuff, add the butter with a fork? Oh or pastry cutter... whatever, and stir in the milk" As she reads this off the instructions are appearing above her head, " Once mixed roll dough on floured surface to a 1/2 inch or 1.27 cm, cut out as many 3 inch, or 7.62 cm circles... or if you don't want to make that from scratch, premade biscuit dough like this," she shows a picture of an American Biscuit dough can, "You just cut them in half." She demonstrates this really quick.

Mikey is shown also prepping for the next part of the recipe. "Next, cut the dough circles horizontally just enough so you can stuff your choice of filling. After that seal them shut by pinching the edges of the dough." He places the filled balls of dough on a tray next to him.

River then grabs one while opening the waffle maker. "Then toss them into the waffle maker until they're golden brown and crispy!"

Mikeys model holds up a jar of marinara sauce, "And serve with your favorite pizza sauce to dip them in." He smiles while setting up a plate with a little bowl for the sauce. After waiting a good minute or two they check on their creations. "Just to be clear we're using a Belgian Waffle maker for this."

After they make sure the pizza waffles look good and done, they let them cool.

"Now, let's try these babies out!" Mikey shouts as he grabs one, dips it, and pops it whole into his mouth. " These are pretty good! I got to try this with different fillings, oh yeah!" He leans over to shout, "Who wants Pizza Waffles!!"

There was a slight rumbling sound, then suddenly the camera is knocked over while the sounds of the brothers fighting over the food can be heard.

Shelldon and River rush to the camera to check it over, before picking it up to show the kitchen set a complete mess, and Mikey looking very disappointed to the side.

"Well, they liked the food, but caused quite a mess. We gotta clean up before we move onto the next recipes. Please be patient with us." He bows before turning on music to clean up too.

Chat is spamming food emojis, and asking if everything was okay, only to realize Mikey won't see their messages for a good few minutes. He eventually moves onto the next recipe, and continues the stream.

----------------

Masterpost

I got a new waffle maker with a little recipe book that included this recipe. Haven't actually tried it yet, but it seemed like something Mikey would make.

[lolsonic-idk-man]

Bad sansuary - Romantic

It was almost time for the romantic evening you’ve planned for Horror! The reason for such a decision being your massive teddy bear has done nothing but been the most caring being to ever exist and you need to make up for it!

The list for set up consisted of; 

freshly made Peanut Butter Popcorn,

Figure out where Dust put the ice cream and soda,

Scrounge up as many blankets as possible,

Make sure the movie room is free.

One thing was already checked off. You made sure to tell Dust and Killer your plans for tonight. Now you just have to hope Killer is actually going to leave you and Horror alone… It’ll be fiiiine.

So the next step would be to make sure Horror didn’t lose any trust in you after you begged for the kitchen. Part one of that was done, you're not Killer. The next step is making sure you clean up after you’ve made the popcorn, and the final and most important step is not wasting too much of any ingredient.

You were going to call yourself lucky, there’s only 5 ingredients; Peanut butter, popcorn, sugar, corn syrup, and vanilla. Less room to mess up!

A quick rummage through the pantry yelled everything you needed so you got to work.

Having made sure the recipe was three times the normal size you measured 1 and a ½  cups of unpopped popcorn and put it in the shockingly nice popcorn maker you found. Turning the stove to the medium setting you poured 3 cups of sugar and corn syrup into a saucepan and brought it to a boil for a few minutes as you grabbed 2 large bowls for the popcorn.

After letting the sugar boil for 2 or so minutes you slapped 3 cups of peanut butter and however much vanilla you deemed good, mixed, poured it over the popcorn, and did your best to cover every popped kernel.

Proud of the fact that you didn’t make much of a mess, you clean up what little mess there is, and take your creation to the theater.

Your peppy skip comes to a halt when you hear a movie playing as you opened the door to the theater. Who in the castle would be watching a movie right now? You thought you told Dust and Killer it was your’s tonight.

Taking a peek into the room you immediately lock eyes with Nightmare. Of course. You told everyone but Nightmare. And now you have to tell him. This was a moment where you wished you’d actually talked to him more.

“ Is there something you need Y/N? “ Nightmare started for your awkward ass.

Shuffling into the room you do your best to explain, “ Well, I had planned a date for me and Horror and, um. “ You swallow a lump. “ I was sort of planning to have it here, BUT! We can use a different room since you’re watching something already! And it’s not like I’ve set anything up yet! “

Before you can make your escape, Nightmare continues the conversation, “ My movie is almost over Y/N, and by the sound of it, it seems you have a lot to do. You may work as I watch. “

“ Oh, t-thanks. “ You really needed to give Nightmare a chance.

The seating of the theater had everything anyone could ask for, heated, reclining, soft chairs, a table for every seat, even multiple love seats! Which were the planned seating considering Horror’s size, also if they wanted to cuddle.

Placing the bowls on the tables by the chosen loveseat you run off to find as many blankets as you could. Couch blankets, gone. Your blankets, gone, a few of the guest room’s blankets, gone. All of them in the theater.

Next was the ice cream and sodas. Glad the coolers are kept in the walk-in freezer. You chose one that you think will be big enough for 2, 6-packs of soda and however much Ice cream Dust stole.

It took a few minutes of moving vegetables and meat to find the hidden goods, which happened to be 5 different gallon ice cream flavors. You would need a bigger cooler.

It took a little but you did find one and now you had to find the soda in the fridge. And lucky for you they were in the normal fridge, not the walk-in!

Pulling your final load into the movie room, you give a little celebration. All you need to do now is grab some of the movies you’ve seen around and put them on display for Horror, and Nightmare’s movie had come to an end and he made his leave, giving you and Horror the room.

Unable to contain yourself you dash to the roof garden to find Horror.

Once located you run up to him, “ Horror! Horror!  I wanna show you something! “

Taking a second to register your excited hopping he chuckled, “ Is it what you were making in the kitchen? “

“ Well, yes, but there’s more to it than that! “ You give a slight tug telling him to follow you.

“ We goin’ to the kitchen? “

“ Nope! “

Hoisting you up to one of his shoulders he continues to question as he walks back in side, “ Where we goin’ then “

“ can’t tell you, that would ruin the surprise! “

“ Then give me directions. “ his declaration that he was not going to put you down.

“ Very well, next right. “ You continued to direct him to the theater.

The night didn’t consist of much. You and your teddy bear watch a few movies, laughed at the dumb situations the characters got into, pause the movie so that Horror can go into an in depth critique of the only cooking scene and get completely sidetracked so that you don’t finish the last movie but still finish all of your treats. Minus the ice cream there was still quite a bit of ice cream.

[please-dontperceiveme]

Snippet (read as: literally all I wrote) of a scenario where someone with the power to literally rewrite reality abuses this power to... give Sunshine an ideal belly rub.

⚠️ stuffing (retroactive?), belly kink, weird existential magic

Min0rs/pr0ship DNI! 18+ only! AGELESS BLOGS LIKING/REBLOGGING WILL BE BLOCKED!

"I can make this... more enjoyable for you, but..." The starry figure hesitates, and as Sunshine's curiosity is piqued, so is his concern.

"Hey," he says softly, "what's up? What is it?"

"It'd mean..." Its brows furrow. "It'd mean making an edit to your story, should you choose to accept my offer. Nothing major, nothing that would too greatly affect your life- but your recent memories will be slightly altered to accommodate."

That's... a little scary. Every time he's reminded this gentle being can literally rewrite reality, it gives Sunshine chills.

"...nothing bad?" he manages to venture.

"Nothing bad," it echoes, cradling his face with a soft smile. "Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn't hurt..."

...it trails off, looking guilty, then recollects itself. "All I want to do is make sure you had lunch before you dozed off."

He did drop off as soon as he got home earlier, didn't he. It's... a kind offer. Characteristic of this being. After a moment, he nods his assent.

When the god next speaks, its voice sounds... different. More authoritative, richer, expressive, like it's reading from a storybook. It's soothing to Sunshine- he hasn't been read to since he was a kid.

"When Sunshine came home from work just past noon, rest was the only thing on his mind. It had been a draining day."

He definitely recalls that much.

"He let his bag slip from his shoulders, paying no mind to it as it thudded to the floor. He shuffled for the couch like a zombie, ready to lose consciousness the second he was in a horizontal position...

"But then his stomach snarled, halting him in his tracks."

What? Sunshine blinks. That hadn't-

No. It had. He'd frozen in place as an almighty growl seemed to fill the room, and he realized all at once how starving he was. It had made him shudder, made his face feel strangely warm. A similar blush rises to his cheeks now.

"Shocked by its audacity, Sunshine pressed a paw to his empty belly, telling it to be at ease. Sleep could wait- he needed to eat first, or he'd be miserable later."

Sunshine's breathing quickens a little as the god continues.

"He had to wait for his food to cook, so as he was teased with the aroma of fresh hot rice, he soothed his complaining stomach with tender words and touches. Soon, he promised, soon."

Sunshine's face heats further as the memory of talking to his tummy is slotted in. It feels natural. It's entirely something he'd do, so long as he didn't have witnesses- and he hadn't, in that empty apartment. Hearing the starry god acknowledge that silly aspect of him so fondly is giving him butterflies, making his tail quiver.

"When the rice was finally done, he hastened to season and butter it after scooping it out of the cooker... but he hesitated. He was very, very hungry... surely, another serving could be in order?"

He groans. He doesn't know why he keeps making that mistake. He'll cook himself a second batch of rice when he feels particularly ravenous, then either can't finish it, or tries to and regrets it. And then he does the same thing a couple weeks later, not having learned his lesson at all.

"So he filled his rice maker up with a second serving, letting it cook while he scarfed down the first."

And suddenly, there's a warmth in Sunshine's belly.

He squeaks sharply as the faint ache of emptiness, too mild to care much about, evaporates on the spot. He squirms slightly, feels a little weight in his stomach- he's not full by any means, but he's been retroactively sated. Just like that.

It's... extraordinary.

The starry being beams at him. "Still okay? That's not too much?"

"Y- Yeah," he stammers, head spinning. "M'good. Great."

"You're doing wonderfully." Its touch, both warm and cool, smooths over his forehead. "Just a little more."

The words make his heart swell.

"Not long after he was scraping the bowl for the last grains, the cooker chimed again. He got up for a refill- he wasn't full yet. But, halfway through the second serving..."

Sunshine jerks as the warmth in his belly redoubles. Suddenly, he's comfortably full, even a little moreso. It makes him feel heavy and satisfied. This would be the point to stop, if there weren't food at risk of being wasted.

"...any more and his stomach wouldn't be happy with him." The god turns its shining eyes to Sunshine. "So... he had a choice to make."

"...me?" he squeaks, ears lifting.

"You," the god answers patiently. "You have the choice to push yourself- would you?"

He swallows as he considers his options. There's spice on his breath, and a grain of rice stuck behind one tooth that wasn't there a minute ago. He takes in the comfortable warmth currently in his belly, and thinks about how it would feel beneath those starry hands.

But then he considers the ache of overfullness, how he never hated it enough to avoid it the next time, how it sent confusing shivers up his spine that he can recognize now as arousal.

"I..." Sunshine gulps again. "I can take it. I'd do it."

He shudders as the god smooths a hand over his still-clothed belly. "Good," it says, "good boy. It's going to ache, so brace yourself."

Sunshine tenses as anticipation and arousal fill him from the words.

"After a moment's consideration, he kept going. He didn't want his cooking to go to waste."

A pang seizes Sunshine's middle. He gasps as his shirt slightly, but visibly tightens around his belly as it firms up. It lets out a displeased gurgle, one that sends lightning up his spine.

"He regretted it, of course," the god says gingerly, "but not enough to stop himself. And the ache felt good."

It did. It does. Sunshine moans.

"He wasn't sure how he found the strength to stand and put his dish in the sink- his exhaustion had crashed down upon him again, twofold with how overly full he was.

"But somehow, he managed. And even with the ache in his tummy, he was asleep the second he hit the cushions.

"...oh, sweetheart, are you okay?" The ethereal quality fades from his benefactor's voice altogether, its brows knitting with concern. "Did we overdo it...?"

His stomach cramps, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. But it's a good kind of ache. "No," he grits. "No, this- this is good..."

"Let me help you," the god offers, and reaches down to pluck his shirt open.

[simpforfandom231]

tough cookie

The morning sun painted the room with a gentle glow as Rachel reluctantly peeled herself away from the warmth of the bed. Y/N, the reigning queen of late risers, remained nestled in the blankets, apparently lost in the blissful realm of dreams. A rare luxury of a late morning lay before them.

As Rachel tiptoed out of bed, she caught sight of Y/N, still wrapped up like a burrito. Suppressing a chuckle, she marveled at the sight. "You know, one day we should market this – 'Y/N's Burrito Blanket.' I bet it would make millions."

Y/N, feigning slumber, snorted softly. "You'd have to share the profits, Sleeping Beauty."

Rachel grinned and headed to the in-room coffee machine. "Well, of course. I'm just the brains behind the operation. You're the cute face that sells it."

Y/N peeked one eye open. "And what does that make you?"

"The coffee maker," Rachel declared proudly, pouring water into the machine. "My talents are endless, as you can see."

Y/N chuckled, "You truly are a woman of many talents."

As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, Rachel decided it was the perfect backdrop for her morning sweet talk. "You know, Y/N, making coffee is an art. And speaking of art, you, my love, are a masterpiece."

Y/N snickered, "A masterpiece, huh? I thought I was a burrito."

Rachel winked, "You're a burrito of love. And your adorable sleeping face is my favorite masterpiece."

Y/N, who was well aware of Rachel's soft spot for her, teased, "Are you sure you're not just buttering me up because you need me to make breakfast?"

Rachel mock gasped, "How dare you! I'm expressing genuine love and affection here. Breakfast is just a bonus."

Y/N, grinning, whispered, "You sweet talker, you."

Unbeknownst to Rachel, Y/N was savoring every moment of the playful banter. It was a rare joy to witness the tough exterior of Rachel crumble into tender words and affection. "Well, I can't help it. You bring out the softie in me," Rachel admitted, a hint of shyness in her voice.

Y/N, with a sly smile, replied, "Oh, I know. It's my superpower – softening up the tough Zegler."

Rachel, blushing, served the coffee. "You better keep that superpower to yourself. I have an image to maintain."

Y/N laughed, taking a sip of the coffee. "Your secret's safe with me, tough stuff."

Unable to resist the allure of the cozy bed, Rachel snuggled back in with both cups of coffee. "You know, Y/N, this bed is like our little sanctuary. Just you, me, and the smell of fresh coffee."

Y/N, enjoying the warmth, grinned. "True, but don't think your sweet talk will distract me from the fact that you're avoiding making breakfast."

Rachel playfully rolled her eyes, "I'll have you know, Lucy Gray Baird doesn't make breakfast. She's too busy surviving in the Hunger Games."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, "Lucy Gray Baird? Seriously? You're comparing yourself to a character from The Hunger Games?"

Rachel, adopting a more serious tone, said, "Hey, Lucy Gray is tough, just like me."

Y/N burst into laughter, "Tough on the outside, marshmallow on the inside, more like it."

Rachel pouted, trying to regain her tough exterior. "Well, you better be careful. You might find yourself in a Hunger Games scenario if you keep mocking me."

Y/N giggled, "I'm not afraid. I have my secret weapon – your soft spot for me."

Rachel blushed again, "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Y/N cupped Rachel's face and gave her a sweet kiss. "Absolutely. It's my favorite part of the morning – watching the tough Zegler melt into a puddle of adorableness."

Rachel, torn between embarrassment and amusement, playfully scowled. "You're impossible."

Y/N grinned, "And you love every second of it."

As they continued their playful banter, both eventually dragged themselves out of bed, exchanging the cozy warmth for sweatpants and hoodies. Rachel, the self-proclaimed tough cookie, took a moment to appreciate the comfort of the oversized hoodie.

Just as they were about to embark on a breakfast-making adventure, there was a knock on the door. Y/N raised an eyebrow, "Expecting someone?"

Rachel shook her head, "No clue. Probably room service with more coffee."

But as Rachel opened the door, they were greeted by none other than Hunter Schafer, Rachel's co-star from the upcoming movie. Hunter, known for her vibrant energy, entered with a cheerful grin. "Hey, Rachel! Hope I'm not interrupting."

Rachel shook her head, "Not at all. Y/N and I were just about to make breakfast, you're welcome to join."

Hunter's eyes sparkled, "Breakfast? Count me in!"

As the trio chatted and laughed, it became evident that Hunter was quick-witted and perceptive. She observed the dynamic between Rachel and Y/N, effortlessly joining in on the banter. She couldn't help but remark, "You know, Rachel, I always thought of you as this tough cookie, especially with all the nonsense people spewed about the Snow White casting. But here you are, melting into a puddle with Y/N."

Rachel blushed, "Well, you know, people can be idiots. But Y/N here knows how to bring out the soft side in me."

Hunter laughed, "She must have some magical powers then."

Y/N, ever the playful tease, chimed in, "Oh, she does. It's called love."

Rachel, feeling a tad jealous at the easy camaraderie between Hunter and Y/N, quickly toughened up. "Alright, enough of this. We have breakfast to make."

Y/N sensed Rachel's change in demeanor and playfully poked her side. "Someone's getting possessive."

Rachel huffed, "I am not."

Hunter, clueless to the brief tension, laughed. "You two are adorable. It's like watching a rom-com unfold in real life."

Rachel, feeling a bit flustered, focused on breakfast preparations. But Y/N, with a knowing smile, pulled her into a hug. "Hey, tough stuff, no need to worry. You're my one and only."

Rachel's expression softened, and she couldn't help but smile. "You always know how to bring me back, don't you?"

Y/N kissed her cheek, "It's a special talent."

As they settled down for breakfast, the room echoed with laughter, love, and the delightful blend of Rachel's tough exterior and Y/N's playful teasing. The day unfolded with conversations, relaxation, and the assurance that, no matter what, Rachel's soft spot belonged exclusively to Y/N.

However, as the day progressed, Hunter continued to playfully banter with Y/N, making Rachel's jealousy simmer just beneath the surface. At one point, Hunter jokingly said, "Y/N, if Rachel is Lucy Gray, does that make me your Finnick Odair?"

Y/N burst into laughter, "Oh, please, Hunter. You wish."

Rachel, feeling a twinge of discomfort, tried to laugh it off. "Yeah, Hunter, you might need a bit more charm to be Finnick."

Hunter raised an eyebrow, "Challenge accepted."

Y/N, sensing Rachel's unease, decided to play along. "Okay, but you'll never be as charming as Rachel."

Hunter chuckled, "True, true. Rachel, I bow down to your charm."

Rachel, trying to maintain composure, replied, "Well, someone has to keep up appearances around here."

Y/N shot a playful look at Rachel, "Jealous, tough cookie?"

Rachel, masking her true feelings with a smirk, said, "Jealousy is not in my vocabulary."

But as the banter continued, Y/N noticed a genuine unease in Rachel's eyes. Sensing her discomfort, Y/N decided to put an end to the teasing. "Alright, alright, enough of the Hunger Games comparisons. Let's not forget who the real winner is here."

Rachel, caught off guard by the shift in tone, looked at Y/N with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability.

Y/N smiled, taking Rachel's hand. "The real winner is the one who gets to spend each day with you, my tough, charming, and incredibly adorable Zegler."

Rachel's tough exterior melted away, replaced by a softness that only Y/N could bring out. "You always know how to make everything better, don't you?"

Y/N leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on Rachel's lips. "It's my superpower, remember? Softening up the tough Zegler."

Rachel chuckled, her heart now lightened. "Well, I'm grateful for that superpower."

As the day unfolded, the trio continued to enjoy each other's company, laughter replacing any lingering discomfort. The room buzzed with warmth, love, and the knowledge that no matter what playful banter unfolded, Rachel and Y/N's connection remained unshakable. The day became a testament to the strength of their bond, marked by affectionate teasing, genuine laughter, and the undeniable truth that, in the end, love always triumphs.

However, as Hunter continued her banter with Y/N, the playful flirtation began to take a turn that Rachel wasn't entirely comfortable with. Hunter's teasing became more overt, and she playfully leaned in closer to Y/N, causing Rachel to arch an eyebrow.

Hunter flashed a mischievous grin. "You know, Y/N, I think I've found the true star of this room."

Rachel, maintaining her snarky tone, replied, "Well, I am the Academy Award nominee here. No offense, Hunter."

Hunter laughed, "None taken, Rachel. But I was actually talking about the real leading lady – Y/N."

Y/N giggled, clearly enjoying the attention. Rachel, not one to back down, responded, "Oh, please. You're just jealous that my tough exterior intimidates you, Hunter."

Hunter, with a twinkle in her eye, shot back, "Intimidate? Nah, I thrive on challenge. I'm just appreciating the view."

Rachel, not missing a beat, retorted, "Well, this view is taken, so find another scenic route."

Y/N, loving the possessive side of Rachel, chimed in, "That's right, Hunter. I'm off the market, courtesy of this tough, charming, and incredibly adorable Zegler."

Hunter chuckled, "You two really are like a rom-com. But don't worry, Rachel, I'm just playing around."

Rachel, turning it into a show, quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not worried, Hunter. I know a show-stealer when I see one. But you're right – we are a bit of a rom-com, aren't we, Y/N?"

Y/N grinned, playing along, "Absolutely. And you, my tough cookie, are the leading lady in my heart."

Hunter, sensing the playful dynamic, leaned back, "Alright, I surrender. You two are the true stars here."

Rachel, putting on a theatrical sigh, declared, "Well, it's about time someone recognized it. Now, let's get back to enjoying our cozy day, shall we?"

But as the banter continued, Hunter's playful flirtation escalated. She began complimenting Y/N more overtly, even throwing in a wink or two. Rachel, who had been putting on a brave face, felt a growing unease. The room's playful atmosphere was starting to feel a bit too much like a stage, and Rachel wasn't sure she liked the script.

Hunter, grinning mischievously, said to Y/N, "You know, Y/N, you're not just a star. You're practically a constellation. I can see why Rachel here is so smitten."

Rachel, maintaining her snarky tone, quipped, "I'm not smitten. I just have good taste."

Y/N, sensing Rachel's discomfort, tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "Well, Hunter, I appreciate the compliments, but I think Rachel might start charging you for the entertainment."

Hunter, undeterred, shot back, "Oh, I'd pay top dollar for this show. It's better than anything on Netflix."

Rachel, feeling the heat rise, tried to maintain her composure. "You do realize you're talking about real people, right?"

Hunter chuckled, "Of course, Rachel. Just adding a bit of drama to our rom-com."

But the drama was getting a bit too real for Rachel. Y/N, ever perceptive, decided it was time to bring the curtain down on this particular scene. She put an arm around Rachel, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"Alright, folks, let's not turn this into a soap opera," Y/N teased, looking at Rachel with affection. "Hunter, Rachel might play a tough character on screen, but she's a marshmallow in real life. And I'm the lucky one who gets to see it every day."

Rachel, grateful for the lifeline, gave Y/N a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it, though. I have a reputation to uphold."

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, "Sure, tough cookie. Now, let's focus on something less dramatic – like what we're having for lunch."

As Hunter laughed and the trio shifted the conversation to lighter topics, Rachel couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude for Y/N's understanding. Love may be a rom-com, complete with playful banter and humorous moments, but it also required moments of sincerity and reassurance. The day continued with more laughter, with Hunter now genuinely rooting for the couple, and the trio enjoyed the rest of their time together with a deeper understanding of each other's boundaries and the importance of keeping the love-filled atmosphere light and joyful.

[octoberobserver]

Aprons and Ascots - Benoit Blanc/Phillip Fic

(Read on ao3)

“Is that one of the tie-dye aprons Helen’s third graders made you?”

Phillip froze, left foot suspended over their notoriously creaky floorboard.

“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he teased before turning on the spot to finish up the breakfast tray he had been surreptitiously preparing (or so he thought) for his husband before he was unceremoniously interrupted.

“One for every day of the week,” he continued as Blanc crossed to the coffee maker. “They meticulously chose the colours and patterns for all seven of them. Being back in their classroom, even on a staggered basis has done them the world of good, it seems. They’re a very nice payment for my legal fees.”

All of Andi’s assets had been released to Helen months ago, but neither Blanc nor Phillip had accepted a cent for their detective or lawyer services. Watching that shithead Bron suffer under the weight of his own idiocy had been payment enough as far as they were concerned. Well, that and Helen’s sugar cookies. Those too. Not all baking had halted when lockdown lifted, thank God. Though he could admit, his own kitchen endeavours probably had, for the greater good of his tastebuds and waistline.

“I will say, I’m glad it was an open and shut case, to be sure, for our dear Ms. Brand’s sake,” Blanc murmured between sips of his coffee, coming up to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder. “But I’d also be remiss if I didn’t admit that I rather mourned your very delectable lawyerin’ theatrics during the trial.”

“Says the most dramatic man in the world,” Phillip scoffed back, slapping his hand away when he attempted to reach toward the buttered toast.

Blanc wasn’t easily deterred, however, merely stepping closer and leaning his chin on his shoulder.

“Watching you tear down the Thrombeys’ revolving door of rabid dogs was very sexy and debonair, Mr. Thacker. I have missed the spectacle.”

Phillip chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for the orange juice.

“You just like my courtroom voice, Mr. Blanc.”

“Lord help me, I do.”

Their eyes met.

“Hmm. Well, aren’t I ever so glad a certain private detective convinced me to leave my bustling London law firm and spend the next two decades setting up sticks Stateside?” Phillip replied cheekily, hip-checking him out of the way and carrying the laden tray over to their breakfast nook.

It was all true, of course—he had fallen for the (Texan? Louisianan? He hadn’t been sure at the time) foreigner whom he met when he had been under suspicion of the murder of his boss, of all things, near Westminster Abbey, in 1998. Benoit, who was reluctantly brought there at the behest of Phillip’s other, very rich, very powerful boss, had ruled him out immediately, but somehow still found a way to keep questioning him, much to Phillip’s baffled delight and to Scotland Yard’s continued annoyance.

It had been the meek personal assistant who had done his boss in, in the end. And once the guilty party had been stuffed into the back of a patrol car, Blanc had turned to him, with his mesmerizing gaze and in his famous Southern drawl, set his heart racing with words he would never forget.

“I confess, Mr. Thacker, but I feel a type of connection with you. As if we’ve known each other all our lives. I cannot make any sense of it…compels me, though.”

They had dinner that night.

And almost every night since.

For twenty-three years today, Phillip Thacker had spent his life with the whirlwind that was world-renowned, private-detective, Benoit Blanc, and he wouldn’t give up one single second of it.

Well. Maybe the lockdown sulk baths. They could stay firmly in the past, thank you very much.

“Oh, speaking of those wretched Thrombeys, Marta wants us over for dinner at six pm on Friday. Her mum is making that delicious Ropa Vieja again. Natasha wants us to save her some leftovers.”

He could feel Blanc’s steely blue eyes follow him as he set himself up at the nook.

“Those leftovers stand no chance against your midnight munchies,” he smoothly retorted, joining him, taking his usual seat opposite, newspaper folded under his arm.

“I already told her that,” Phillip smirked.

They tucked into their cheese omelets, toast, tea, and coffee, respectively.

“A package arrived for you earlier,” he piped up after a few minutes, as innocently as he could, knowing there was absolutely no way he was getting anything past his husband and loving him anyway.

“Oh?”

Those gorgeous eyes locked onto him like a beacon.

“Another mysterious box,” he added, trying and failing to hide his smile behind his cup of tea.

“Well now,” Blanc smiled back, “that’ll be somethin’ for after this very nice meal. Thank you,” he raised his glass of orange juice in a toast. “Happy Anniversary, mon chéri.”

“Happy Annivesary, love,” Phillip echoed, clinking their glasses before gesturing out to the hallway. “I did try to get it closer to the bed for actual breakfast in bed this time. But you caught me, as always.”

Blanc gave a half-shrug.

“You have as many tells as you have talents.”

“Of course I do, dear. And you know every single one.”

Blanc narrowed his piercing eyes, pensive.

“Not every single one. For example, I had no earthly idea that you brushed up on your art law to help bury Bron deeper than a groundhog in December.”

“Miles Bron is an insufferable, murderous twat and he’ll get everything he deserves,” Phillip sipped his tea before lowering his cup and clasping his hand. “But I am glad I can still surprise you, even after all these years.”

“Compel me,” Blanc murmured, squeezing his hand back and leaning in to peck his lips, humming into it when Phillip deepened it, turning it just a little devious, as was his wont.

Once they finished breakfast, Blanc filled the dishwasher and made his way out to the living room, calling over his shoulder.

“I have a new movie we can watch.”

“As long as it’s not another one of your blasted rom-coms, Ben,” Phillip yelled back, head deep in their pantry, searching for the chocolate biscuits his mother shipped over for his birthday. They were perfect for dipping in his tea, much to Benoit’s disgust. “You know I loath them more than you loath Cluedo.”

“We call it, ‘Clue’ here, darlin’,” Blanc retorted same as always, edging closer to the large, dark box sitting pretty by their front door.

Phillip emerged, biscuits in hand, just as he was grinning down at the familiar handwriting, tearing the cardboard open with zeal and laughing in delight at what it revealed.

“Tie-dye ascots! Seven of them! Just look at these beauties. Helen’s students are marvels.”

Phillip chuckled as Blanc tied the ascot more like a neckerchief in his haste and began inspecting himself in the mirror.

“You look as handsome as ever.”

He made a mental note to send a card of thanks for the extra anniversary present. Helen Brand and her clever third graders truly were a godsend.

[peppermint-squirrel]

Rain

In a rare pocket of peace between battling bad guys, saving Jump City (if not the world), and a noisy tower, Raven and Cyborg find a moment to just be.

Raven found tranquility in the dead of night, in the heart of a raging thunderstorm.

She hovered, legs crossed, palms planted on her knees, before the sleek glass face of the Tower. Thunder drummed and lightning forked through the belly of the bruised blanket stitched across the sky, turning the glass into liquid moonlight that rippled and danced across her face.

The door to the living room whirred open.

"Rae?"

Cyborg.

"What're you —" A massive yawn interrupted him. She heard his shuffling tread as he entered the living room, felt the last remnants of sleep he hadn't shaken off clinging to him like cobwebs. "What're you doing up so late?"

"Enjoying the weather."

He whistled. "Man," he said, "it's really coming down."

His footsteps stopped, then started again — he was heading into the kitchen.

"I'll be out of your hair in a sec, Raven. I'm just grabbing a snack."

Raven's gaze skated away from the clouds. She spotted his reflection, poised in front of the open refrigerator as he rummaged through it.

"You can stay," she said. Carefully. Cautiously. "If you want to."

She saw him pause, saw his head crane over his shoulder.

She met his gaze in the glass.

It was easy to suppress, to restrain, to stifle (she'd been doing it her whole life) — it was impossible to ignore.

(Oxymorons. Go figure.)

She wanted him to stay.

"Yeah," he said finally, slowly. "Alright." He offered her a crooked grin. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"What're you making?"

"Waffles."

"Figures," Raven said drolly.

"Ah, but not just any waffles," Cyborg continued, his grin stretching. "Toast 'em, slap some pb & j and butter on 'em, and you've got yourself a top-notch waffle sandwich."

"Fascinating."

"And delicious. You in?"

"No. I'm fine."

Cyborg nodded. He turned away, then paused. He turned back. "Tea?"

Raven blinked. "I thought we were out."

He turned away again. His hand floated up to cup the back of his neck. "Yeah. We were. Ran out to the store with BB yesterday to get those vegan jelly bean gummies he likes, picked up some stuff while we were there. Tea included. Got a few boxes, just in case. Variety is the spice of life, and all that. Chamomile, sage, peppermint, ginger — pick your poison."

"Chamomile," she said after a long moment of silence. "But I can make it." She unfolded her legs and stood up. "Thanks. For getting it."

He was already busying himself with his state-of-the-art waffle-maker. "No problem."

A silence unspooled, punctuated by the storm and Cyborg's hums as he worked — but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the exact opposite, and Raven realized it as she sidled into the cramped kitchen space behind the island to prep her tea.

She realized something else as she was flipping open a cabinet and withdrawing a mug.

She paused briefly, blinked, and thought, oh.

It was as simple as that.

There was a reason for the comfort. An explanation for why she wanted him to stay — and why she hoped he wanted to, too.

He understood.

He wielded a double-edged sword of his own.

He cared. He trusted. He believed.

And when they were together, they could just . . . exist. They could just be, and in lives full of danger, death, despair, doom — they could, and did, feel safe.

The particular pocket of peace they were in wouldn't last forever.

But maybe . . .

That was a loaded word, Raven thought, as she made her tea, focusing intently on her task and trying not to crack a small smile when the waffle-maker dinged and Cyborg drew in a deep breath and uttered a soft, jubilant "booyah" — then she thought about him turning away, trying to pat away some invisible itch on the nape of his neck.

And she smiled.

"Cyborg?"

"Yeah, Rae?"

'Maybe' was a loaded word, but it wasn't an impossible one.

She turned away from the counter, cup of tea in hands, curlicues of steam rising from the mug, a filmy curtain through which Raven and Cyborg regarded each other.

Not by a long shot.

"Watch the storm with me?"

Cyborg grinned. "Yeah," he said, plate of waffle sandwich in hand. "Let's do it."

They sat together on the sofa, Raven drinking her tea, Cyborg scarfing down his sandwich.

Raven found tranquility in the dead of night, in the heart of a raging thunderstorm, and she wasn't alone.

[cinewhore]

Iridescent

Pairing: Triss Merigold x Fem!reader

Rating: Explicit

warning: small angst, heavy smut. Fingering, female receiving oral, scissoring.

Summary: After the battle of Sodden Hill, you and Trish spend an idyllic afternoon on a picnic. 

A/N: a repost. credit to the gif makers.

Triss reminds you of the sun.

The soft rays that caress your skin as they filter through the trees. The warmth that seeps deep into your bones, makes you feel alive.

Your face splits into a smile as you feel her grow near, her footsteps rattling your heart. You didn’t think she would agree to meet you in the garden but you wanted a moment alone with just her. The two of you were currently staying at Kaer Morhen for the time being and helping the Witchers with various tasks. Triss demanded that she go alone, seeing as she has a better relationship with some of the mutants then you did but you refused and made the journey with her.

It was not your ideal place to be at the moment but there was so much tension building up around the continents you felt that you needed to move. The mountains provided you with enough space and air to feel less restricted. You could deal with the raggedy men if it meant getting to wake up to the same view everyday.

The bubbling of a nearby lake keeps you company and wets the air around you. You close your eyes and inhale deeply, tilting your head back to let the sun graze it.

“You know you’re not supposed to look directly at it, right?” Triss’s quiet voice breaks your meditation and you laugh, prying your eyes open. She looks like an angel, her chestnut hair neatly cascading down her shoulders and back. A cloak covers her body, dress billowing from underneath.

“If that’s the case then I shouldn’t be looking at you at all.”

Triss grins as she continues towards you. You take the time to stand up to greet her properly, a hand on her hip while the other cradles her face. “Hello, my love.”

“Hi.” Triss bites her lip as the two of you gaze into each other's eyes, mesmerized by the sheer beauty each of you possesses. “I came all this, the food better be good.”

“It is better than whatever slop they are currently indulging in.” you inform her, stepping away to dig through the contents of your wooden basket.

Triss takes the task of spreading out the picnic blanket while you prep lunch, stealing glances at her occasionally. She slips off her cloak, folding it, and setting it to the side.

“I managed to gather some of the freshest fruit, sourced from the countryside along with the richest of cheeses.” you pridefully tell Triss, setting out each dish carefully. She claps her hands as you pull out a small loaf of bread with an assortment of jams and spreads to go along with it.

“Is that blueberry jam?” She asks excitedly, a gleam in her eye.

“I traveled far and wide to find it just for you.”

Triss doesn’t waste any time as she bypasses the bread and goes straight for the jam, taking the butter knife and dipping a healthy glob in her hand to lick at. She closes her eyes in pure bliss, mouth working to extract all of the flavors. “Oh, this is the best.”

Lunch goes over well with the pair of you catching each other up on the happenings within the castle. You had your reservations about Ciri and Triss helping her but knew that Triss would never do something to endanger anyone.

“You are thinking too loudly.” she giggles when you frown at her.

“You already know what I am thinking about.”

Triss sighs, wiping away at her mouth. “I do.”

Silence floats in the air as you observe the rustling of the trees. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I have never felt safer.”

You shake your head to yourself, the stinging sensation of fresh tears threatening to spill over. The battle of Sodden Hill was still a raw subject and one that everyone narrowly avoided discussing. All of the people you considered to be friends, family, killed in combat. You did what you could to fight and you fought hard but emotions took over when you heard the screams of Triss as she was burned. You let your guard down and because of that, someone’s life was taken.

Everyday you were tortured with the sounds and punished yourself by vanishing after the battle was done. Tissaia was slightly concerned at your loss but you later returned and all was well. Tissaia knew you were hurting and let you have your space to mourn. She was privately mourning the loss of Yennefer but declined to affirm that she was.

The reemergence of Yennefer stunned everyone but it seemed to rattle Triss the most.

“You can’t change what happened, so there’s no need to torture yourself over it.” Triss’s hand covers yours.

“You’re the one to talk.” the words left your mouth before you could stop them. Triss removes her hand and stuffs them in her lap.

“I’m sorry, Triss, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Triss shakes her head at you. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more. I thought coming here would open up the space for you to talk to me, to let me in, but there are just times where you won’t even look at me and I just-” you stop abruptly, swallowing hard against the lump that currently occupied your throat. “You got hurt because I couldn’t be there to protect you.”

Triss’s face softens as she scoots closer to you, grabbing your face in her hands. “I got hurt because we were protecting all of those innocent people who would’ve perished under Nilfgaard. I wouldn’t change that for anything. I’m still here and so are you, that’s all that matters. Ok?”

You nod your head, tears spilling over as you bury your face into her neck. Triss sighs, rubbing a hand gently over your back. She hums a tune and waits for you to calm down.

You lean back, knocking your forehead with hers. Your nose brushes along Triss’s, her head tipping as you push your lips together. The kiss starts off innocent enough, sweet and pleasant.

Her mouth parts as you lick into it, a low fire growing in your belly. The once slow touching turns frantic as you search for a source of your lover's skin. Triss retreats as you reach to pull her dress down, struggling to catch her breath.

“Please,” you whisper. “I just want to see you. Let me see you.”

Triss gazes into your eyes with an overwhelming feeling. She hadn’t let anyone see her bare since Sodden Hill and didn’t like the scars that were left behind. She confided in Yennefer that overall she didn’t mind them, she was just happy that her name wasn’t on Tissaia’s plaque. She was happy that she got to spend more time with you.

“I’m scared.” Triss croaks, a slight tremor in her voice.

“It is only me. You have nothing to fear.” you attempt a smile and peck both of her checks, her nose, and her forehead. “A beautiful creature I have the gift of experiencing.”

Triss grabs your hand and guides it to the dress strap on her shoulder. You peel it off slowly,eyes drinking in every inch of flesh that graced your eyes. You move to the other side and do the same until both straps hang near her elbows.

“If this is too much, we can always stop. I will love you either way.” You remind her.

“I want to. I trust you.”

You help Triss lay back, kissing down her neck and nipping at her neck. You detect her heart rate accelerating and you smirk. All you ever wanted to do was let Triss know how much you cared for her and to help make her feel good. If you could do that, you could do anything.

To assure her that you were fully committed, you undress yourself, all of the scars from difficult times seeing the light of day. Triss stares in awe like she does every time she sees you naked and you lean into yourself, shy under her admiring view.

Settling yourself on your knees, you part Triss’s legs, worshiping her body as if it were your altar. Your fingers trace up her inner thighs and she shivers, hips grinding in anticipation. You decide not to keep her waiting and lower yourself in front of her damp mound, separating her lips with your tongue.

Triss throws her head back and pants as you taste her, sucking and swallowing her juices. Your right hand snakes up her body to squeeze at her breasts, twisting her nipple teasingly. Your left becomes acquainted with her clit, stroking it skillfully before you dip them into her warm cunt. Triss’s body moves on its own accord, pleasure guiding her fluidity. Her hand covers yours again as she steers you in the right direction on how to touch her, helping to pull and pinch her nipples.

“Oh, fuck, your mouth is heavenly.” she whines, feet digging into the blanket beneath her.

You hum into her pussy and grin internally when her legs begin to lock around your head. She was nearing her release and you were nowhere near done. You thrust your fingers faster, the squelching of her wetness sounding like music to your ears.

“Please, please, please.” Triss chants, voice growing higher in pitch as she reaches her orgasm. You slurp and feast on her selfishly, devouring her cunt until it's swollen. Triss groans as she jerks back from your mouth, body overstimulated.

You bite at her thighs as you move away from her center, chest heaving as she comes down from her high. You wipe at your mouth lazily, eyes hooded with lust.

“Tell me, Triss. What do you want?”

“I want,” she stops to catch her breath. “I want you to make love to me. Fuck me, I beg you.”

Crawling towards her mouth, your lips clash in a furious battle, tongues exchanging blow after blow.

You position yourself in between her legs so that your pussy was rubbing across hers and you nearly jump out of your skin as you clits make contact, the sensation electrifying.

The mixture of your ethereal moans combined with the lively sounds of the springs create a harmony so unreal, you believe for a moment that you were dreaming. There was no way this could be real, however, you look down at your paramour and bask in her appearance: legs sprawled to accompany yours, mouth agape in delight, eyes closed to fully grapple the moment.

The flowers prove to be your only audience, swaying in a tame rhythm.

The sun shines directly onto her being, casting a light so vivid you had to glance away.

She was iridescent.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOriginal Character Fic

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 1/40

Summary: - 'I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.' - Mary Hornbacher

Gwen had spent so long on her own, distanced from the world behind a mask of her own making, that when he smiled at her like she hung the moon and the stars, she thought she would be blinded by the need that coursed through her rotten veins. She was not a creature that deserved love, but by the Maker did she need Alistair like she needed the air in her tired lungs.

Masterlist

“It takes a special kind of person to hide away in an abandoned hovel instead of help fight to save the town that one is currently residing in.” Gwen could barely conceal the anger rolling in her tone like the sound of distant thunder, the dark blue bandana covering from her oddly flat nose down to her neck shielding the dwarf from the full effect of her fury. Yet, from the look of shocked outrage wrinkling the skin of his large forehead, he at least seemed to understand what she was implying. “I thought dwarves were supposed to be brave and strong,” she continued, “but all I see is a whiny coward who is far past his golden days.”

The dwarf’s chair creaked against the wooden floor as he stood up in a rush, apoplectic and red in the face, “You know nothing of me, girl, I have fought my battles, you cannot cow me into joining human militia,” he spat the words like they were dirt on his tongue, “I may as well string myself up and lather my body in butter for those beasts to snack on, all the good that’ll do me.”

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest, the muscles in her jaw twitching with irritation. She was finding it increasingly difficult to think as that ever-present whisper shivered down her spine, drifting through her in a way that threatened to consume her carefully balanced poise and turn her into the feral creature she knew lurked underneath. She’d come all this way, fought night after night against the undead raiding this town like a plague, and this is what she got? A cowardly dwarf who refused to help in a fight?

When she’d first heard that there was a veteran dwarf holed up in this tiny room off the town centre of Redcliffe, she’d figured it couldn’t be that hard to convince him to join up.

She should have known than to underestimate a dwarf’s stubbornness.

Gwen placed her hands on the table between them, leaning forward so she towered over his seated form, “If you do not join the militia, I will ensure that it is not for lack of will, but for lack of physical capability,” she snarled, her lips curling back under the blue fabric. Dwyn froze, all that righteous indignation falling from his face as his eyes flickered downwards to where the dark blue fabric rested against her starkly pale skin.

Gwen's usually calm composure transformed, her anger pulsing through her body and emanating off of her like a dark aura. As she towered over the dwarf in front of her, his eyes darted around nervously, searching for an escape. The air around them felt charged with fear as Gwen leaned closer.

“What are you?” Dwyn's eyes narrowed as he looked at Gwen with suspicion and distaste, taking in the blueish hue of her flesh and the unnatural wispy grey of her eyes. His gaze lingered on the bandana for a moment, a subtle sign of his fear and uncertainty.

Gwen cocked her head to the side, her voice cold enough to send chills running down the dwarf’s spine, “Would you like to find out?”

Dwyn, realizing this line of questioning was not going to get him anywhere pleasant, shook his head, “I know a freak when I see one, you don’t gotta tell me twice,” he grumbled at her, picking up his axe from where it rested against the floor, the metal scraping against the wood of the floor.

Gwen stood tall, her shoulders squared and chin lifted in defiance, giving no indication that his name-calling hurt her, and in truth, it didn’t, not in any way that mattered. She’d heard it from people for her entire life - freak, monster, demon - and she’d learned that it only ever genuinely hurt when it came from those she cared about. And she didn’t have anyone she cared about anymore, so she was immune to such petty name-calling. At least until she would crawl into bed, her blood stinging as it ran through veins not made to carry its toxicity, the familiar names echoing in her mind like screams into a canyon, adding to the constant clamour that plagued her every night.

The rustling of fabric and shifting of items could be heard as Dwyn adjusted his pack, the heavy clanking of metal objects and creaking of leather indicative of the weight he carried. His footsteps were quick and hurried as he tried to make a swift exit, avoiding Gwen’s intense stare that she shot like daggers against his skin. A door creaked open and stayed that way as a gust of wind slammed it into the outside wall. The room fell quiet once again, with only the lingering echoes of Gwen's heavy exhale breaking the stillness.

Despite being skilled at intimidating others, it was a role that she despised. She had spent years perfecting the art of appearing non-threatening, constantly walking on eggshells to avoid provoking anyone, while at the same time unnerving others enough with her blank stares and tense posture - as though she was ready to strike at any moment - that they left her alone. She knew the consequences of revealing her true self, and she had no desire to relive those moments of her life, they were best buried in the past.

“Huh, I thought we’d have to do all that hard work ourselves but it looks like someone beat us to it.” The voice was a rich, warm timbre that rumbled from the depths of the speaker's chest. It was confident and bold, yet playful and mischievous, adding a touch of humour to the tense atmosphere. Despite its deepness, the voice carried easily, demanding the attention of anyone within earshot “It’s too bad, I was kind of hoping to try my hand at scaring the breeches off a dwarf.”

Gwen, who had been so lost in her thoughts, and that horrible, whispering voice that bounced around the base of her skull - too quiet to make out the words, but just loud enough to be impossible to ignore - she hadn’t heard the stranger’s approach. As she whirled around, her eyes wide with panic, she realized she had not only missed the speaker’s approach but that of his two companions and Mabari hound as well.

Shit, they’d startled her and she’d been so wrapped up in her own head she had forgotten to put on her mildly intimidating act.

Unsafe, unsafe, unsafe, her brain repeated to herself. Unhelpful, she wanted to add.

She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling under her bandana in an attempt to look less like a nug that had been caught outside its burrow. She focused on the elf leading the group who stands tall and willowy but proud. His features were sharp and defined, with piercing dark eyes that seemed as endless as the night sky. His chiselled jawline gave him the air of confidence and arrogance though it was softened by his expertly styled hair that cascaded back in loose burnished-brown curls that hugged the nap of his neck. The sassy smirk he wore on his lips that showed off the dimples of his cheeks made it clear he knew how attractive he was.

Gwen held back an eye-roll, but the handsome elf’s companion, a dark-haired mage judging by the wooden staff strapped to her back, who was beautiful in an I’ll-kill-you-with-one-withering-stare-and-a-cutting-remark kind of way, held no such reservations. She’d never seen an eye-roll of such high calibre sass, but she couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with the woman, one she was sure would not be reciprocated.

“You could not ‘scare the breeches’ off of a blushing maiden, Darcy,” the woman spoke in a mocking tone, her accent posh and refined, “let alone a washed-up soldier, dwarf or otherwise.”

Gwen would have to agree, he was much too slight to scare anyone, and his light leather armor did little to invoke the image of a powerful warrior. His beauty was a delicate sort, his cheekbones may have been as sharp as crystalline glass, but they would shatter all the same.

The man, Darcy - as the woman had called him -, feigned a deep and horrid pain, clutching at his chest dramatically, “You wound me, Morrigan, and in front of our new friend too. Do you never tire of mocking me?”

“When you no longer provide fuel for my mocking, I will consider relenting.”

The Mabari barked his agreement.

“Traitor.” Darcy hissed, scowling down at the short-furred beast, its tongue lolling happily out of its mouth.

“Right.” Gwen kept her arms loose but prepared to strike, they did not yet seem to be a threat, but she had learned long ago to never trust first appearances, “What do you want?”

Darcy opened his hands in a gesture meant to appease her, “I appreciate a woman who is straight to the point. Murdock told us all about the masked stranger who’d been helping them fight back the undead hoards that have been descending upon their good city and we’ve completed all the other tasks he’d given to you. Well, save for Dwyn, but it seems you have that one handled.” Darcy smirked at her.

Gwen eyed the strangers, looking at the last companion she had yet to hear speak up. The man’s strawberry blond hair was kept short to his head except for a little more length in the front that stuck up a bit, little whisps trailed down over his forehead as though the hair disagreed with this arrangement and wished it to be known. His strong chin was dusted with a light goatee, and his sturdy warrior’s frame towered over his smaller friends. He stood behind them, but as his warm brown eyes met hers, she wondered why he let the much smaller two lead. It was a scene of unexpected camaraderie, a trio of unlikely companions united under a common purpose. The small dogs, full of tenacity and spirit, were determined to lead the larger one, who seemed content to follow along as long as he was a part of the group. The dynamics between them were as colourful and intriguing as a patchwork quilt, each unique in their own way yet working together despite the snags they may encounter.

Since he had been behind the other two, Gwen hadn’t noticed the symbol covering his breastplate, yet when he shifted and the light reflected off the polished metal as he stepped into her view, eager to be a part of the conversation, her heart sunk. It felt like some cosmic joke, right as she was headed on the path to find the answers she’d sought her entire life, that familiar Griffon she’d spent the last eight years avoiding was now staring her in the face, cornering her in this tiny room.

Of course, it was just her luck that she’d be face to face with a Grey Warden, though she knew it was only a matter of time until she found one amidst the Blight, she’d hoped it would be after she’d come into contact with Darkspawn. She should have kept that hope secret, lest the Gods find it and tear it to shreds along with the rest of everything else she tried to grasp.

Gwen tore her panicked gaze from him, content to ignore him until he gave her a reason not to. Her hands itched for her daggers, but until he showed signs that he meant to harm her, she would not give him any reason to. She had no way of knowing how he’d react to her, but she would ensure she did not meet her end when she was so close to getting the answers she’d wanted her entire Maker-forsaken life.

“Thank you?” Gwen wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or if Darcy was actually upset that she had stolen this piece of glory from him.

Darcy’s smirk widened and she wasn’t sure she liked where this was heading, but was powerless to stop it lest she provoke his ire, “What brings you to Redcliffe…?” He trailed off, his heavy-lidded eyes - a hint of amusement hiding in the darkness - awaited her reply as he leaned forward, intent in his stance.

Gwen’s gaze drifted into a vacant stare as she processed the question, “Gwen.” She supplied when it clicked - embarrassingly late - what he was asking for. She glanced back to the Grey Warden but saw no recognition in his eyes, only a curious expression as he watched this conversation play out. Good, she had worked hard to keep her name out of blabbering mouths, it would do her no good to hide her face if everyone recognized her by name alone.

“Gwen,” Darcy said the name appraisingly and nodded his approval, “what brings you to Redcliffe? Haven’t you heard that the Archdemon’s army marches this way?””

Gwen hesitated, she couldn’t tell them the truth, at least not the whole truth, but she couldn’t come up with a good enough lie that would explain why she wasn’t running away, “Yes, I ‘d heard.”

“And you’re willingly travelling towards it?” The tall Grey Warden spoke for the first time since they’d cornered her in this room. His smooth voice carried a Ferelden accent, a lightness to it as if he was constantly on the verge of laughter. The way he spoke was playful yet confident, teasing but never cruel. Gwen’s eyes flicker to him and then back to where Darcy stands, a hand on his cocked hip and that smirk still resting on his perfectly arched lips.

Gwen shifted her gaze nervously, unable to maintain a steady level of eye contact. She didn't want the Grey Warden to feel intimidated by her intense gaze, so she forced herself to glance away. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his full lips pulled downwards into a pout, a rather put-out look on his face.

“Yes.” She answered simply, “Where there is war there is work.”

Darcy laughed, melodic and loud as it echoed in the small space, “And it seems like our work just so happens to line up at the moment,” Darcy took a few steps forward and held out his hand. Gwen had to resist every instinct to put space between them, but if he noticed her freeze up, he did not let on. Underneath all that charm was a cunning mind and she was reticent to trust him based on his word alone. Yet, she couldn’t risk upsetting him either, “So what do you say, Gwen, how about we work together to kill some undead, and then if you are as good as Murdock claims, you can come with us to stop the Archdemon before it destroys Ferelden forever. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of work along the way.”

Gwen balked, “You’re going to stop the Archdemon?” She glanced over at the Grey Warden again, were there more of them waiting outside?

“That or die trying, and the odds of our bloody deaths increase every day!” He quipped, much too cheery for such a foreboding statement. “And we’d be all that much safer if we had a mysterious figure such as yourself to help scare off some of our enemies. I must say there is something about you that is deeply unsettling.” Darcy added, jiggling his hand to remind her he was still waiting before sincerity caused his tone to lower, “We could really use someone like you.”

Gwen’s heart twisted in her chest, uncomfortable feelings swirling through her stomach, like a swarm of angry bees. They wanted her, just like that? No need to prove herself, no demands to reveal her face… There had to be some trick there, no one wanted the off-putting stranger who refused to show her face around unless they were desperate. Though perhaps no other Wardens were waiting for them outside which would stand to reason that they could, in fact, be rather desperate for willing participants in their fight. And Darcy did make a fair point; she was trying to help Redcliffe and so were they. If she agreed to accompany them for this battle, she could determine their true intent and decide if it was worth joining them or shaking them at the first available opportunity. They had to sleep sometime and escaping into the night was a specialty of hers.

Gwen clasped her hand in his and gave him a firm shake, his grin growing and Gwen already regretted agreeing to this. She looked to the woman - Morrigan, Darcy had called her - who looked as though she’d eaten a batch of sour grapes. If Darcy could convince such a sullen woman to be a part of his group, she likely did not stand a chance, better to agree early and part ways when he wasn’t looking. The Grey Warden piece was a complication that lurked like a shadow in the darkness, a blade waiting to strike, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had lived on alert at all times. She could handle it for the time being, given that they all lived through the upcoming onslaught of undead creatures, of course.

“Your penchant for adopting strays shall spell our doom,” Morrigan muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Dramatic as ever, Morrigan,” The Grey Warden teased, and the death glare he earned had Gwen surprised he wasn’t reduced to cinder right then and there, “I, for one am happy to welcome you to our humble little party.” He beamed at her, his smile lopsided and boyish, and even though she was still wary of him, it warmed a small piece of her that he seemed to genuinely mean it. “I’m Alistair, by the way, since everyone else has already had the chance to introduce themselves.”

Alistair bounced with nervous energy about him when he spoke that had Gwen eyeing him warily like he was an over-excitable pup ready to jump on her and begin licking her face with abandon. Maker, she needed to stop thinking about him like a dog or she would never be able to resist anything he asked of her.

A loud bark reminded Gwen that they had a real dog among their group, strays indeed.

“Oh, and this is Barkspawn.” Alistair gestured to the Mabari, covered in war paint, who sat on his haunches, an air of pride swirling around him. Gwen coughed to cover a startled laugh, Barkspawn? Had they named their dog with a blight-based pun? Maybe she didn’t have to fear them as much as she had originally thought, but rather whatever chaotic situations they were no doubt to pull her into.

Morrigan made a disgusted sound, her painted lips twisted with a sneer. Gwen was sure she was going to be hearing that sound from her a lot in the upcoming time spent together. “Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Morrigan’s tone dripped with sarcasm and haughty disdain, “But we must end this ceaseless prattle, lest we squander more time in our preparations than we already have. Our true objective is to defeat the Archdemon and we cannot do so when we are preoccupied with saving this town from suffering the consequences of their own mistakes.”

“For the hundredth time, oh witchy one,” Alistair’s dry tone lent his words a grating sort of touch, “We can’t just leave these people to die, and we need Arl Eamon’s help to-“

“If I wanted to listen to your whining, Alistair, I would have simply listened to the mutt’s whimpering, at least that is more pleasant to the ears.” Morrigan cut him off with biting words.

Darcy’s laugh stopped Alistair from releasing whatever scathing remark was poised at the tip of his tongue, “Welcome to the team, Gwen, you’re going to love it here.”

That remained to be seen, but at least if the witch could distract the Grey Warden’s disdain from her, maybe she could at least survive the night.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my fic <3

I will be posting minimum once a week, but my last fic I posted almost daily sooooo we will see!

No warnings for this chapter but all future warnings will be posted in the beginning notes.

I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments and they keep me writing faster :)

Art of Gwen for anyone interested :)

[despitethecold]

Hi @thenoman-sland !!! I was your secret Valentine's gift maker for @gtafest :333 I really liked all of your prompts, but I went with the first one because I've been wanting to write Luis and Tony for a while, just never found the courage to xD I hope you like it (and I really hope I didn't fuck up the Spanish parts lol)

Love you so much, hope you have an amazing Valentine's day!! <333

...

Pillowtalk had never been something Luis looked forward to with his previous partners. Perhaps it was the pressure he felt from the naked girls next to him, looking at him expectantly and waiting for him to whisper sweet nothings and flattering remarks into their ear, or maybe he simply wasn’t the type for that kind of intimacy. That was an advantage in his line of work, really. He always had something more important to do than lazing around in bed, with a hot chick or not, and he was handsome enough to hook up with them again without buttering them up with exaggerations and lies. Most of the time, they found him at the club and took him to the toilets for a quick fuck anyway, rather than inviting him to their bed again.

But it was different with Tony. So incredibly different. He had no explanation as to why he was dying to say every corny word in the book to Tony while touching his naked body, lips worshiping his skin to make him squirm in pleasure under him. Tony wasn’t some delicate flower, even if troubled at times — the rough, filthy sex they had nearly every night was proof of that. And yet, the yearning lingered. The need to make sure Tony knew how crazy Luis was about him, to feel his skin that was deliciously tanned from their recent vacation in Los Santos. Nothing else mattered when he had Tony with him, preferably naked, all his for as long as he wanted.

That’s why he didn’t hold back when he got the chance that night after they thoroughly enjoyed each other’s bodies, taking their sweet time with it. The atmosphere felt exquisite, just the right amount of romance with the few candles Tony had lit before pulling Luis into bed with a searing kiss — they gave off a sweet, woody scent that warmed his insides, making him feel at home with how familiar it was. One of the playlists he had made for Tony was quietly playing in the living room.  

He could barely pay attention to any of that, though, when sweat glistened on Tony’s forehead, those perfect lips wrapped around the thin cigarette he held between his two fingers, and he looked almost serene, like he wasn’t worried about anything for once. Not the business, not where their relationship was going, and certainly not deranged mobsters chasing after him.

Luis found himself shuffling closer, yanking off the sheets Tony had covered below his waist to expose more of his beautiful body, fingertips ghosting over his hip bone. It drew a quiet laughter out of Tony, and he murmured after he breathed out the smoke, “Round two?”

“No,” Luis hummed, caressing Tony’s thigh. “I mean, not yet.”

Tony took another drag from his cigarette before putting it out on the ashtray, only half-smoked. “You used to take less time. Old age is getting to you, darling.”

Luis looked up into Tony’s eyes while he pressed his lips to his stomach, just above his belly button, leaving small, sensual kisses as he moved up.

The confusion was evident on Tony’s face, but so was the arousal and fondness. He was unmistakably pleased by being lavished with attention, and he returned it by putting his hands on Luis’s broad shoulders, right thumb stroking the skin of his neck in a way that made Luis shiver slightly. “Well, this is new,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” Luis countered, urging him to roll onto his side a bit so he could grope his asscheek. “I thought you knew how much I’m into you.”

“My ass is well aware of just how much.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, gaze not leaving Luis’s.

Raising his eyebrows, Luis lazily lapped at Tony’s nipple, kissing it a few times, continuing to fondle him before humming, “Tone.”

“Lou.”

“I’m really fucking into you.”

“Are you, now?”

Luis grunted, planting a wet kiss on his neck. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Yep,” Tony answered, smirking like he knew precisely what Luis was thinking. “Teasing you is just too fun, honey.”

That earned him a spank and another kiss, this time on the corner of his mouth. “Say it.”

“Say what?” 

“That I’m into you.”

Tony hummed, gently running his hand up and down his back. “Somebody’s a softie today.”

Luis groaned out a curse word in Spanish before he crashed their mouths together, softly biting Tony’s lower lip and swallowing his moan with another kiss. When Tony tried to tilt his head to mutter another witty retort, he pushed him onto his back and kissed him again, practically climbing on top of him. 

It didn’t take Tony long to give up and wrap his arm around Luis’s shoulder, his other hand winding up in his hair, pulling him closer, and it felt like time stopped when they were pressed together like they were born for it, lips locked, tongues teasing each other, hands searching, craving for more. Right then, if Luis knew a way to carve into Tony’s skin to pull out his soul so he could entwine it with his own, he would; he was sure of it. 

What felt like an eternity later, Luis had to finally let Tony breathe, hiding his face in Tony’s neck and panting heavily. He could feel the proof of Tony’s arousal digging into his thigh, but he didn’t dare move from his spot, just… feeling Tony, his skin, heartbeat. Breathing him in.

He heard Tony swallow after catching his breath, but he didn’t speak. Neither of them did for a while — there was no need when they could remind what they meant to each other with their bodies, their lips constantly seeking more skin to kiss. When Tony glanced up and their eyes met, though, he found himself murmuring, “Eres tan hermoso, querido…”

The corners of Tony’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled. “Are you being a softie in Spanish now, Lou?”

“Cállate.”

Tony’s smile widened, and he appeared to be thinking before he said, “Una cerveza, por favor.”

Luis snorted amusedly, nudging Tony’s jaw with his nose. “You stupid old, white man. Is that the only thing you remember?”

“I took a class for you and this is how you thank me,” Tony sighed exaggeratedly. 

“No. This is how I thank you.” He groped Tony’s ass again, the other hand over his head, touching his hair with affection. “Round two.”

Tony simply laughed and brought their lips together again, kissing him warmly and sweetly, hand resting over Luis’s cheek and feeling his stubble.

They fucked again, both satisfied when Luis pulled Tony close seconds before falling asleep, face against the nape of his neck. Surely, he would worship all of Tony again soon, make him feel so good, but there was no rush.

They had the rest of their lives for that.

[letzgetsilly]

Goosebumps theory: Mr Wood timeline of events

Ok this may be a little bit insane and the formatting may be off because I’m copying and pasting all this from where I was rambling in a friend’s Minecraft server’s Discord chat. But anyway without further ado:

This is how I think Mr Wood/Wally's life went. The books I'm getting this info from (in the order they were published) are Night of the Living Dummy, Bride of the Living Dummy, Slappy's Nightmare, I am Slappy's Evil Twin, and Slappy: Beware. Warning, this is a long ol’ post and contains spoilers!

So in I am Slappy's Evil Twin we learn that Slappy, Snappy, and Mr Wood were made by a ventriloquist and puppet maker named Franz Mahar in Britain in the 1920s, all made out of wood from a stolen coffin. We can infer that Goldie was also made by Franz, though she isn't mentioned because she hadn't made an appearance yet. Things get tricky here because Mr Wood, Snappy, AND Goldie were all said to have been created 'side by side' with Slappy but that's kind of impossible lmao. Slappy and Snappy are the only 2 who are described as being completely identical, though Mr Wood does come close enough to Slappy's appearance that he's almost exclusively reffered to as 'Slappy's twin'. Goldie was probably created first because she has the most powerful magic, then it was either Slappy & Snappy or Mr Wood, or Mr Wood was created last. All we really know is that Mr Wood is Franz's least favourite because of how he treats him, but idk if he treats him this way because of what Mr Wood did to him or if he just doesn't care for him much because he was created after the others? Or maybe Slappy & Snappy were created last and they're his favourite because they're like his final ultimate creation? This could really go either way. They were brought to life by a magician named Kanduu who Franz worked with, but after Mr Wood attacked Franz on stage he found that Kanduu had used his magic to turn the dummies evil which like ok wow, dick move there bro. Franz then runs away and moves to an isolated town in America where he continues to make puppets on his own. Slappy 'n co. are absolutely mental and so just go around the town fucking shit up, so of course the locals are pissed at Franz. They end up catching Mr Wood and burning him on a bonfire, and Franz fakes being upset about this but when he goes back home he just laughs with Slappy because that's his favourite little boy and he is so pleased that the townsfolk think Mr Wood was behind everything and will now leave him and his guys alone.

^ There is a bit of a discrepancy with this backstory though. In Slappy: Beware, Slappy claims he was made by an evil sorcerer 200 years ago in an evil tower but I am 100% certain he is just making shit up to sound cool. Or he genuinely believes this because he literally has a peanut butter sandwich in his head.

Now we know Mr Wood obviously survives this fire because he appears in other books. Maybe being framed and falsely accused from Slappy is the reason he hates him so much, though maybe he always hated him because as seen by the 'beat down of 1920' he is just generally violent. Anyway so while the first book published to feature Mr Wood was Night of the Living Dummy, I think that the next book in the timeline is Slappy's Nightmare. Yeah that's right baby, I think Slappy's Nightmare is a PREQUEL!!! WHAAAAT!!!!!!!

For some context though we need to take a look at Bride of the Living Dummy. In this book, we see that Slappy now currently belongs to an enthusiastic young guy named Jimmy O'James, for some reason depicted as a spineless old man in the TV series but I digress. This book doesn't have Mr Wood in it but it is very relevant because of Jimmy! Our precious Jimmy! Puppeteering them blind! Jimmy and Slappy work together to entertain kids at the town's local theatre, and because Slappy is alive Jimmy is like "wow I really hit the jackpot with this guy I'll be the best ventriloquist ever and make so many people happy with my performance!" but SIKE Slappy is evil and abuses Jimmy behind the scenes. Jimmy ends up running away from home I think? Or something? But we do know that Slappy eventually finds his way back to Jimmy because they are performing together again in Slappy's Nightmare.

SO this is where Mr Wood makes a return, but under the name of Wally. On the Goosebumps Wiki they are listed as 2 separate characters, but it's pretty much unanimously agreed upon that Mr Wood and Wally are the same character because they are both described as looking similar to Slappy, both hold a grudge against him, both have even worse anger issues than Slappy does, and both have blue eyes. The ONE teeny tiiiiny issue is that 'Wally' is described as having brown hair, but there are several non-canon (I think it was on a backpack) and dubiously-canon (Enter HorrorLand, the French cover of Night of the Living Dummy) depictions of Mr Wood where he has brown hair. So idk. Maybe his hair was dirty or he put like temporary dye in it or something. All I know is it's pretty much unanimously agreed upon that Mr Wood and Wally are the same.

Anyway tangent aside, most of this book doesn't count because, as the title suggests, it's Slappy having a nightmare, but there is a lot of relevant info in the parts where he is awake. We know that Slappy is still performing with Jimmy and that Jimmy desperately wants to get away from Slappy while continuing his dream of being a ventriloquist but is scared of failure and that if he stops performing with a living dummy everyone will see his lips moving (bro thought he was gonna be Archie Andrews 2 <-- nerd reference for fellow puppet fans ONLY). But at the end of the book, he gets Mr Wood (Wally) and reads a spell that will put Slappy to sleep and wake Wally up. So Slappy is now 'dead' and Mr Wood is now 'alive'. And while this bothered me for quite some time because how would Slappy come back for the later books, I think it makes sense with this prequel theory, because this leads on PERFECTLY to Night of the Living Dummy.

Despite the most famous cover of this book, the original American cover, having only Slappy on it, and the modern cover also featuring only Slappy, Slappy is actually BARELY relevant in this book AT ALL. Most of the crazy stuff that happens is all because of Mr Wood. So the book starts with the Powell twins playing on a construction site because this was the 90s and nobody cared about children's safety, when they find a dumpster with Slappy in it. Lindy claims it and Kris gets jealous, so her parents go out and buy her a dummy that is just like the one her sister has, and it's Mr Wood baby!!! This was the first book published with these 2 in it. The birth of absolute legends. We'll get back to the Powell twins later but we need to figure out, what happened in between Slappy's Nightmare and the first Night of the Living Dummy if it really is a prequel? And this is where we go to Slappy: Beware for one crucial clue. I know I already disparaged this book because Slappy is as about as unreliable as an unreliable narrator can get, but he has zero reason to lie about this because it makes his brother, who he hates, seem more successful than him, so I believe it's reall. I also haven't read Slappy: Beware but I know this is in it as a major plot point.

In the Goosebumps universe, there is actually a line of mass-produced replicas of Mr Wood, and Slappy uses this to his advantage by disguising himself as Mr Wood and hiding in one of the boxes so he's bought and gifted to a kid.

Why would Mr Wood be famous?

Because, I think, after putting Slappy to sleep and waking Mr Wood up, Jimmy began touring with Mr Wood instead. People took notice of 'how good of a ventriloquist this Jimmy guy is' (I mean wow, it's almost like the dummy has it's own voice or something!) and he got on talent shows and even like TV and stuff. They get merch deals, including producing those replicas, which is a real thing that happens irl with famous ventriloquist dummies like this literally irl happened with Slappy. But it's not to last because just like his brother, Mr Wood is an evil little shit and is exceptionally violent. Perhaps they got into an argument over the fact Jimmy was profiting off of Mr Wood's likeness now, who knows, all we know for certain is that Mr Wood ends up in a charity shop and Slappy ends up in a dumpster.

Anyway, so in the first Night of the Living Dummy book it's actually Mr Wood who's going around fucking shit up and vomiting green slime on people, Slappy is just completely normal and does nothing throughout the entire book. Eventually though Mr Wood's head gets crushed by a steamroller. Bummer! And then one of the twins accidentally brings Slappy to life and boom, twist ending!

There is something else I'd like to briefly mention, Mr Wood was actually the protagonist of the 2008 online game Enter HorrorLand (which is why it's the piece of lost media that most desperately needs to be found). The canonicity of this game is a little dubious and peculiar as all the books in the HorrorLand series link to this game as if it's part of that same universe and the books all end with maps that match up exactly with Enter HorrorLand. So it's possible he somehow survived the steamroller? God I hope so. I really really hope so.

Anyway that was the story of undertale thanks for reading lol :P

[smalltowngnoll]

Scoop of Meteor Ice Cream

Chunks of meteor not included.

This is a Mexican hot chocolate/rocky road hybrid. Instead of chocolate chips, I used chocolate cookie dough. That way there’s no giant frozen crunches of large chips! The recipe for the dough is at the end.

Ingredients

3 c milk

2/3 c sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 tsp salt

1/cup cocoa powder

1/4 tsp chili powder

1-2 cinnamon sticks

6 egg yolks

3/4 c chopped walnuts, toasted

3/4 c chocolate chips/dough

Recipe

In a sauce pan, mix the milk, sugar, salt, cocoa powder, vanilla, cinnamon sticks, and chili powder. Bring to a simmer on low heat.

Put the egg yolks in a large, nonreactive bowl. Slowly add a little milk mixture at a time, whisking constantly. Continue to add milk mixture until eggs are tempered.

Return the mixture to the pot, and bring to a boil on medium heat, stirring constantly. Once the custard thickens, remove from heat and remove the cinnamon sticks. Let cool.

Once cooled, out in your ice cream maker and make your ice cream. I’ve got a wooden bucket churned with an electric motor, personally. So I need rock salt to make mine.

Towards the end of the process, add nuts and chocolate chips/dough in. Allow the mixture to continue churning to completion.

Cookie Dough Recipe

Cream 1/2 c butter with 1/2 c sugar and 1/4 c packed brown sugar. Mix in 1 egg and 1/2 tsp vanilla extract. Work in 1 heaping cup of flour, 1/4 c coacoa powder, 1/2 tsp salt, and if you plan to bake leftovers, 1/2 tsp soda. (Bakes 12 min at 350.)

Shitty Picture

Slow burn on the chili powder made this a memorable scoop of ice cream!

[the-fae-folk]

Do the Fair Folk have jobs? Do they have their own currency? Do they have their own government?

Of course they do. Whatever needs to be done, they'll do it. For example, if someone decided they wanted to have some Frytour blaunched (a kind of almond-filled pastry baked in honey and wine) they would need to have someone to grow and harvest almonds, to grow ginger, to grow and process sugar, to pan for or otherwise obtain salt, someone to keep bees and to obtain their honey, wine makers, someone to obtain the oil used in cooking, and of course someone to package and send off all of those goods, someone to transport them, someone to receive them, and if the Faerie in question wasn't making it themselves they would also have someone to actually make the pastry. That isn't even taking into account all the labor involved in making just the pastry dough. For something like that you would need butter, which necessitates the keeping of dairy cows or goats. You would need eggs, which means that someone needs to keep whatever kind of birds the eggs are from, or at least go out and collect them. Flour would require tilling and planting and harvesting. And saffron, if you're inclined to be traditional, would need to be gathered as well. The Fair Folk, if they want to continue playing their games of human courts and societies, must have people to do all of those things. However, unlike our world, the folk do not necessarily need to eat. At least not to live. But eating is nice, and they would delight in grand feasts and an extravagant variety of dishes and desserts.

Some of these they used to gain from humans, as offerings. But there is much they would have had to obtain for themselves, by stealing, or by hard work. Yet unlike human society, the Fae cannot be forced into such a position unless it is what they themselves wish to do. No threat of death or starvation, and an assured eternity of doing whatever they wished, what could possibly force them to live a life they didn't want? Many of these fae do the work as a hobby, something they enjoy for the doing of it. The beekeeper likes the bees, they sing together in the soft evening light, and the bees trust them more fully than they would their own. Winemakers have perfected their work over centuries of effort, cultivating it far beyond a mere process to an artform. Assuredly there are many jobs that the fae might do. Some might carve wood into furniture or toys or mysterious wardrobes that lead to places they shouldn't. Others might make shoes or clocks or wind chimes. Whatever it is they want to do, they simply do. Those in the courts will play their own games, games of lords and ladies and power, games of kings and governments. And as long as the rest of the folk are content, then things will remain. But the memory of the Fair Ones is long, longer by far than humanity's. They are not easily preyed upon. As for coin, no. I do not think the folk have coins of metal such as humans have used throughout the ages. Yet there is much to trade that they value. Promise or deal, unbreakable once made. A memory of their own or from another. Anything can be traded. Moonlight, starlight, wind from the hilltops. Do you sell fruit from a country that no longer exists? Or buy only last edition poetry novels which will never be printed again? Or trade in beautiful fabrics of your own work? A name dealer? A seller and buyer of souls? What are you willing to give for what you want? What are you willing to take in order to give what is yours? Sometimes, if they wish to facilitate the game, or merely enjoy the work but have little use for the fruit of their labor, they might simply give it away, happy that it is being put to good use. For them, that is payment enough. Humanity is so concerned with buying and selling, so worried about the worth of things. The Folk, the Faeries, they are more often concerned with the enjoyment of life, and that to them is of the most importance because they have an eternity of it to live. So they find things to do that they love, that are meaningful to them, that bring laughter and song. So that you too might find something of their joy, here is a recipe for Frytour blaunched.

INGREDIENTS:

Finely ground almonds

Ginger - the powdered spice, not the fresh root.

Sugar

Salt - use to taste.

Pastry dough

Oil

Honey

Wine - red or white & slightly sweet.

DIRECTIONS:

Mix almonds with sugar, ginger, and a little salt - this should be a sweet, slightly spicy blend. Roll out the pastry dough. You may now make the pastry several different ways: by cutting out circles of dough, placing filling in the middle, and folding into a half-circle; by cutting out circles, squares, or triangles of pastry, placing filling in the middle of one piece and then covering with another piece of dough and sealing the edges; or by making small stuffed squares or rectangles, egg-roll style. In any case, make sure the edges of the pastry(ies) are securely sealed. Fry the pastry(ies) in hot oil until lightly browned; remove from oil and let drain. In a pot, bring the honey to a soft boil, then reduce heat. Skim off the scum as it rises. Add just enough wine to make a thick sauce. Thoroughly coat the pasty(ies) in the wine sauce, then place on a baking sheet. Bake in a hot oven for several minutes. The pastry(ies) may be basted with additional sauce during baking or immediately afterward.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

how am i supposed to pick one (1) song from a playlist that slaps SO HARD????? i saw delicate and i went crazy but then i saw all i've ever know and i went even crazier 🤯🤯 so can i please have your favourite out of these two? 🥰🥰

shoutout to my hadestown besties @roses-and-grasses @annathesillyfriend!!! this is a direct continuation to the I'm On Fire blurb, but it can also be read as a standalone &lt;3

warnings: language, hurt/comfort, aftermath of a fight, but also hella domestic fluff

***

Saturday mornings used to be Rooster’s favorite time of the week. He can sleep in just a little and wake up to the warm California sun instead of his blaring alarm for once, and a lot of the time, he wakes up to you curled up half on top of him, his legs tangled up in yours.

But this is not any ordinary Saturday morning.

You and Rooster had your first big fight, and it was a big one, and despite the promise to work it out the next day, he can’t help the twist in his gut when he wakes up alone. Your side of the bed cold by the time he comes to.

He tries not to stumble down the stairs, when he hears a distant, “Morning,” from the kitchen. You’re still clad in your pajamas, barefoot and holding his bright yellow mug that you claimed as yours, with a tea bag tag hanging off of the side.

Oh, thank God you’re still here. “Hey, morning.” He pads over, kissing you on the top of your head, before making his way towards the fancy coffee maker you bought him for Christmas.

“Rough night?” you eye him from behind the rim of your cup.

He chuckles a little. “Yeah, you can say that.”

You caress the small of his back as you walk past him, taking your usual seat at the dining table. And like clockwork, he follows shortly and takes his place next to you. For a moment, it almost feels like any ordinary Saturday morning—sipping tea and coffee, cutting up fruit and buttering up toast.

Almost.

He catches you smiling to yourself a little bit. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” you shake your head, “It’s stupid. I think at one point last night, I somehow had the urge to turn to you like, ‘I can’t believe we’re having a fight right now!’ like a, uh… out-of-body experience. It’s weird.”

“No, I get what you mean,” he nods in agreement. “Didn’t like it very much, though. I much prefer having you on my side during fights.”

“Yeah, you know I’m not afraid to throw hands.” Your small smile turns into a full-blown giggle now. And Rooster thinks, maybe things will be okay again. “Sorry. Is it too early to talk about this? We can hold it off until we finish our breakfast, at least.”

He doesn’t like this, either. The niceties and formalities. As if you’re strangers. As if you haven’t been through hell and back in the brief three months of your relationship, and the year before that. He wants things to go back like it used to again.

“No, no. We can talk about it now.” He straightens up in his chair, turning slightly towards you.

“So I think…” you start, pausing to craft your next words thoughtfully, “I think, we need to set some ground rules.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“No slamming doors or being pissy and then passive-aggressively say you’re fine.” Well, that was locked and loaded and ready to go. “And this goes for both of us. We don’t have to tell each other everything, just… say that you had a bad day. A little heads up.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He blows on his coffee pensively. “It’s just that— I mean, it’s nice to have you cheer me up, but… um, sometimes I feel like I need to be left to my own devices? Just to cool off.”

“Okay. Then maybe, I’ll ask if you want company or some space? Would that work?”

God, he’s so in love with you. Kind, caring, patient you. “Perfect.”

You squeeze his knees reassuringly. “Got anything for me?”

He almost doesn’t want to think about it. He dreads thinking about the hurt he felt last night —he’d much rather just move on and let bygones be bygones. But then the unease nags at him, remnants from last night, and maybe it’s worth rethinking, if it means untangling this stubborn knot.

“Um… Maybe don’t raise your voice at me?” he grimaces. “I know that’s kind of the norm at my workplace—you gotta meet a certain threshold of decibels to be heard there, I guess— but I don’t think that’s necessary at home, do you?”

You nod. “I’m sorry about that.”

He brushes it off immediately. “We didn’t know. Fuck, I don’t think I knew it’d affect me that much.”

“Mm, and knowing how it affects you affects me, too.”

The house is silent again, but this time, it’s a little more… welcome. He’s not as hesitant to scoot his chair closer, and you make no move to avoid him. It’s not quite the same, and he suspects it may never be, but it’s not as bad as he thought.

“And I guess, above all, we’re on the same side here,” you sigh. He rests his hand on top of yours, filling the spaces between your fingers, and you let him. “It’s not a struggle between you and me, but you and me against… whatever shit we’re dealing with.”

He stares softly at your hand in his, and feels his heart grow three sizes when you tighten your grasp. “Been fending for myself for so long, I can’t remember what it feels like to have someone else in my corner.” And then looking up at you, he feels his eyes tearing up again —although for better reasons this time. “But I’m glad that someone is you.”

“Likewise.” The words barely audible —a little louder and it’ll come out as ugly sobs.

So much is said in the quiet of that particular Saturday night. I love you, I’m sorry, I want to make this work, I will to make it work… and yet, nothing else is spoken. You simply return to your coffee cups and breakfast plates and plans for the weekend. A silent promise to be there with each other, for each other, come what may. 

And that is more than enough.

[youronlybean]

Trick or treat! >:)

My favourite scene from chapter 2 of Home Sweet Safehouse :D

One relatively quiet afternoon, Ze was disturbed from his project brainstorming by music blaring loudly.

He wandered into the kitchen, where the sound of upbeat pop music was coming from. Ze thought the music was a little outdated, but Chilled seemed to be really feeling it. He was shaking his butt back and forth like that meme of the turtle under the faucet. His arms were doing some sort of wild circular motion whilst attempting to butter a slice of toast. It was… interesting, to say the least.

Ze cleared his throat. “Whatcha got there, Chilled?”

Chilled whipped around and pointed the butter-covered knife at him. The butter slowly slid off and hit the floor.

“Crappy speaker, iPod, and a need to move,” Chilled answered, placing the knife back down on the countertop. He grabbed a piece of kitchen paper from beside the sink and picked up the fallen butter, all while funkily shaking his limbs.

“Pfft,” Ze couldn’t repress a snort, watching as Chilled attempted to place the butter back in the fridge as he flailed around.

“Look, I know I’m not a great dancer, but sometimes you gotta feel the beat, man.” He took out a jar of jam that Ze didn’t know they had. As he began to spread the jam, the song playing ended switched to a rock song - Ze thought it might have been KISS or something, but he wasn’t sure.

“No, you’re doing great,” he snickered. A blob of jam went flying and Chilled spat out a curse as it landed on a cabinet.

“Try it, it’s therapeutic,” he suggested, once again moving to clean up his mess. He danced over and back and Ze struggled to repress his giggles.

“What you’re doing looks like torture,” he shook his head, snickering as Chilled executed a strange manoeuvre that ended with one of his arms bent uncomfortably behind his head and knocked his hat to the floor.

“Well I’m having fun, so there,” Chilled declared proudly. He re-donned his hat and continued on his quest for a jam sandwich as he jammed to the music.

Ze moved over to the coffee maker, fetching a mug from the cupboard. He turned the machine on and began to tap his fingers on the countertop as it churned out his drink, not unnoticed by Chilled, who was still grooving all around the kitchen.

“C’mon, Mr. Viking! You know you want to move it move it!” Chilled beckoned him forwards, and Ze shook his head as the last drops of coffee fell into the mug.

“I’m good,” he decided, taking a sip of hot coffee before deciding that he really ought to let it cool for a bit.

“Take my hand, I shall take thee away,” Chilled offered out his right hand.

“How romantic,” Ze noted, giving him a teasing sort of look.

“That’s- It’s not-” Chilled’s face, red as a tomato, shifted through a myriad of expressions - embarrassment, panic, and finally landing on determination, grabbing Ze’s hand and pulling him away from the coffee maker. “Y’know what? I’m the king of romance!”

Chilled, for a man almost twice Ze’s size, scurried with surprising speed over to where his phone and the speaker were. As Chilled fiddled around with the buttons, a slow song began to play, and Chilled headed back to Ze.

“Dance now, or else!” he declared, once again offering his hand. Ze found himself internally squirming, and wondering if it would be more awkward and embarrassing to accept or to decline.

Ignoring what felt like a pit of hot magma in his stomach, Ze took the hand on offer and was pulled closer. Chilled’s left hand found its way to Ze’s shoulder, and Ze’s right hand moved down to Chilled’s waist. Fortunately, they weren’t too close, so Ze managed to maintain coherent thought and attempted to follow Chilled’s footwork.

Or what was technically footwork, despite the terrible inaccuracies and wobbly stumbling.

For the first few minutes they drifted more-or-less smoothly across the kitchen, occasionally treading on each other’s toes and going one way when they should have been going the other. The dancing turned into more of a combat after a while, and Ze felt a strong sense of determination to win.

He knocked Chilled’s knee with his. Chilled aimed a small kick at his ankle. Ze steered them into the table. Chilled took long strides that Ze could barely follow. Ze attempted to trip him up and finally, Chilled dragged him down as well, all the way to the floor.

Ze muttered a curse as they hit the tile, making sure he didn’t land on Chilled despite the spontaneity of the fall. This resulted in him smacking a table leg with his forearm, which he was sure would bruise sooner or later.

Chilled let out a snicker, which soon evolved into hearty belly-laughs. As Ze sat up he watched Chilled wipe tears of laughter from his face and adjust his glasses. They locked eyes and Chilled barked out a laugh at the sight of Ze’s (still a bit startled) face.

“Oh, thank you,” he sighed eventually, face red from giggles and eyes wet with tears. “Thank you, Ze. That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

“That was- You had fun?” Ze blinked confusedly, wondering how Chilled had deemed such a disaster to be fun at all. “I mean, I'm glad… even if we fell.”

“Are you kidding? That was the best part! It was like something out of a movie!” Chilled’s arms flew up into the sky (happy muppet pose - Ze internally chuckled). He looked genuinely thrilled by the outcome and was still beaming like nothing could possibly be wrong in the world, cheeks still a rosy pink.

Now, Ze didn’t know a whole lot about Chilled to begin with, but one of the things he had learned through living with the guy for a bit was that Chilled loved movies. It felt almost like an honour, to be referred to as similar to something Chilled held quite dear to his heart.

Which sounded sickeningly sweet, and suddenly Ze felt like throwing up.

[bnnywngs]

they were having a silent afternoon just laying down and watching some movie they weren't even paying enough attention to know what's going on with the main character, when shouyou just jumped up and ran through the house before kissing kenma's forehead and then closing the door as he left the apartment.

kenma was honestly a bit confused, but shouyou done that enough times for him to get used to, so he just shrugged and continued watching the movie.

less than an hour later, shouyou was back with a full shopping bag and a bright happy grin on his lips.

"i'm going to bake a carrot cake, brazilian style!" he said loudly, almost skipping to their kitchen, kenma walking behind him like a curious cat.

"how's that?"

"well..." shouyou thought for a moment, pouting "different." he shrugged with his conclusion.

kenma only shook his head and sat on the dinner table to watch his boyfriend whirlwind around searching for the necessary tools for his cake.

shouyou opened a bag of flour they had inside the fridge, using a cup to measure, and dumped inside a glass bowl, following with some white powder kenma didn't recognize and a bit of salt.

"ah!" shouyou exclaimed loudly, slapping his own forehead "the oven!" then he ran to turn on the oven, kenma just chuckling "do you want coffee?"

"sure."

with quick and efficient hands, shouyou made a cup of coffee for him before going back to his cake, taking a moment to remember what he should do, for his boyfriend's amusement.

"right, carrots."

he cleaned the carrots and cut it before dumping inside the blender, leaving one behind for some reason. then he measured sugar and oil too, before breaking some eggs to put it together. after a while and a lot of noise, he turn off the blender and poured its content inside the bowl with the other ingredients, mixing them. shouyou got the last uncutted carrot and using some tool that took some shavings of it and then mixed with the dough.

he took a baking tray, greased it with butter and then some flour, and poured the dough inside, straight to the oven.

"cuddle?" kenma offered with a smile, his mug already empty.

"yeah!" shouyou smiled.

they cuddled on the couch again, this time watching some soccer game that was uninteresting. kenma used that as a opportunity to kiss shouyou until he had enough for now, smirking smugly.

after a while like that, the oven biped loudly and shouyou ran to kitchen again.

the smell of chocolate was what made kenma get up again and shuffle to where his boyfriend was still baking. with a smile, shouyou poured the chocolate on the orangey cake and sprinkled some chocolate shavings to finish.

"ta-da." shouyou said proudly "what do you think?"

"i think i need to eat it first before having a opinion."

"fair." he chuckled.

with a fork and a knife, he effortless took a slice from it and put it on a small plate for him, before doing the same for himself and offering another fork for eating.

kenma took the first bite.

"oh my god."

"hm?" shouyou looked amused.

"oh my god, sho." kenma took another bite "i think i orgasmed."

shouyou laughed loudly.

"that good?"

kenma nodded, gulping down his third bite already "i don't think this is going to be enough for me."

shouyou laughed again "i can make more."

"yes. please?"

"sure." shouyou bent over and kisses him "love you."

"no, I love YOU. my baker. my cake maker. love you so much, oh my god."