#i will often leave that place with a recipe in my pocket

[yardsards]

going to other people's houses for dinner is wild because it's such a crapshoot on what kind of culinary experience you're about to have. some places it's just delightful and you feel like you're in that one scene in ratatouille where it's all colourful when he tastes the ingredients. other places it feels like whatever the fuck is on your plate is a close cousin of the pulp they use in paper manufacturing and you wish you had pulled a hillary clinton and smuggled some hot sauce in your bag

[k2ntoss]

hihihi, back with more jason thoughts <:

very specifically, i saw this reel and immediately had butterflies thinking of it happening with jay 😭

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2zyAW4BG1O/?igsh=ZzM3MXowdmNxeXZ2

(also the comments didn't help but fuel some definitely thirstier thoughts lmao)

i just saw another reel about this and i'm literally going feral over it, SORRY FOR THE DELAY BUT here we are. it's gonna be short but maybe gonna write more about this later hehehe :3

weekends were calm, at least more than any week day as jason managed to be free from long patrols more often so it allowed him to rest and spend time with his lover and that always ended up in him being dragged to try something she saw on tiktok or in any ig reel, this time it wasn't gonna be different and jasom knew as soon as you showed up with a big smile on your lips right on the doorway of your room.

"i'm gonna take a guess and say that you just found something you want us to try and that it's either something spicy or some new recipe you found around and that will go wrong" jason says as soon as you open your mouth and he's pretty much right.

"i did found something but it's not really spicy" you start, hands playing with your phone before you walk into the room "and not all of the recipes i've found go wrong, jay" this time your hands rest on your hips and he looks at you with a small grin and a raised eyebrow, most of those recipes went terribly wrong.

"then what will it be today, princess?" he asks, a small chuckle escaping his lips when you move and sit on his lap as he lays still on the bed, looking up at you with his hands now placed softly over your hips "you said is something not really spicy but i'm almost sure it is something that came out of a thirst trap" and that last part makes your cheeks burn because you've once asked jason to try a trend you saw months ago and it ended up with him pushing you against the bed.

"just shut up already..." you mumble and reach for your pocket, taking out a long piece of pink lace and put it in front of his face "you know how your arms are like... huge? i was wondering if you could let me tie a ribbon to your bicep and you know... flex it?" the hand motions that you make as you try hard not to blush at the way jason stares up at you.

"you want to tie a ribbon to my arm and see if i can break it? is that it, princess?" he asks, knowing there's a bit more behind your request but he wouldn't ever think about saying no to you "go ahead, try it"

his acceptance bring a joyful smile to your lips and feeling you shift to sit over his thighs he takes the hint to sit down too, letting you take his left arm to tie the soft ribbon on his bicep and he was about to flex his arm just to be met with a small frown from you, waiting to see the result.

he does exactly that, his arm barely flexed to make his muscle pop a little when the ribbon gave in with a faint 'pop' just to fall from his arm to leave you slightly surprised, cheeks tinted pink as jason chuckled amusedly "is that it, sweetheart? or do you have another point to prove?"

"i-i mean, can i try with your forearm?" you ask him, pupils blown wide because you knew this was likely to happen due to how big jason was and as soon as he nods with a small grin you're tying a new ribbon to his forearm just for it to break as soon as he balls his fist and squeezes his arm a little.

"can i tie another one to your thigh? i swear i'll stop there" you look at him, pleading eyes and a small pout that melts his heart, once again jason agrees and he has to hold back a low growl when you hop down from his lap to sit between his legs, your lips pressed in a fine line as you tied the pinkish ribbon on his thigh and the way your lips part when he flexes his leg to break it without much effort drives him wild.

"are you happy now, princess?" jason asks you, his fingers gripping the edges of the matress while you stay still, thoughts running wild on your mind and he is able to notice the blush on your cheeks.

"can you squeeze my head with your arms?" you ask, ignoring his question and jason can't help but look down at you with a cocky smirk. he knew this would definetely turn into something spicy.

next thing you know is that he has you pinned against the bed, your back bent in a way you were looking back at him as your chest was pressed down, jason's arm wrapped slightly around your throat as he pounded at a rough pace against your body making you moan loudly.

life was good.

[luellasplanet]

question..? (lena oberdorf)

word count: 829

i must say this is rather rushed and I will redeem myself with another lena fic soon

based on taylor swift’s song ‘question..?’

in which you make out with a random girl in a club, who happens to be named lena oberdorf

Sitting alone at a crowded bar in a foreign country was definitely a recipe for disaster. But you weren’t technically alone, your friends were on the other side of the room flirting with some random older men, but you really couldn’t be bothered to join in.

The city of Wolfsburg was breathtaking, you had never really left your small home town in Portugal that often. But given the opportunity to go to university in Wolfsburg was simply an offer one could not turn down.

big city, wrong choices

You had just ordered another drink, one that was not needed, when a large group of girls walked through the door, one instantly catching your attention. The friendly smile she sent you instantly created butterflies in your stomach as you turned away quickly while focusing on the barman handing you your drink.

“Y/n/n! Come dance!” The voice of one of your best friends, Cate, interrupts your train of thought as she grabs your hand, pulling you towards the dance floor. Your half full drink long forgotten as you danced along to the music.

Lena, who was standing in the corner of the bar with Lynn, was watching you intently. “Go talk to her.” She tells Lena pushing her shoulder urging her to go onto the dance floor.

Cate and your other friend, Ana, had walked off the dance floor trying to locate you, they looked around until Ana saw two figures in one of the darker corners of the bar. One that looked awfully familiar. “Shut up, don’t fucking tell me that’s y/n” she says pointing towards the corner. Cate turns her vision to where Ana was looking to see you and a mystery girl passionately locking lips. “No fucking way.”

can i ask you a question? did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room?

How did you end up in that position? You pressed up against the wall while mystery girl placed kisses all along your neck while your hands were entangled in her hair as you lightly tugged on it when she kissed certain spots.

You don’t know, and you most certainly wouldn’t remember tomorrow morning.

But a new fact you learnt that night, is that Germans are bloody good at flirting, and they’re even better when they are slightly intoxicated.

You walked back towards your friends after one of the German girl's friends dragged her away,

and every single one of your friends was making fun of you

“Since when did you start kissing random people in bars?” Ana asks extremely loudly, causing most people in earshot to turn to the three of you. “Oh my god! That’s why you didn’t want to speak to those guys with us! You wanted to speak to her. Oh my god, y/n/n has a crush!”

You pulled both Ana and Cate towards the balcony where the three of you could talk at normal levels without having to shout.

Your glare was almost as sharp as a dagger as Cate’s eyes instantly travelled to your neck which had already started to develop little purple bruises on it. The lighting of the balcony made it easier for them to see your dishevelled makeup and hair.

“My god could you focus on my face and not my neck,” you mutter as you take a deep breath trying to calm you racing heart. “I need a shot,” you tell practically no one as you turn back around and into the bar yet again.

The music blasted through the speakers as you ordered a shot you definitely didn’t need. As you reach into your pocket to find your card you feel a hand on your back as you look up to see mystery girl yet again, paying for your drink.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that,” you tell her as she hands you your shot. “It’s not a problem,” she answers.

God that accent could literally make you melt in seconds.

You hadn’t taken the shot yet so the confidence the alcohol had given you a mere hour ago was long gone, leaving you a stuttering mess as you spoke to the taller German in front of you. “Um… I was wondering if I could get your number by any chance? If not, don't worry but um yeah…” you looked up at her after speaking, but were met with nothing but a small smile as she gestured for your phone.

She quickly typed her number and name into the phone before handing it back to you, “I’m Lena by the way, maybe we can do this again sometime?” She asked while rubbing the back of her neck.

“I’d love that!”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 6

Wildest dreams // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 

Summary: Y/N’s beginning to feel the physical effects of the bond while she goes to Emily for answers.

—————————————————–

Staring at the wooden house, Y/N felt like her mind is in a disarray. She’s hanging on by a thread, feeling as if she’s losing her mind.

When she woke up that morning, she was barely breathing. It felt as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around her neck, choking her until she fell to the floor. As her vision got blotchy, the pressure relented and she finally inhaled properly. Ever since then, her ribs have been achy, so much so she was certain something was broken but she couldn’t fathom how.

All she did was wake up.

Why does she feel like someone beat her to an inch of death? 

It’s definitely a time for a check-up.

Licking her dry lips, she shakes her head. Letting out a heavy breath, she walks toward the house. It’s not much, but it looks homey. The wood has been painted recently, the rose garden is small but well-tended to.

It’s odd. She used to wonder how Sam’s house looks like before, the headquarters of a cult he’s started. In her head, it was meant to be a dump, but this place is loved. It’s taken care of.

“Can I help you?”

It’s a voice she recognizes. Turning toward the sound, she finds a woman walking out from behind the house. She has gardening gloves on and a hat to help with the unusually sunny morning. Her skin is sun-kissed, but Y/N’s lived long enough in La Push to know this isn’t a temporary tan. Most of those inhabiting the reserve have a beautifully natural tan skin, something so many women try to achieve with tanning beds but never can.

“I’m looking for Emily.”

However, when she makes eye contact, her jaw clenches. She often heard of the scars Emily bears so bravely, but she had never seen her since the attack. A part of her was skeptical about it being caused by a bear, but no one else seemed to question the story.

Although the right side of her face is scarred from hairline to chin by three thick, red lines, one of them pulling down the corner of her dark, almond-shaped, brown right eye, another twisted the right side of her mouth into a permanent grimace, her beauty is undeniable.

Y/N worried it was caused by Sam, like a sick initiation into his cult. But Leah joined them too and she didn’t have any scars.

“So you’re the infamous Y/N”, Emily smiles and Y/N can’t help but smile back.

Scars simply add to her character, but they do not dampen the disarming charm Emily oozes.

“Depends”, Y/N pockets her hands in her jacket. “Who have you been talking to?”

Chuckling, Emily tosses her gloves to the side. “I hear you like lemonade. Want a glass?”

Raising her brows, Y/N answers with a curt nod and a tight lipped smile. If she’s come here to talk, she cannot be impolite and refuse, can she? And she really does love lemonade.

Following Emily who leaves her hat hanging on the doorknob, Y/N hesitates at the door.

Noticing, Emily turns to her. “It’s alright”, she beckons her inside. “There’s no one here at the moment.” Smiling, Emily reaches for Y/N’s hand to reassure her.

Initially, Y/N stiffens, wishing to pull her hand out of her reach. With a gentle squeeze of Emily’s hand, she feels the woman light tug as she leads her inside and this time there is no hesitation.

“It’s actually rare to have a minute just for me”, Emily’s hand leaves hers and Y/N looks around.

Her eyes shift from the large sectional in the corner of the dinner table to the massive muffins laying on a tray in the middle of it.

“Have one”, Emily tells her. “I’ve been trying a new recipe, I could use an honest opinion.”

“Does Sam lack honesty in sharing his?” Y/N remarks a bit too sharply than she intended.

Snickering, Emily nods. “He never criticized my cooking in all the years we’ve been together. Says he’d rather suffer a few bad meals than have me never cook because I’m mad at him.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N pulls out a chair and sits. “Smart man.”

“Unsweetened, right?” Emily asks as she lifts a glass with lemonade. She’s definitely talked to someone, likely Embry. Quil never paid her attention like that and Paul barely knew her...he barely knows her now. He certainly wouldn’t know how she takes her lemonade. Jacob would, but he’s not here. 

Reaching for a muffin, Y/N raises it like a champagne glass. “It’ll be perfect with a muffin.”

Smiling, Emily brought out two glasses of lemonade before taking a seat beside Y/N. Bouncing her feet on the floor, Y/N realized just how tall these chairs are. When she leans back to sit properly, only her tiptoes can reach the floorboards.

Taking a bite from the muffin, Y/N glances at Emily. She’s smiling. No. Her lips seem to be set in such a way there’s always an inkling of a smile hiding behind her lips. There is something so pleasant about her, about the way she’s genuinely kind and warm to her while Y/N can’t help but analyze what shady business her husband is involved in.

“There is no need to be nervous.”

Nearly choking on the bite she took, Y/N coughs. Swallowing the food quickly, she takes a sip of the lemonade.

“You promised me answers I’m genuinely worried about getting, I’m bound to be nervous.”

With an understanding nod, Emily glances at Y/N’s fingers. Following her gaze, she realizes she’s tapping her fingers against the glass.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize”, Emily’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. “You’re right to be worried.”

Eyes widening, Y/N raises her brows. Stifling a nervous laugh, Y/N tilts her head to the right. “Well, that’s not helping my nerves.”

This time, Emily does not laugh or smile, she just leans forward. “I cannot tell you everything you want to know”, Emily sighs. “I wish I could, but I can tell you what to do next.”

Frowning, Y/N shakes her head as she stands. “You promised me answers.”

“And you’ll get them if you listen to me.” Standing too, Emily’s hands grip Y/N’s shoulders. “The key to all of this is Paul. But he is stubborn and he will not admit to anything unless he’s confronted by the truth.”

“And how am I supposed to get the truth if no one is going to tell me?!” Y/N’s tone is laced with annoyance, with hostility she refuses to cloak. She’s angry and she’s tired of hiding it.

“I knew a girl once who uncovered the truth on her own, but her story was a difficult one. If you do not wish the dangers the truth you seek brings, walk away and never engage with any of us.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N locks eyes with Emily. Neither is blinking, the silence lingering becoming heavier as Y/N’s lips part.

“And what if I do not care of the danger?”

Finally, Emily smiles. “Then open your heart and mind for unimaginable things you will face. Until then, start by finding a book.”

“A book?” Y/N deadpans.

“On Quileute legends”, Emily adds.

“I know the legends”, Y/N rolls her eyes.

Snorting, Emily continues. “Are you feeling aches all over your body? Like you’re coming down with a flu?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N’s forehead wrinkles. “What does that have anything to do-“

“Do you have weird, repetitive dreams about…someone?”

Staring at her, Y/N gnaws on the inside of her lower lip. Paul. He’s haunting every dream she’s had since she first saw him in the woods. 

“Read the book”, Emily states.

“But-“

“Read the book”, she repeats.

Before Y/N can ask for more details, she gasps at the sound of laughter coming from outside the house. Emily’s hold on her shoulders tightens, her eyes widening lightly too.

“We’re not alone anymore.”

Blinking fast, Y/N turns to the door as it’s slammed open with three men all but tumble inside, speaking loudly over each other.

They were all smiling, joking, all until they saw Y/N and her heart sunk so quickly down to her ass that she couldn’t move.

Staring at them, she could easily recognize Jared and Embry, the third one resembling an older Seth Clearwater but she wasn’t certain anymore. It’s been too long since she last saw him and he was just a scrawny kid who was yet another victim of Sam’s cult back then.

When he speaks, Y/N’s suspicion is confirmed. It is Seth.

“Paul’s gonna kill you.”

“Sam won’t let ‘im”, Jared chimes in.

Glancing at Embry, Y/N’s eyes narrow. “And why would he do that?”

“You need to leave”, Embry heads toward her but Emily is quick to step before Y/N.

“She leaves when she chooses to.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Y/N shakes her head. “What the hell”, she whispers under her breath.

“You and I both know if she’s here when he arrives, it won’t be pretty.” Embry hisses and Emily sighs.

“He needs to start dealing with his emotions instead of hiding like a petulant child!”

“STOP”, Y/N yells. Raising her hands in mock surrender, she moves past Emily and Embry and toward the door. “I’m leaving, okay?”

“But you barely touched the lemonade”, Emily exclaims but it felt more like a plea.

“Do you feel safe”, Y/N asks her earnestly, her voice calm and collected now more than at any point in their short conversation.

“Yes, I just…” Emily glares at Embry. “I just hoped you’d stay longer.” Looking back at Y/N, she musters up a meek smile.

“Perhaps another time”, Y/N glances at Jared and Seth. “When there is less testosterone around.”

Glancing at the muffin she took a bite of, Y/N points at it. “I’d add a bit more of orange. But I loved it.”

With a small smile, Y/N turns on her heel and all but runs out of the house. She didn’t turn around, not even for a mere glance as she walked as quickly as possible. She could sense them staring at her, but she refused to look back. Whatever the hell that was, at least she was gifted a clue on how to proceed further along her search for answers.

Part of her wished she could give up, but her heart that’s just traveled back from her ass to her ribcage wasn’t keen on giving up. She needs to know.

Panting, she reaches home. Her thighs are burning, the air drying up her throat and it’s become abundantly clear she’s out of shape.

But when she finds a dark, strange car in her driveway, Y/N pauses.

Inhaling sharply, she heads inside. Perhaps it’s just a friend of her dads? But her dad’s gone fishing, hasn’t he?

On her tiptoes, she opens the front door. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first glance, but when she hears a clinking noise in the kitchen her blood runs cold. Grabbing her umbrella from the hallway closet, she sneaks toward the strange sound with care.

Her breaths are caught in her throat as each step across the old floorboards feels like stepping on a mine. She remembers where they creak the most, but any misstep and she will be caught and she can’t risk being discovered if it’s a foe.

Tightening her hold on the umbrella, she peaks into the kitchen. A tall, burly man with cropped black hair is sitting on the table, his back turned to her. Hearing the loud chewing, Y/N’s eyebrows furrow as she grimaces. She always hated loud chewing, it’s brought out murderous thoughts in the past and Jacob always used to chew so loudly she threatened to maim him. He absolutely loved annoying the hell out of her.

And that’s when it hits her.

“Jake?”

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow​ @xxxjaexxx​ @captainrogers-19​ @bexloxl​ @laehlaluvs​  @adaydreamaway08​​ @sunsetevergreen​ @volturiwolf​ @twihard08​

​Bonus: Jacob’s POV  

PART 7

[reyesstrand]

wip wednesday

thank you for tagging me @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes <33333

She teaches him her secrets. She’ll pull a large cut of beef wrapped in parchment from the fridge and call for him—Carlitos!—in her lilting, warm voice. She’ll tell him how her mother before her taught her this recipe, who was taught by her mother before her, and she’ll teach him how to season not by measurements but by his instincts, and by the end of the summer he’ll have learned nine or ten recipes he can replicate without her help, though he always asks for it because it feels special to be by her side.

He thinks about his time with her often. He thinks about her in the sunlight dappling through tree branches and herbs lining windowsills and white prairie lilies that spring up everywhere after heavy rain.

He’s thinking about her when he finishes at the farmer’s market, getting ahead of himself by buying enough ingredients to make a meal big enough for two before he knows he has someone to cook for. He fishes his phone from his pocket and shoots TK a text: are you busy today?

Deep down, Carlos can guess the answer. TK’s been cooped up at his place for the past five days, recovering from both his gunshot wound and the strain on his body from ripping open his stitches, and he’s looking at another two weeks of medical leave from work at least. TK texts him often and complains, but Carlos likes hearing it—he likes being the one TK can talk to; he likes knowing he’s not still hurting enough to be consumed by it. He’s proven right when his phone buzzes as he grabs the canvas bags from the backseat, and he reads TK’s response: i’ve never been so bored in my life, if you’re offering to rescue me, please do.

Carlos smiles, and texts, come over? i want to cook for you.

This…thing between them has him feeling warm all over, all the time. But this is new: the fluttering of his stomach, the nerves over the mere thought of sharing his family recipes with a man who’s just accepted Carlos wants to love him. He furrows his brows when his phone starts ringing as he drops everything onto his kitchen island, though the prospect of hearing TK’s voice settles the self-doubt pooling in his chest.

“You want to cook for me?” TK asks, something unsure colouring his words.

“I do. I hate thinking of you all alone over there,” Carlos says, tracing his blunt fingernail over his list, following the rough line he’d scratched through each ingredient as he added them to his bag. “Besides, it’s my abuela’s recipe, and she always told me your cooking taste better when you share it with someone.”

He doesn’t say someone you love, because TK is a bit like a fire, and he’s as captivated by his ferocity and his warmth as much as he’s wary of being burned; of adding fuel to a flame by doing too much, too soon.

no pressure tagging @lovesgalores @tailoredshirt @paperstorm @maxbegone @sunshinestrand @marjansmarwani @rmd-writes (sorry if you’ve already been tagged!)

[darkwitchoferie]

Accidentally in Love

Steve and Eddie have been dating for months, but neither of them have noticed until Robin and Nancy confront them about it.

Read on AO3 here.

Steve and Eddie sat on the floor in front of the couch, pressed into each others’ sides while they watched tv in the Munsons’ new living room. It was about 5:00 am, but it wasn’t all that unusual for the pair of them to be awake together the whole night. The whole group had nightmares, which had thankfully gotten less in the six months since Spring Break, but Steve and Eddie both had insomnia on top of that. So when they couldn’t sleep, they were often together.

They were just getting to the end of Kiss Me, Stupid on the Movie Channel, when Wayne pushed open the door. “’Mornin’ boys,” he greeted them.

In a move he saw frequently, they turned to look at him in unison, “’Morning Wayne.”

“Look what I got,” Wayne announced, pulling a worn horseshoe out of his coat pocket.

“Excellent,” Eddie grinned, jumping up to rummage under the kitchen sink until he came up with a hammer and nails. He dragged a kitchen chair to the door and stood on it to hammer nails through the shoe his uncle held above the door. “Where’d you get it?”

“John, at the plant, his sister and her man have a horse boardin’ stables not too far off. Guess he was out there a couple days ago and remembered me sayin’ somethin’ about needin’ a new shoe.”

“Why do you need a horseshoe?” Steve asked.

“To hold luck,” Eddie said, as if it were obvious. “See, you hang it like this, so the points are up, and it collects good luck for the household.”

“We lost the old one, went down when the old place was sucked into that hole. And we made sure to get a mirror this time, neglected it last time,” Wayne said, tapping the small, age-spotted mirror they’d found in a thrift shop, that now hung beside the door. “You hang a mirror by the door to protect the house from evil spirits,” he explained to Steve’s puzzled look. Eddie finished hammering, hopped off the chair, then hurried to the bathroom, leaving the hammer on the counter.

“Is that why you and Eddie pour out some of your first beer too?”

“Mm, no. That’s an offerin’ to our dead. His ma, my wife, my pa, I think he pours out for Chrissy too, though he’s never said so. But it’s a way to remember and honor your dead.” Wayne looked puzzled. “Do your people not have traditions like that?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have family, not the way you and Eddie do. I think my dad’s parents are dead and I’m not sure about my mom’s. Neither of them ever talked about their parents or aunts or uncles or anything. The only thing I know about either side is that Mom’s family’s Italian and my grandma gave her a recipe book of her own recipes when they got married. For all I know, they could be alive and well in Italy. So I have no idea what any of my family was like, except my parents.”

“And your parents suck, Stevie.”

“I know,” Steve smiled just a little as Eddie rejoined them. He sat back down on the floor, running his fingers through Steve’s hair and gently scratching the back of his head as he did. Steve sighed, closing his eyes, and leaned into his hand.

Wayne cleared his throat as he lifted the chair and slid it back under the table. “You boys get any sleep last night?”

“There’s still a chance for sleep,” Eddie commented. Wayne just raised an eyebrow, knowing they both had to leave for work at the video store by 9:30. “It could happen!” he protested.

Despite being cleared by the local police, and the FBI agents that were brought out, a fair number of people in town were still suspicious of Eddie. That had made Keith reluctant to hire him when Robin and Steve first broached the subject. Then he realized he had no other options – very few people wanted to work in the video store and those that did were still in school. Monday mornings and early afternoons were almost as busy as Friday afternoons just in the opposite direction. While more people were checking stuff out on Friday, most of them were returning those same videos early in the day on Mondays. This made Fridays and Mondays the only two days all three of them worked at the same time. Robin suspected that parents came in early on Mondays to avoid their kids asking for more movies.

On Mondays, since Steve drove them all in and Eddie only worked a short shift, Nancy came in around 2 o’clock and hung out for the remaining half an hour until Eddie was clocked out and ready to go home. Things had started to slow by then, as always, so the four of them usually hung around the counter with each other.

Eddie pressed himself against Steve’s back leaning over and around him, so Steve had to bend forward a bit, to put a hand on the counter. “Good afternoon, Lady Wheeler. How is the wide world this day?”

“Hi Eddie,” Nancy smiled at him, well used to his dramatics. “Hawkins is… Hawkins, nothing new to report there. The kids have apparently formed some after school study group on Mondays, so I have extra time before I have to pick the boys and El up.”

“Why? Like, they see each other all the time, why bother creating a study group?” Steve wondered, still bent slightly forward since Eddie hadn’t moved at all.

“Ah, I asked Mike the same thing this morning. If they’ve got an official study group, they have to have a teacher there for any help they might need. Apparently, it’s aimed at helping El catch up on stuff without her needing to ask during class since that makes her nervous because of a bully back in California and without making it obvious that it’s all for her.” While she spoke, she watched as Eddie’s free hand wrapped around to the front of Steve’s hip and he slid his thumb into the slightly shorter man’s belt loop.

“That’s sweet,” Robin commented.

“Mm, they can be, when they want to,” Nancy agreed, referring to the four boys. “But other than that, nothing new. Unless there’s something new from you?” She and Robin turned expectantly to the two men.

“Mm, nope,” Steve shrugged the shoulder Eddie wasn’t leaning on. The two turned together as the phone rang. Steve reached for it under Eddie’s arm, who barely moved out of the way. “Thank you for calling Family Video. How can I help you today?”

With Eddie no longer paying attention to her, Nancy turned to Robin with a raised eyebrow. She just shrugged and shook her head in response, causing Nancy to roll her eyes and mouth today. Robin nodded once.

“Dingus, you love me, right?” Robin asked as soon as the Wheeler family station wagon pulled out of the parking lot.

“Of course I do. Did I not tell you today? Sorry. I love you, Robs.”

“You did tell me, but I appreciate it again. And I love you too,” she smiled, leaning in for a hug. Enough close calls with death made them all the more willing to tell each other how they felt. “My point is,” she continued, stepping out of the hug, “people like us, soul mates like us, they tell each other everything, right? I mean, especially the big things in life, like when they start dating someone new.”

“Did you finally ask Vickie out?! Rob, that’s amazing! When?”

Robin was almost sad to wipe the excited look off of her best friend’s face. “Not me, Dingus! You! You and Munson and all your touchy-feely-mushy so-in-love-we-can’t-hide-it crap.”

“Huh?”

She knew he got confused easily, but this was too much. “You don’t actually think the two of you have been doing a good job hiding your relationship, do you? Because you’re not. You’re so not. You’re like one step shy of renting a billboard or a marching band to proclaim your love to the whole state.”

“Robin,” he said, reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders. “I love you, but you’re crazy. And very wrong. Eddie and I aren’t dating.”

“Really? And that little possessive hold he had on your hip earlier was… what? ‘Cause I know platonic, and honey, that wasn’t it.”

“What are you talking about? Eddie’s tactile with everyone.”

“No he is not. At least, not the way he is with you. And! Did you or did you not let him read those two books to you? The um… the ones by Terry Whatever-his-name-is?”

“The Colour of Magic and the new one – The Light Fantastic?”

“Yes! Those.”

“Yeah? I mean, he was really excited about them. Read the new one as soon as he could get his hands on it, in one night. When I told him about my issues reading since the head trauma shit, he offered to read them to me. So?”

“So, as said, soul mates,” she waved her hand between the two of them. “But you don’t take an immediate interest in my stuff like that. No, that came out wrong. You are interested in my stuff, come to band shows and you let me ramble your ears off about the stuff I like, but it’s different. Not bad different,” she quickly reassured him, noticing the apprehensive look starting to form on his face. “Just different. And then there’s the dates.”

“We have not been on any dates.”

“Uh-huh. So you wanted to go see Invaders from Mars, in the theater. And decided to pay for both of you and snacks. When usually, if you and I go together, one of us gets tickets, the other gets snacks. And you can’t say it was because he couldn’t, because he’d been working with us for like two months.”

“That… wasn’t a date.”

“Mm. What about that baseball game? Ya know, the one he bought tickets to? Eddie, who we all know loves sports, happened to buy tickets for you two to see your favorite minor league team like a week after you mentioned that you hadn’t been able to get to see a game in years. That was totally a coincidence, right? Definitely not a date. Just like the Judas Priest concert he took you to in August definitely wasn’t a date.”

“Uh….”

“Or, how about your standing Wednesday evening date? Everyone knows that is your date night but, if there’s an emergency, you two can be found at Judy’s Diner, in your usual corner booth, with separate meals but sharing a strawberry shake. Steve, you are literally wearing one of his Metallica shirts, right now,” she plucked at the material under his Family Video vest.

In shock, Steve dropped to the floor. “We’ve never even kissed though, we can’t be dating,” he said softly.

“Wait, seriously?” Robin dropped to sit in front of him.

---

Meanwhile, Nancy parked her car in front of the Munson’s replacement trailer. “Eddie?” she asked before he could open the door. She twisted in her seat to better face him. “We’re friends, right? Me and you.”

“Of course we are!” he swiveled to face her “Wait, why?”

“I just… friends tell each other when they’re dating someone. Or not dating someone.”

Eddie gasped. “Did you and Jon break up? Did he break your heart? Do I need to –”

“Jon and me are fine,” she interrupted. “I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about you and Steve.”

“What about me and Steve?”

Nancy groaned in frustration. “How long have you and Steve been seeing each other and why haven’t either of you said anything to at least me and Rob?”

“There’s nothing to tell, we’re not dating.”

“You are though.”

“Nope. Pretty sure I’d know if I were dating someone, Nance.”

“Okay, but hear me out. Steve likes his personal space, Eddie. Sure, he hugs people and is happy to do it, or other little stuff like that. But he doesn’t cuddle during movies. Or, let people drape themselves over him while he’s doing anything.”

“He does to.”

“He doesn’t. He doesn’t even let Robin do that. Have you ever seen her cuddled up to him like that?”

“That’s gotta be a her thing then.”

“It absolutely is not. There is only ever one person who’s… allowed, I guess? One person who he is totally comfortable being all over him whenever and it isn’t Robin. Do you wanna know why it isn’t Robin?” Eddie nodded his head. “Because he only does that with someone he’s dating. Trust me on this, I know the difference between how he acts when he is and isn’t seriously dating someone.” He still didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t look quite as disbelieving either. “Okay, I know you’ve eaten his cooking, we all have. But, has he ever made anything he calls ‘fussy’ for just the two of you? No Robin, no kids, and probably at his house, so no Wayne either.”

He started to shake his head then stopped. “He made… something that sounded like bologna, but was pasta? He called it fussy,”

“Bolognese?”

“Yes!”

“Insisted you eat at the kitchen table instead of in the living room and even served it on the good China?”

“He said all that work meant we had to appreciate the food and sitting in the living room with paper plates isn’t appreciating.”

“He’s not wrong about that. Point is, that’s his grandma’s recipe. And that was a date.”

“What about the lasagna?”

“Meat or veggies? Canned sauce?”

“Spinach and mushrooms, not canned sauce.”

“Date.” Eddie stared at her, wide-eyed. “Has he ever made spaghetti…,” she hesitated, trying to remember the name of the dish, “carbonara! Spaghetti carbonara for Wayne? It’s spaghetti noodles, with an egg sauce and crispy bacon. Like, made it at the trailer on a day that he knew Wayne didn’t have to go to work so the three of you could have dinner together?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.

“That’s his winning-over-the-parents meal. It’s another of his grandma’s recipes – they all are – but he told me the carbonara looks and tastes fussy without looking like he’s trying to overshadow my mom’s cooking.”

“He made a cake for Wayne’s birthday.”

“That is just because he likes Wayne, not because he’s trying to impress him.” Nancy reached over and squeezed his arm.

“I’m dating Steve?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, sweetie, you are.”

“Since when?! Does Wayne know? Why didn’t I know? Did I miss him asking me out?” his eyes widened in horror. “Did I ask him out and then forget?”

---

Steve did not immediately go over to Eddie’s after dropping Robin off like he normally would. It felt odd to him to not drive out to the trailer park, but he made himself go home. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time then just stood in his bedroom doorway, looking around. There were the jeans and t-shirt Eddie wore two days ago, dropped in front of the laundry basket instead of actually in it because he’d tried to toss them in, missed, and hadn’t bothered to pick them up yet. He knew if he looked in the basket, he’d find a mix of both their clothes. Eddie’s acoustic guitar sat propped against the wall beside his window, the notebook he was currently using to plan a DnD campaign was sitting on the nightstand under the book he’d been reading on his side of the bed. He had a side of the bed, same as Steve did at the trailer, that’s how often they shared a bed. He knew without looking that if he opened the dresser drawers, nearly half of his stuff wouldn’t be in there, but would have been replaced with Eddie’s. The missing half of his clothes were in Eddie’s dresser. He looked down the hall at the open bathroom door and could just make out the two toothbrushes in the toothbrush holder.

“Are we living together too?” he asked himself quietly.

He spent a while longer cataloguing all of the things in his house that were Eddie’s or that had some connection to him. The polaroid of the two of them at the Indianapolis Indians game, where Eddie was actually wearing one of Steve’s baseball hats. Steve’s ticket to the Judas Priest concert, taped to the mirror on his closet door, along with a couple movie tickets that he remembered going to with just Eddie. A look out into the backyard at the bonfire pit Eddie had helped him dig reminded him of several evenings spent by the fire, just the two of them, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows and Eddie telling him stories about the constellations they could see. In the dining room, the China cabinet reminded him of dinners he’d cooked especially for Eddie. In the living room, there was a staged family picture where Eddie had drawn X’s on the glass over his parents’ faces, but a heart around Steve’s face.

Did he even want to be dating Eddie? A sharp pain stabbed through him at the mere thought of not being around Eddie constantly. He stared up at the portrait, not really seeing it but picturing Eddie – his long fingers wrapped around the neck of his guitar or threaded through Steve’s own while they walked into the diner; his curls escaping the messy bun he’d tried to put them in and blowing in the wind from the open car window as they drove aimlessly around; his wide smile and infectious laugh; the easy, simple affection in most every interaction; the feel and sound of his voice as he lay spooned behind Steve, telling him some story or other or just talking.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he got home when he heard the front door open. “Stevie?”

Steve spun around from where he’d been staring at the family portrait. “We’re dating,” he blurted.

“Oh, thank God!” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I thought it was just me who didn’t realize! ‘Till Nance confronted me in the car, anyway. Ya know, Wayne knows too? Said ‘it’s obvious, boy’ and he ‘assumed everyone knew’ and that’s why we weren’t outright telling people. How can everyone know something about us that we didn’t know?”

“You don’t even like baseball.” Steve wasn’t sure why that was what came out of his mouth, but it was too late to take it back.

“Eh, the game wasn’t too bad. Maybe it’s high school sports I have issues with? Plus, you were so excited the whole afternoon. You don’t like Judas Priest.”

“They aren’t bad. But you do. You had a blast at that concert, and I had fun watching you have a blast. We have a standing date night.”

Eddie looked perplexed for a second. “Wednesdays, at the diner. We split a strawberry shake. Who…?”

“Robin. Right after you and Nance left. I think I’m still processing,” he turned to look back at the portrait. “You drew a heart on my face.”

“Hm,” Eddie stepped up behind him, pressing against his back like always. “Yeah, I did.”

“We basically live together.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess we do.”

“I’ve never dated anyone this long without kissing them,” Steve said softly after a moment.

“We can fix that,” Eddie responded, matching his tone.

Steve turned around, his arm brushing Eddie’s chest as he did. Their inch in height difference usually wasn’t all that noticeable, but then, Steve usually didn’t have to tip his head back to kiss someone. For just a moment, they stared into each others’ eyes. Then Eddie grinned, tapped Steve’s nose with the tip of his, and leaned in, pressing his lips to the younger man’s. Steve surged forward, gripping Eddie’s hips and pressing their chests together.

Some time later, they lay in bed together, Steve half sprawled across Eddie’s chest and Eddie’s fingers gently combing through Steve’s sweaty hair.

“Important question,” Steve asked after a bit.

“Shoot.”

“Do we count today as our anniversary since it’s when we realized we were dating, or mid-May, which is when Robin thinks we started dating?”

Eddie chuckled. “Well, we don’t actually have a day for mid-May, do we? But we know today.”

“Mm. Good point,” he leaned up to kiss his boyfriend again.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Books, Love & Oatmeal (Forrest Bondurant x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU, Bookshop AU, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf bookshop keeper!Forrest x Fem Human!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, an overly worried Forrest, a sprinkle of self-loathing

Summary: Stomach flu season is a yearly occurrence. However, Wolves are less susceptible to disease in general and therefore generally have a smaller pocket of knowledge on how it affects other species. So when you fall ill with the bug, Forrest experiences first hand the stress of having to take care of his human mate.

Although, perhaps he takes things a little too far.

Author’s Note: This piece is from Forrest’s POV.

Tag list: @potter-solomons @hecatemoon87 @buttercup32sstuff @alikaheroes @ilovemanypeople @woofgocows @liliac-dreamer @zablife @elijahssuit @dreamlandcreations​ @vir-tual​

TH Masterlist

I hate seeing her like this.

Usually she is full of life, ready to chastise me for coming home with muddy boots after a hike. For wandering off when we’re on the road. Or for killing prey which we could cook up for dinner. Fortunately, that’s only on the days Y/N takes care of it.

I don’t have the heart yet to enlighten her about my secret recipes. And I think that’s the last thing she wants to hear right now.

The sour smell has worsened since the morning. I first caught a whiff of it when she sprang up out of bed, rushed into the bathroom, and let it all out. Pale-faced, she returned, an unsteady hand on the door knob.

Jack and Howard would never let up if they heard me, but I couldn’t help but whimper at her state. It turned into a soft whine when I got to my feet and picked her up, an involuntary shiver further chilling her cold skin. I tucked her in after pulling an extra blanket from the closet to wrap her up in.

“Forrest, I need to get to work,’’ she said, trying to get up. She started to struggle when I tried to gently push her back onto the pillows. ‘‘I’m expected at the office.”

I’m not always in control and often exercise more strength than necessary. However, and the mere thought makes me uneasy still, I consciously made use of the Wolf to keep her in place. It’s my responsibility that she's in good health and it’s only natural to take a sick day when you’re ill. If I hadn’t done that, she’d gone out and the sickness would’ve worsened. I did the right thing. 

Don’t mean I don’t hate myself for it. 

“No, you’re staying home. Where’s your phone? I’ll call your boss and tell them you’re not coming.”

A small gasp fell from her lips, eyes wide in surprise at the use of force. Yet, Y/N continued to protest, fiercer than before. “I can work from-’’

“No working from home either. If they don’t like it, I’ll send for Jack. He’ll know how to butter them up just right.”

“I’m okay.”

“Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.” I nodded at the door, indicating the bathroom across the hallway. “You sounded even worse than Howard after he’s been on the whiskey. You’re staying home to get some rest.”

“But-’’

“And that’s final.”

She should have struck me then or at least gotten angry with me for breaking the promise I made her after it happened the first time. Perhaps it was exasperation combined with the recklessness of the Wolf, which knows it’s an effective way to end any argument. Perhaps it was even a conscious act, the line blurred between the beast and me again in a way that makes it hard to distinguish between who acted.

I growled at her.

Another reason I hate myself at times.

In an attempt to make amends, I patted her head and let out an apologetic whine. I don’t blame her for swatting my paw, no, my hand and pushing me away when I tried to nuzzle her. 

Resigned, I grabbed her phone off her bedside table and left the room. In the quiet hallway, I waited, nauseous with the sharp sting of fear in her scent and the anticipation of the first sobs on the other side of the door. Tough as she may be, any confrontation with potential direct violence nevertheless leaves its mark on her.

After a few moments of nothing, I called her boss to let them know she would take a sick day.

She had her back turned to me when I returned. Afraid of making matters worse, tail tucked between my legs, ears flat against my head, and head bowed I remained by the door. Although, in hindsight, I only did the latter. 

I think.

I’m not sure. 

Tends to happen a lot these days.

“Try to eat something. And drink enough water.”

“Not hungry.”

“Sweetheart, you need to eat.”

“I’ll just puke it out again.”

I sighed and padded around to her side of the bed. The mattress dipped when I sat down, a hand on her cheek. The fact she allowed me to touch her meant she had forgiven me. 

Again. 

More than she should. 

“Guess the shop won’t open today.”

“What? No, Forrest, you can go to work. I’ll be fine. After all, I’m more than capable of looking after myself.” She placed her hand over mine, giving it a squeeze meant to be encouraging yet was so light and meek it only empowered my hunch she wouldn’t be. “Really, it’s okay. Go open your shop. You need the income.”

“Promise me you’ll eat. Even if it’s just some yogurt.” She made a face, evidently not liking being told what to do. However, when it comes to her health, it’s one of the few fields I want to be her authority in.

She’s my mate, so it’s my duty to look after her.

Her skin was cool against my lips when I kissed her forehead. “First, rest. I’ll be right downstairs, so shoot me a message if you need anything.”

Jack can’t live without the thing, always talking to someone, but I hate having a phone. What point is there in being available to everyone all the time? Apparently, no one can stand on their own legs anymore. However, for Y/N, I make an exception.

I want her to reach me.

For us to connect.

Fortunately, today seems to be another quiet day. I have an inkling people are intimidated by me and it affects the customer flow, but right now that’s the least of my concerns. Neither are the boxes with fresh stock that were left on the pavement. Besides, I don’t think anyone would appreciate the sole employee only being able to look at his phone.

Has she eaten? She said she’d try. Does she need anything else? I should’ve made soup before I left. Maybe made a nest. Why hasn’t she sent a message?

My stomach does a somersault as a bleak thought surfaces.

What if something happened and she can’t? Oh God, don’t let it be so.

I put the book in my hands on my lap to reach for my phone once again. It seems neither the scenery nor a good story will bring peace of mind today. The customers can wait, business can wait. I’ll even close the shop if I have to.

The screen lights up with the selfie we took on our last hike. I don’t like having my photo taken, but Y/N insisted we should at least have one together to add to the already small collection. I suppose she’s right. She deserves something to remember me by. 

Still nothing.

I can feel the fangs protruding from my gums as irritation takes over. Though she’s a capable human girl, I hate it when she does this. Trying to act like she’s fine when she needs help. Insisting to take care of herself while she’s sick.

I should be upstairs making sure she’s fed. Run her a bath, change the bedding while she soaks the sickness out, dress her in a fresh pair of pyjamas, and tuck her in. Safe and warm.

“What’re you looking so glum for today, Forrest?” Mrs Talbot, one of my few regulars, puts the book she’s selected on the counter. Slender fingers entwined, she lets her hands rest on it. Seems like she won’t let me ring her up before she’s got an answer.

Bless her.

I clear my throat and slightly let my head hang in apology for my bad mannerisms. “It’s my ma- girlfriend, ma’am. She… she isn’t well.”

“Oh deary, what’s the poor thing come down with?”

“I don’t know, but she can’t stomach food or drink. I told her to at least try to eat something, but I don’t think she will.” I clench and release my fists. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, my son, it’s stomach flu season. Besides, she isn’t a Wolf, so it’s not surprising she’s caught the damned bug.”

“You- You know what I am?” I blink a few times, trying to register her words. Judging by the air of calm seriousness around her, I heard her correctly.

“I’ve seen you and your brothers skulking around my orchard, yes.” A warm though knowing smile spreads on Mrs Talbot’s thin lips, blue eyes alight with mischief. “My Reggie was one too. Besides, and this was a long time ago, mind you, I used to be a doctor for people like you.”

Why is it that old women have the most astounding secrets, the most vivid lives?

“She’ll be alright, dear. Make her a cup of tea and let her rest. Oh, and warmth. That’s important too.” She gives me a cheeky wink. “I can attest to that from first-hand experience.”

Well, Wolves have a higher body temperature so I suppose I’m warm enough. Gives me a chance to practise cuddling.

“Thank you, ma’am, for the advice.” I bite down the cheerful yap aching to come out. “It’s easier to care for my brothers than her. Humans are frailer, needing more to survive.”

“Fortunately, it sounds like the lucky girl has a Wolf watching over her. How much do I owe you?”

Out of gratitude and the small piece of solace she’s given me, I tell Mrs Talbot the novel is on the house. After all, it’s the least I can do to repay the various kindnesses she’s shown me since I arrived here and opened the shop. Albeit a bit reluctantly, she eventually agrees and leaves.

The rest of the day is quiet. Overall, I think most time was spent reading by the window or pacing around the shop to clear my head. Fortunately, there is no one to be insulted by my frequent use of my phone. Also, I don’t mind the occasional truly slow day, but with Y/N sick in bed it’s close to maddening.

As soon as six o’clock rolls around, I close up the shop and rush up the stairs on the side of the building. I burst through the front door and head to the bedroom.

She’s where I left her, a half-full jug of water and a vegetable sandwich with a small bite taken out of it on the bedside table. “I’m home.”

Her eyes wander from the screen of her e-reader, a faint smile on her lips. “So I heard.”

I crouch down at her side and cup her cheek. Her skin is still colder than it should be. The nauseating sour note underlining her scent hasn’t decreased. “Got through the day alright?”

“Yeah, read a lot mostly.” She nods at the television on the dresser. “Watched a movie too.”

“Good,” I say before I get up and walk to the kitchen to make her some oatmeal, taking the sandwich with me. It’s done the trick with Jack and Howard when they couldn’t hold anything down so it should work for her too. Ma’s recipe works wonders.

You shouldn’t try solid food like this. Too many fibres and gluten. Will only agitate your stomach.

A few minutes later, I return to the bedroom. Y/N scrunches her nose when she notices the contents of the bowl in my hand.

“Oatmeal’s good for you.”

“Don’t like it.”

“It’ll provide some of the nutrients you need and you haven’t eaten all day.”

“Could barely keep the water down.”

“But water ain’t food. Please.” I put the bowl on the bedside table, kick off my shoes, sit down on the edge of the bed, and rest my forehead against hers. Though I hate to do it, I manipulate my scent in hopes of convincing her. Being a Wolf is a blessing and a curse. “One bite. The rest don’t matter, but try at least that one bite.”

Y/N uses my fingers to warm hers, devoid of their usual warmth, up. “Go make dinner for yourself. I can do one day without food.”

I huff and shake my head. “Not hungry. Besides, I ain’t eating if you aren’t.”

The mere thought of having to sit alone at the dinner table makes my stomach roil. To have to face the emptiness of the kitchen when she isn’t there to watch me cook or vice versa. To not cook together because one of us has found a new recipe online or wants to try something new. To be alone in the silence, which won’t be broken by the occasional excited clap or one of those pleased little outcries she does when something tastes good.

She scoffs, her eyes closed as she raises my palm to her cheek to bask in its warmth. “So it’s okay for you not to eat, but not for me?”

“You’re sick, Y/N. It’s important to eat when you’re sick.”

“I’m fine, Forrest.”

“Then why is your hand cold, hm? Why does the stink of disease underline your scent?” I swallow the snarl bubbling in my throat, which transforms into a powerless whine. Gently, I brush my thumb over her skin. “Please, honey. Just one bite, that’s all I ask.”

She lets out a deep sigh of resignation. “Fine. But if I throw up again, it’s on you.”

“You won’t,” I shake my head, retract my hand to grab the bowl, and hold up a spoonful for her. “The family recipe don’t work that way. It heals, nourishes. Ma always made it for my brothers and I when we were pups. Basically raised us on the stuff.”

“Let’s hope it does the same for me.”

Gaze fixed on the oatmeal, she takes a few deep breaths to steel herself. Then she leans in to let me feed her. She swallows the food fast, nose scrunched. Nonetheless, the second after, after her eyebrows shoot up in wonder. “Wow, that… that’s pretty good.”

“Want another bite?” I try to restrain the delight causing a pleasant buzz in my limbs. After all, I don’t think she’d appreciate me pouncing on and licking her.

She nods carefully, considering her stomach.

One bite follows another and soon the bowl is empty. I pluck a tissue from the box beside the jug and clean her mouth, purring. “Attagirl. There.”

Y/N slumps beneath the sheets, rolled on her side in the fetus position. Curled up like a pup. “That was nice. Really tasty.”

“That’s good to hear. Let’s make it an early night. You need to rest.”

“I’m plenty rested. Been in bed all day.”

“Until ten o’clock. Afterwards, it’s lights out.”

She pouts, evidently disagreeing with me. However, the murmured ‘‘fine’’ is affectionate, glad to be looked after.

After cleaning up and changing into something more comfortable, I settle into the sheets next to her. Acting on Mrs Talbot’s advice, I scoot closer to put my chest against her back. A hand on her stomach, I entwine my legs with hers. This cuddling sure is an effective way to keep her in place.

There. Warmth. This is how you do it, right?

Then again, it looks like only one form of it. In the movies and series we saw, it happened in various ways. In bed, on the couch, on a bench in a park. Sometimes the male human would drape his arm over the female human’s shoulders to pull her close, but that’s not possible in our current position. She also can’t sit on my lap. I guess the most important thing is for our bodies to be close, touching.

No, this is right.

“Um, Forrest, what are you doing?” Y/N glances over her shoulder, an eyebrow cocked.

“They do this in the movies, when a man likes a woman.’’ I lean back a bit to try and discover where the fault in it all lies. ‘‘Don’t like it? Or am I doing it wrong?”

She merely laughs, a lovely sound which melts the tenseness in my muscles. “You watch too many movies. They give a false image of what romance is.” 

She tries to flip around, but the hold I have on her prevents it. The look of surprise when she notices she can’t move her legs turns into amused resignation. She falls back into the pillow. “Forrest, can I get my legs back?”

“Do you need them?”

“Well, yeah. How else am I gonna get out of bed?”

“You won’t. You stay here, shut your pretty eyes after we watch a movie or a series, whatever you want, and sleep. No getting up.”

“How about you? If you get up, what will prevent me from doing the same?”

I nuzzle into her, briefly burying my face between her shoulder blades before doing so in her hair. Her scent has mixed with mine, underlining the cherry blossom and spice shampoo she uses. I let out a content sigh. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Not until she’s better.

And even afterwards I’ll remain at her side.

I’ll stay.

Have to.

Because she’s my mate.

My responsibility.

My anchor.

[ilikemcdanno]

Quick question for ya!! In season 8, we know that Steve and Danny were trying to get in the restaurant business as part of when they retire from 5-0. Now we know that didn't happen and at the end of the series, Steve ended up leaving (which was completely stupid) with Catherine ( Catherine is not my first choice..I would rather him be with Danny or nobody at all but I will deal with it). But if Steve did retire and not leave and also Danny retired too. What do you think they would be doing for their retirement since they got out of the restaurant business?

Hi anon!

First, I agree with you about Catherine. Especially since she just appeared in the finale randomly. 😭 it was SUPER out of pocket. It made more sense to have Danny show up unannounced but okay.

But to answer this lovely question, I’d like to think they would spend their days just like they said. A couple of old guys on the beach… but they can’t do that all day every day. So I could see them going fishing like like they did that one episode in s3. Of course it’s most likely Steve’s idea to go. Or they go hiking to places Steve has always wanted to go, or especially areas on the island he wants to show Danny. (Even though danny would probably say he isn’t built for this type of exercise, lol.)

Maybe every so often the team calls them just for advice on a case. Danny gets text messages from tani with pictures of evidence; and she tries not to do it that too often… but Danny has been a detective since…. forever. So he’s wise. Both him and Steve offer fresh eyes as well. And they don’t mind helping every so often.

Junior or Lincoln call Steve every so often as well. They ask similar things to tani. If they’re lost, or aren’t sure what to do. Or they ask if Steve has connections that might help them out on particular cases. I’m guessing Lincoln or Junior would become the head of five-o? so I’m sure either one would call and ask for advice when it comes to that as well. On how to run things, how to make the tough calls…

Steve and Danny would also have movie nights… and I’m sure Danny would drag him to NJ whenever he can. And make Steve try all of his family’s recipes when Danny decides he wants to cook for dinner.

And I’m sure Danny would want to try and spend as much time with Charlie as he can. Or he tries to plan things with Grace when she’s off of college. And of course, Steve comes along... And Danny ‘complains’ that he just wants alone time with his kids but deep down he’s happy that Steve comes along. Because his kids love unlce Steve…. and Danny loves him too. ;)

This is just my personal thoughts/headcanon on what they would do! 💕 hopefully this answered your question. Thanks for the ask, anon!!

Edit: spelling errors

[justamonkeyonautopilot]

Flufftober 2022 Drabbles Ch.13 Secret Family Recipe

[Sorry if this is not very good. I haven't written much since the last update apart from essays for uni. My head spent most this chapter screaming at me that I couldn't use joined words I needed to separate them all out *hides face*.]

Grey’s Anatomy Meredith Grey x Addison Montgomery

Chapter 13 Secret Family Recipe

It was well known that Meredith didn’t cook, well more couldn’t cook so wouldn’t cook. However, Addison coming from the background she had grown up in had been shown how to cook from a young age. So when Meredith had taken ill with the flu and couldn’t get out of bed. Addison knew that she had just the right thing for it. She remembered being shown how to make chicken soup and bread from scratch. It wasn’t very often that she would take the time to cook. Especially as she never really had the time to cook and every minute spent off work she just wanted to spend curled up with her girlfriend. But knowing that Meredith really needed something right now she thought better of getting back into bed with the younger woman. Instead choosing to go downstairs to cook. 

Wandering into the kitchen Addison looked into all the cupboards, hoping to find the ingredients she needed. As expected for two women who tended to order takeout she didn’t find what she wanted. Looking back towards the stairs Addison hesitated before grabbing her bag and shoes. Debating with herself over whether she wanted to go and wake Meredith to let her know she was heading to the shops or whether to let the woman continue to sleep. Knowing that sleep was one of the best healers for a cold, Addison chose to leave Meredith sleeping. Quietly grabbing her bag and shoes, checking to make sure her purse and keys were inside she stepped outside of the house towards her car. It took Addison around twenty minutes to get everything she needed. Stepping back inside the house she stopped listening to hear if there was any movement within the house from the blonde. Hearing nothing she continued back to the kitchen to unpack the shopping bags and start cooking. 

Pouring the soup into a bowl whilst she waited for the bread to finish cooking she looked around the kitchen for a tray to place everything on. Finding one under the sink she placed everything she had so far onto the tray. A glass of orange juice, the bowl of soup and a spoon, as well as the chocolate she had brought. Feeling her phone buzz in her pocket to say the bread was ready to come out the oven, Addison turned and quickly went to the oven. Pulling out the fresh loaf of bread she had made. Leaving it on top of the counter to cool, she filled a hot water bottle before going back to cut a couple of slices of bread. Placing everything but the hot water bottle on the tray, instead choosing to tuck it under her arm before heading towards the stairs. Carefully climbing them one by one and shuffling towards their bedroom in the hopes not to spill anything. Nudging the door open with her foot, followed by her hip she noticed Meredith curled around her pillow - hidden mostly by the blanket. Addison walked in slowly and carefully placed the tray down on the dressing table before sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Meredith’s snoring body. Gently stroking her fingers through Meredith’s hair she started whispering her name in the hopes of calmly waking her up rather than frightening her out of her sleep. Meredith mumbled, turning further into Addison’s pillow. Addison smiled watching her whilst continuing to stroke her hair. “It’s time to wake up now, my love”. Meredith blinked sleepily up at Addison before coughing curling into herself. Addison felt guilty for waking up the blonde seen as she seemed so peaceful in sleep. Unlike now.

Standing back up and walking to the dresser to retrieve everything Addison turned back to see Meredith leaning back against the headboard. Walking back to the bed Addison gently rested the tray on Meredith’s lap. Meredith looked down surprised before taking the spoon and taking a sip of the soup. Moaning in delight at the taste of it. “Where did you get this from?” Meredith watched as Addison flushed.

“I..er..I may have made it for you” Meredith tried not to laugh at the embarrassed look on Addison’s face as she knew that the redhead would be offended. She also knew that laughing would set off her coughing, and she really didn’t want to spill any of the soup. 

“Yes, I understand that. But what brand is this? I don’t think I’ve ever had it before” Meredith continued to eat more of the soup. Before realizing she bread next to the bowl was obviously homemade. 

“No, Meredith. I made this for you” Addison watched Meredith’s reactions to the food with interest.

“Oh God” Meredith moaned again “you’ve got to give me this recipe Addison. It tastes so good, thank you” 

Addison smiled in return at Meredith’s reactions. “I can’t Mer…it’s a family secret” Addison couldn’t resist the giggle at the look on Meredith’s face. 

“Well…you’ll just have to keep making it for me then” Meredith smirked before ripping a piece of the bread off dipping it into the soup. “Oh the bread is good too…Addie you’ve been holding out on me.”

Addison couldn’t help the belly laugh that came out of her at that response. “I should have known the quickest way to your heart was through your stomach”. 

[scolpimpisdiary]

The Golden Dreams Bakery - Part Two (FIN)

PART ONE LINK

Baker!Giorno x GN!Reader

No Advisory Warnings! Completely SFW

Word Count:2,670

*************************************************

Your heart raced as you made your way to a park nearby.

It was park that you’ve grown to find comfort in over the years, sitting in a comfortable bench and curling up in a book when things get difficult. But this time you didn’t have a book to distract you, it was just you and your thoughts.

The shock from the news was slowly cooling down into a deep sadness as you thought about the possible outcomes of the situation.

Your mind continued to distract itself with worrisome thoughts until a familiar pair of footsteps made its way towards you as his shoes dragged against the freshly fallen leaves. It was Giorno, who was wearing a look of concern while seeing you sat on the bench.

He sat himself down next to you. “Y/N, is everything okay? You weren’t at your shop today when I came in.” Your sorrowful eyes finally met his concerned ones, staring up at him and taking in his green gaze.

“Wait..how’d you know I was even here?”

“Well, your aunt told me you’d probably be here. Plus I come to this park sometimes as well, just to clear my head like you..”

Giorno slumped back in the bench a little, still focusing his attention onto you.

“So tell me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

As much as you wanted to vent, you couldn’t. Why’d you admit to someone that your family business is starting to struggle? You knew that Giorno was a nice person but you weren’t naive. What happened if word got out that your business was losing profits? It’d be humiliating.

Giorno could tell that you didn’t want to open up to him just yet. He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his golden locks. You expected him to just leave, like many similar experiences in the past have resulted in, but instead a strong pair of hands engulfed you, pulling your figure closer towards his in a warm hug.

The usual scent of his cologne pleasantly grew and loose golden strands tickled your face.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk right now, I won’t force you. But Y/N, just know that I care about you. When I see you upset, it..bothers me.”

You could tell that Giorno was speaking from his heart. Something about him was so genuine. It was a mysterious but warming feeling that never failed to make your heart jump.

He then released his grasp on you and pulled a letter out of his pocket.

“Also, I wanted to let you know about this contest that’s coming up in October for the Annual Naples Fall Festival. It’s a baking contest and they’re giving us a month to prepare, so you have some time”Giorno handed you the letter, letting you open it in front of him. You squinted at the little note inside of the black and gold envelope.

“A cash prize?” You mumbled, glancing over the fine text even closer.

“A hundred thousand euro?!”

“Well, i thought it’d be perfect for you because it’s for bakeries like ours. I also registered both of our shops, so don’t worry about that. I don’t know what you’re currently going through, but it’ll keep you preoccupied and hopefully take your mind off of the situation for a while..”

When you looked up from the letter, your teary eyes met Giorno’s calming ones once more. His hand reached out to touch your soft cheek, gently wiping the tear

away. It was almost as if you’ve felt a wave of energy surge through your body, and it made you shutter a little out of surprise.

You then gave him a tight squeeze, catching him off guard for a second but then reciprocating your hug immediately after.

The both of you stayed like this for a moment, taking in the peaceful and serene environment around you.

*******************************************

The whole month was spent with you and Giorno trying out different recipes for the contest. Giorno’s kitchen was smaller so he would go over to your place to try out new recipes.

When he cleaned up and left for the day, your aunt often nudged your shoulder and joked about how you two looked adorable together, only to receive a disapproving glare from you. In truth, you did often wonder about it. You wondered if Giorno was in a relationship, or if he’d even consider being in one.

Of course you never mentioned it as you didn’t want to make things awkward between you two, but during certain nights you’d catch yourself staring out the window from your bedroom, thinking to yourself

If we were in one, what would it be like?

The day of both the contest and festival approached quickly. Your aunt urged you to wear something nice for the occasion, watching you scramble in your closet for formalwear. As you walked down into the main area of the bakery, a smile lit up onto her face.

“Wow wow wow! You look amazing, Y/N!” She exclaimed while doing a double-take.

“You think so? I feel kind of stiff in this..” you mumbled, pulling on your sleeve. Before your aunt could comment on your outfit further, you heard the door squeak open.

It was Giorno, wearing a formal suit that flared out at the bottom. It was golden and had two little gold ladybug brooches on each side. Accompanying it were brown shoes and a cute golden tophat with a bow. His hair was down, reaching past his shoulders.

Everything was so..elegant and graceful about him. Your outfit paled in comparison to the boy’s standing before you.

He was holding his dessert, stored safely in a box and wrapped tight in a little bow. If you weren’t paying attention you could’ve assumed that it was some sort of present. Your container, on the other hand, was just a regular cake storage. You felt a little embarrassed about how plain it was, but Giorno didn’t see it that way.

His pale face soon turned a very light shade of pink. You didn’t see it at first as it was almost too subtle to notice.

“You look so amazing, Y/N..are you ready?”

“Yes!” You grinned in excitement and headed out the door with Giorno.

Even though you did your best to seem calm and collected, you were very nervous about the challenges outcome.

While both of you were placing your desserts on the display table, you nudged Giorno’s shoulder. He turned to look at you

“Uh, how many other bakeries are gonna be competing?”

“Just three others”

You nodded and walked towards the waiting area for contestants. All five contestants were given a number, you were the first one up and Giorno was the third.

You quickly turned to him and pulled on his sleeve. “Giorno, I don’t know if I’m ready..”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Just tell them what you made, don’t overthink”

You let out a sigh and stepped from the curtains.

The judges were all middle aged and looked very dejected. You immediately knew off the bat that they’d be quite strict with your meals.

“Contestant number one, please state your full name, bakery, and what you presented today”

The judge that spoke had a deep, monotone voice that sent shivers through your spine. You gulped before speaking

“Well then, my name is F/N L/N, my bakery is called Panifico L’amore and I made chocolate cake..”

The judges stared at you so intensely, almost as if they were trying to pierce you with their gaze. You grabbed your cake from the display table, cut it and served it to them. They each took a bite and bickered amongst themselves for what felt like ages.

Once they were done talking to eachother, they all turned to you. “Okay thank you, please take your seat now.”

Your racked your brain in confusion. That was it? You hoped for more of a response than that. Once you went backstage to sit down next to the other contestants, Giorno walked up to you.

“How did everything go?”

“Well, they didn’t really say anything. They just said thank you and told me to sit back down”

“Strange. They must be really strict.”

When the second contestant went up, the same feeling of worry kept prodding your nerves. You had wondered what would happen if you didn’t win. Your thoughts kept going against you, troubling your mind. You’d thought about your cake that you’d worked so hard on just to be given no response, about the money that you could’ve won and used to actually improve your bakery, about the possibility of losing it all if you don’t win.

Soon after every contestant was up, you were all called to the front of the stage to hear the results.

“The winner of the annual Naples Baking contest is..Contestant number two!”

I lost?

Unable to handle the news, you quickly pulled Giorno aside and said

“Hey, I’ll be right back. I have to clear my mind for a bit” you then left the stage through a different exit as to avoid the congratulatory celebration afterwards.

He tried telling you to wait but you ignored him and left any way. You felt that if you had stayed on that stage any longer, you would’ve exploded into tears.

You rushed off towards a bench and rested yourself on the cold surface, letting your fingers trace over the worn wooden handles. You let the autumn breeze distract you for just a while, wanting to feel less connected to the world around you.

Your thoughts traveled back to when Giorno first told you about the contest, wondering why both you and him were naive enough to think that you’d have a fighting chance at it. You saw a gleam of the other contestants desserts, which were so intricate and pretty. It looked like it could be in an art museum if it wasn’t edible.

At this point you couldn’t hold your emotions in any longer as you felt crushed by the heavy weight life placed onto you. Tears slowly trickled down your cheeks and pooled around the bottom of your chin.

A low weep left your lips as you looked down, away from everything around you.

All of a sudden you felt something tickling your arm. You almost swatted it off thinking it was an ant, but looked closer and saw a little red ladybug scuttling in a circle across the back of your hand for a good two minutes. It then flew away into the night.

Soon after, you saw Giorno approaching you from the same direction the ladybug flew in.

“Oh..h-hey..” you sniffled, wiping the tears away with your hands. He came up to you and sat next to you on the bench. Your eyes refused to meet his, being too ashamed to let him see your puffy face.

“Y/N. Look at me” Giorno wrapped his strong yet delicate fingers around your chin and pulled your face up to see your expression. His face instantly became sorrowful, furrowing his eyes and letting his lips drop into a frown. “what’s going on?”

Words flew out of your mouth so quickly that all you could do was just let it happen.

“I’m just tired, Giorno. Im tired of being worried all of the time, trying to constantly put on a happy face for my family restaurant. My grandma’s bakery has been on a slippery slope lately, and I don’t know if it’s gonna stay afloat! The judges obviously didn’t like my desserts, either! I fucking lost! Maybe I’m just a failure-“

Giorno wrapped his arm around you, holding you and resting his head onto yours. “Breathe for me, tesoro..” he then wrapped his other arm around you, gently rocking you as you weeped your struggles away into his clothed shoulder.

Softly stroking your hair, Giorno whispered into your ear. “Listen, Y/N. You’re beating yourself up too much...businesses are very hard to run sometimes. I can understand that.”

He wiped your tears with his sleeve, not caring if it got wet or not. Giorno then reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

“Here, open it.”

You rubbed your flushed eyes in confusion and quickly pried the yellow envelope open.

It was the prize money from the contest.

“But Giorno, somebody else won? They deserve it more than me..”

“No, they were cheating.”

You were immediately caught off guard by this. The venom in Giorno’s voice was deep, even though you knew it wasn’t directed towards you, it still didn’t fail to surprise you.

“The cake that they used wasn’t theirs, they just frosted their name onto it and claimed it. I know that because they bought it from me two days ago, and said it was for a party. Those judges didn’t pick up on it, though.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, glancing at the money then back to Giorno whose expression soon eased back into his usual, soft smile. He grasped your hands in his, looking deep into your eyes.

“Y/N, I’m proud of you..I really am. Being a baker isn’t just about having a lot of customers...it’s about having pride and dedication to your craft even when it gets hard. Every time I went to your bakery you’ve always put your best foot forward and shown your customers such kindness and patience... Even when you knew things weren’t going well for you..”

Giorno then squeezed your hands gently, continuing his deep gaze.

“You never gave up trying to make the people around you feel welcome, that’s how I know that deep down you’re such a good person, Y/N, that’s why I know you deserve this prize the most.”

Before you could respond, a soft warm pair of lips met yours, pressing a deep kiss into you.

You quickly pulled back out of surprise, but then locked lips again as you wrapped your arms around Giorno’s shoulders and he wrapped his around your waist, pulling you in to deepen the kiss further. Deep down, you’ve been yearning for this too.

Once he let go he held you in his arms for a little longer, staring into the dark mysterious sky while you laid your head on his chest and took in the pleasant mixture of vanilla and cologne you’ve grown all too familiar with.

“I want to show you something” Giorno told you, and stuck his hand out to pull you up. “Okay..” not knowing what you were going into, you grabbed his hand hesitantly and rose up to his level.

Once you both made your way back to the festival grounds, there was music playing in the background as the people of Naples danced slowly into the night. Giorno stuck his hand out towards you, gesturing you to come closer. You shook your head

“I’m not much of a good dancer..”

“It’s okay, just give me your hand. Follow my lead.”

Reluctantly, you grabbed onto his hands and let him gently pull you closer. You placed your other hand on his shoulder, as he rested his on your waist. “Like this?” You mumbled. He hummed, signaling agreement.

The two of you swayed back and forth, matching the tempo of the music that filled the atmosphere.

“Y/N, can you promise me something?” Giorno whispered into your ear. You were caught off guard at first, but also curious as well.

“What is it?” You curiously looked up at him.

“Promise me you won’t lose that quality about you, Y/N. The one that makes you a good person..”

“I promise..”

Looking up at Giorno, your heart felt like it’d melt, like many other times. But this time you knew what this feeling was. It was love. You loved him.

“..Giorno I..I-“ You blurted, unable to finish your sentence. Instead, you burrowed your face into his tender chest out of embarrassment.

The blonde let out a chuckle, and pecked your forehead with a quick kiss.

“It’s okay, mi amore. I love you too..”

[jlilycorbie]

FFF197: Homecoming

Prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial​

A wave of grasshoppers heralded my return to my favorite old haunt, to the twisted tree and the creek. At least, I called the meandering drainage ditch a creek as a child. Ankle-deep water trickled by, and tiny fish darted through it. Though I dreamed up many ways for them to get to the creek, it turned out they were placed there by mosquito mitigation.

The tree loomed large in my memories. It was a skinned knees and splinters kind of place. A frogs in your pockets and mud in your shoes place. A little pocket of deep shadows and shallow water in the blistering heat.

It was smaller than I remembered.

Little peeping frogs still lurked in the grass and splashed in the water. There was still room in the hollow place at the base of the tree for me to settle on the cool ground. I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the hot wind in the leaves above. Fruit swelled on the branches, now in reach, but still green and astringent. For the first time in years, I felt like I could fill my lungs completely.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a bee visiting a nearby flower. I extended a hand toward her, and she landed on my fingertips. "Did anyone tell you Granny Wisdom died?" I asked. "I don't know where your hive is, but Granny loved you. You may have noticed the gardens have gone to seed. That's why. She told me it's traditional to tell the hive when you lose a family member. Could you pass the word?"

The bee waited until I'd said my peace, and she took flight. The bees probably understood that she was family even if other people didn't. Just the babysitter, my parents said when we moved far away. I spent afternoons after school in her cottage or following while she worked in her garden. I spent long summer days rambling through the property or sitting in her kitchen while she cooked up jams and jellies or watching quietly when women came with hushed stories and left with smiles and secret parcels.

I'd come out in memory of an eternal summer, of handfuls of frogs and jars of fireflies. Of days harvesting and canning. But I looked around and found an audience. To my left, a fox. To my right, a hare watched with wide, wise eyes. "It's true," I said. "She's gone. I'm so sorry, someone should have told all of you." I leaned my head back against the trunk and looked up into the branches, where a masked face looked back. "Don't worry. I know all of this belongs to someone who will live here. Someone who will love it."

We never lost touch. I promised to write her when we moved away, and I did. Not as often as I should have. Not as diligently. But I did write. And she wrote back. An unbroken connection through the years, even if I always promised to visit and somehow never found the time. I collected all of her letters, her cards, her recipes, her advice, in a book I called Granny's Wisdom, because I thought I was clever.

We talked on the phone more often than we wrote. I came back once when she was sick, and I stayed with her until she was well again. One day I got a call regarding Greta Wisdom. It was her real name after all. "She's not sick again, is she?"

"No," said a man who sounded distracted and vaguely annoyed to have to talk to me. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but Ms. Wisdom has passed away."

Back before she was Granny, her cottage and land weren't much. She still didn't have much money when she passed away, and while she never lacked friends, she didn't have any family. She left what she had to me, and on the heels of that news came investors hungry for the land.

All of them wanted to raze the house, to parcel out the land. It would be easy, and it would make my life easy, too. I could have done it from a distance, even. Never laid eyes or set foot on the land again. But I already worked remote. Easy enough to come back one last time, to say goodbye properly.

Other creatures came, and I delivered the sad news again and again, to possums and coyotes, to the snake that lived under the porch, to feral cats and songbirds and crows.

And also to the young woman who waited on the porch, eyes brimming and shoulders slumped. "Is it true?" she asked.

"It's true," I said, and I let her inside. 

She coughed out a laugh as she looked around the kitchen with its hanging bundles of herbs and shelves of preserves and canned homegrown vegetables and volumes filled with Granny's tight, neat handwriting. "It's just like I remember," she said. "I'm sorry, I'm Miranda."

"Miranda? Wait." I left her stranded in the kitchen so I could retrieve a package with her name on it waiting in another room.

She stood in the middle of the room, rubbing her arm, and she said, "Hey, you aren't Imogene, are you?"

"That's me."

Miranda smiled then, just a little. "Granny used to talk about you all the time. She kept saying we ought to meet."

"Yeah?" I glanced around the kitchen. "Would you like to stay a while? Have some tea? Talk about Granny?"

Her smile grew. "I'd love to. She always used to say she'd leave this place to you. Did she really?" I nodded while I filled the kettle, and she asked, "What are you going to do with it?"

I thought about my afternoon wandering, about my childhood roaming. About the house and about investors. I didn't know the answer until she asked. "I'm going to stay."

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀love of a lifetime⠀𓏔⠀han jisung⠀❫

☆ㅤhave you ever wondered how the queen of hearts achieved the throne?⠀★⠀2.8k words

content: info,, alice in wonderland + charlie and the chocolate factory au, reader is niece of willy wonka, han jisung is the prince of hearts (little brother of the white queen). warnings,, mentions of death, injuries and blood, read under your own risk. note,, as an answer to this (@bbybearcubbs). when i first saw that han video i thought of vampire han, but i do have something to say about this (i love it thank u very much for the tag ♡) 一 first of all, wonderland is one of my fav universes, i'm a sucker for all its retellings and lately i've been obsessing over fantasy aus. second of all, han is in my bias line and lately i've been obsessing over him a lot, so perfect timing. and lastly, i wrote this because just thoughts didn't seem enough.

You haven't seen the white rabbit yet. Your uncle had promised you that you could say hello to him, even if you were lucky to play with him, just as you had done the last time you had visited Wonderland, years ago, but there was no sign of him. You had found distractions, of course, in the kitchen of the Mad Hatter's house 一the place where you were staying一, helping your uncle find the perfect recipe for his Wonka chocolate and baking your own cakes. Many people wondered how Willy Wonka could possibly create treats that did such marvelous things, but few knew that every so often he would visit the land where dreams and nightmares came true and take a bit of its magic with him, with the stealth of a thief in the night, to feed his chocolate factory.

You were determined to follow in his steps, insisting on attending his meetings and helping him make decisions, just as your best friend did with her father, the Mad Hatter. Both she and the Cheshire Cat's troublesome son, Minho, would often show you their favorite places, including you in their wicked pranks and filling your heart with mischief. But the pocket watch the white rabbit had given you so long ago weighed heavy in your skirt pocket, constantly reminding you of its presence, and you needed to ask about its origin.

Every time you picked it up, time seemed to move slower. Back home, it was like a firm reminder that Wonderland did exist and was not a product of your imagination, and even if you had come to lose it, within minutes it would reappear on your pockets, somehow bound to you with magic. Its hands would speed up when your heart did, and time would stop when you fell asleep. Every time you asked him, Wonka would shut down, denying you the answers you craved.

But the damn rabbit was nowhere to be found.

At least until Minho confessed to you that he used to come at tea time, eternally punctual, to toast with his old friends, the Mad Hatter and the March Hare, and enjoy their company for a few seconds. You were not supposed to come, you were even forbidden to, but everyone knew the location of the long table where they held their encounters. You always helped bake the pastries that were served, so you could pretend you wanted to help move them there, and then linger around.

Your plan was working perfectly, you thought, when you peeked out from behind the tree where you had been hiding and saw the little white creature perched on the table, listening to Cheshire talk while sipping from an amusing mug that was stamped with pikes and clovers. You picked up your pocket watch, its hands racing with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and waited for the rabbit to pick up his own, as you had seen him do years ago, and exclaim, with a terrified wince, "I'm late!"

By now you didn't care exactly what appointments he could have in his busy schedule, you only focused on running, chasing him, once you saw him leave the table, the small pointed branches of the narrow path he had decided to go down leaving scratches on your arms.

"I just want to ask you one thing!" you pleaded, your hair tangling in the leaves and your skirt raised to your knees to avoid tripping. You knew you were approaching the White Queen's castle, and you needed answers before the rabbit slipped away and you were forbidden the entry for not belonging to the Court. That was something you couldn't allow.

"I'm late!" you heard him shout, rage blinding you.

Your muscles protested, exhausted, at the strain you were putting them under, but despite the astonishing speed at which the animal was advancing, you were still human, and therefore larger in size. Your strides were wide and precise, and before long you had it a few steps away, almost feeling its velvety fur on your fingertips, until you managed to grab it by the ears and you fell, surrendered, your back leaning against the castle wall and the rabbit rolling in your hands.

"When I was seven years old you gave me a pocket watch," you told him, holding him in front of you, "and it hasn't stopped following me since. Tell me why."

The white rabbit bit you once, and then twice, even more, until you let him go, hissing, its tiny teeth opening wounds in your wrists, and you try to cover the injuries, unsuccessfully, your brow furrowed in pain. The animal was still in front of you, looking at you curiously, its snout twitching and moving his paw nervously against the ground.

"I remember you."

"Thank goodness," you gasped, grimacing when you saw blood on your hands. You would have to go home as soon as possible to wash up and bandage yourself before it got infected or even worse.

"Your uncle asked for my help when you were little," he explained, rummaging through the pockets of his vest anxiously, his ears twitching at the slightest sound around you. "You were sick," he continued, looking at you with curiosity, almost as if he were analyzing you, "you were going to die."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, and you looked at him with wide-open eyes, as if he had just slapped you. The effect of his words had indeed been the same, and the apologetic look from the white rabbit confirmed that you hadn't misheard.

"William Wonka knew that only here could he find a long-term solution," he continued, his movements more composed, approaching you to place a paw on your knee, trying to convey comfort that neither of you felt. "Your life is linked to that clock. The closer the hour hand is to twelve, the closer you are to death. When your heart stops beating, the clock will stop working."

You saw him gently stroke your leg, some kind of non-verbal apology, and after twitching his ears in alarm, he disappeared, hopping quickly towards the entrance of the castle. Your heart raced, the white rabbit's words echoing in your mind, and you clumsily stood up, your bloodied hands leaving a crimson trail on the stone wall and the plants at your feet. You tried to reach for the watch you always kept in your pocket, the contact with the thick fabric of your dress stinging like twisting a dagger in the wound, tormenting you.

It wasn't there.

Surely you had lost it in the forest. Perhaps when you had ducked behind the tree, too focused on not being discovered, or in your hurried run through the woods, your attention fixed on the blurry white figure of the rabbit. Maybe you had even dropped it when you had landed on the ground, too busy trying to keep the animal from running away from you. In any case, you didn't have it now. You tried to rummage through the ground, but all you found were thorny rose bushes that worsened the condition of your hands. You felt your skin raw, the few bites you had suffered adding to the scratches from your run, and you plucked a rose from the wall, ignoring how the thorns dug into your skin.

Had your uncle lied to you, too much of a coward to admit that if he had discovered magic it had been for trying to save you? Had he taken all the credit for something he owed to you? It was you who had the ideas that you then helped to make real. You were the one who created everything he sold. And he still treated you like a child. He had gambled with your life, not knowing if the spell that bound you to the clock could work, and had taken you to the Netherworld, where you could have died. What if the magic hadn't worked outside Wonderland? Why hadn't he given you the option of staying with the Mad Hatter's family, growing up and then being able to decide for yourself?

"Looking for this?" asked a sweet voice behind your back.

You turned, expecting anything but a boy your age, with a shy smile curving his heart-shaped lips and wavy hair lightly covering his eyes. He had it disheveled, matching the rumpled black velvet suit and unbuttoned crimson vest. He looked like he had just run a marathon, his chest rising and falling at full speed, as if he was getting away from something. And most importantly, he had your precious pocket watch on the palm of his hand.

"Yes" you affirmed, looking at him hopefully, "give it to me, please."

After all, as much as you hated your uncle, or the white rabbit, that watch was still your heart, and you needed it to keep breathing. The boy approached you, frowning when he saw your hands, and the white rose you held tightly, the drops of blood sliding down the stem and staining its petals vermilion red.

"What happened to you there?" he whispered, pulling a snow-white handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and taking your hand gently, his black gloves gentle against your skin as he tried to cover the wounds with the cloth.

"Eh! What are you doing!?" someone exclaimed from your right, a group of steel soldiers of the White Queen hurrying to where you were standing.

You looked at the boy with terror-filled eyes, and grabbed your watch from him, your heart again pounding, opening it and watching the second hands spinning at full speed. You had to calm down. The minute hand was over the number ten, and you didn't know what it meant, but the hour hand was closer to eleven than it had ever been. It couldn't all be over at that moment. That wasn't going to be the end of you, it couldn't be.

But the soldiers were approaching, and in the state you were in you knew you weren't going to get very far. Not when those magic-filled but soulless figures were trained to be agile and determined in their work. Perhaps you could reason with the White Queen, explain to her what had happened. It was all the fault of that blissful white rabbit. She would understand. Minho had told you that she was generous and benevolent, everyone loved her.

"The Queen's assassin!" the soldiers shouted, rushing at you, pinning you down with superhuman strength, as if you posed some kind of threat. But you hadn't killed anyone, how was it possible…? You made eye contact with the boy in black and red and saw perfectly the way his eyes glowed with mischief.

"You have her white handkerchief," he told you, his lips moving but barely letting out a sound, "and blood on your hands."

You sharpened your gaze, a wave of rage flooding your soul, feeding off the constant pain that refused to leave your hands, and the betrayal you had just endured. You let them guide you into the palace. You had to think fast because no one would believe you. Would your uncle defend you if you called him? Would the rabbit explain that the blood was yours? Would the boy intercede for you? You couldn't trust them. And Minho had no power in the Court, neither did the Mad Hatter nor his daughter. You were alone, relying on yourself. And you wouldn't let yourself down.

The floor of the throne room looked like a chessboard, the space in front of the throne covered by a plush white carpet. They set you free, and you hissed when you felt the gentle breeze against your wounded skin. By now, your beige dress was covered in crimson stains, your watch gripped so tightly between your fingers that your knuckles were white, and the rose still held firmly, as if it was a lifeline. You heard the boy with the heart-shaped smile climb the stairs to stand next to the throne, and you looked up, ready to plead for mercy before the White Queen. But the one you made eye contact with was a child, her fine and light hair cascading like frozen water, giving you a look of deep hatred.

"We found her trying to escape outside the west wall," one of the guards reported, "fortunately, the Prince of Hearts caught her first."

So, the Prince of Hearts. That was the boy's title.

"Kill her," the girl murmured, forming fists with her hands, "cut off her head, stab her heart, I don't care. Make her pay for my mother's death."

A sepulchral silence fell in the room, her last words leaving an echo hard to ignore. You lowered your gaze, contemplating your options. The only thing you could offer was your services as a pastry chef, but you didn't know if a life dedicated to locking yourself away to make cakes was what you wanted. Even facing death, seclusion sounded terribly wrong. You watched as one of the bloody petals detached and fell to the ground, a reddish drop sliding down the stem and falling shortly after, staining the carpet in a way that would be hard to remove.

"Lily," said the Prince of Hearts, and you raised your head, paying attention to the firm words coming from his mouth, wondering if they would be pure lies, or if, for a change, he would defend you. "Your mother didn't teach you to judge without letting the person defend themselves."

"My mother won't be able to teach me anything else because she's dead," the princess protested, not even looking at him, "and she is to blame."

You quickly glanced at the watch, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw that the hand was very close to the number twelve. If you did nothing, you were going to die. If the Prince didn't help you, you were going to lose your life in that very room, thanks to the vengeful fury of a grieving girl.

"I'm not going to let you murder my fiancée for a crime she didn't commit," declared the Prince, earning gasps of surprise from everyone in the Court present, "and I'm not going to allow a child to take my place. I claim the throne of Wonderland as the rightful heir."

"You can't do that!" the girl exclaimed, jumping up and facing him.

"Watch me do it," he whispered, his voice dripping with venom, "you may have lost your mother, but I have lost my sister."

You took a deep breath, holding your head high in a gesture of arrogance, and tried to ignore the presence of the white soldiers behind you, climbing step by step until you reached the height of the Prince of Hearts, a battle of gazes unfolding between you. You didn't know him at all; he didn't know who you were, and yet you had entrusted your life to him, and he had saved it. You weren't going to start trusting him now, but you needed him to get out of the mess he had gotten you into.

"My princess," he whispered, taking your hand and planting a soft kiss on the back of it, "welcome to the palace."

You wanted to tell him that his lips were stained with blood, but he seemed not to care. He flashed again that smile that you had seen when he found you in the forest, looking towards the guards and gesturing for them to take the little girl away from there. You intertwined your fingers with his, playing the role of a damsel in distress. Maybe you were in distress after all because you had just sentenced yourself to a life alongside the killer of the White Queen, but in return, he would make you a queen, and for you, it was worth it.

"You will be my Queen of Hearts," he purred, standing behind you and sliding his arms around your waist, as if it weren't the first time you touched each other, as if you were truly in love. He had your clock in his hand again, and you blinked in confusion because you could swear you had it securely fastened. You watched as he opened it, moving the watch wheel as he pleased, turning back time, making the hour hand point to the number one, "you will live forever."

You felt him kiss your neck, his lips brushing over your pulse, the shape of his heart-shaped smile as enigmatic as Cheshire's leaving a blood-stained heart-shaped mark visible to everyone. Now, you belonged to him. You wore a smile just as dark as his, relaxing under his touch. Maybe this had been your destiny from the beginning. Not Willy Wonka's heir, not an ordinary villager. Perhaps your spilled blood spoke of power and royalty. In the end, you got your checkmate.

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[jeagerism]

heaven (it’s calling my name)

✒ word count : 7.1k

✒ characters : eren yeager x reader

✒ explicit warnings : smut, like graphic shit i’ve never written, u give eren brain (a blowjob), yes ppl call giving head giving brain, eren repays the favor, i think he choke u a little at one point, consensual sex bc we fuck heavy with that, eren wraps it b4 he taps it, he’s respectful and hot

✒ warnings : modern!au bc canonverse eren makes me sad, eren is the definition of "cold boyfriend who’s only soft around you", except he’s kinda not ur boyfriend, oh god, he calls you teach a lot, and sweet thing and pretty thing he just thinks ur an object, im joking, he’s really bad at history, eren is a little shit, he majors in criminal justice bc one day levi mentioned he’d be good at it, and eren looks up to levi cry cry cry, oh yeah it’s a college!au too bc eren would...be in col….my heart hurts, im down bad for a yt man

✒ summary : Eren’s an annoying type of pretty. The type of pretty that hurts to ignore.

✒ notes : fuck u mechelle, even tho u wont see this

You’re quite sure that you’re five minutes away from leaving Eren Yeager to lie in the mess he’s made for himself.

Sliding your notebook away from you on the library table, you sigh through your nose, pulling your phone from your pocket to check the time. The giant numbers on your screen are a cruel reminder that you’ve been waiting for Eren for going on thirty minutes now, going between sending him warning texts to cursing Erwin out in the shared group chat between him, yourself, and Levi. The passing time only makes you more and more agitated, watching the water droplets drip down the stupid drink you’d brought for him when you’d arrived earlier. 

A part of you curses yourself for deciding to take up tutoring him in the first place. 

Which isn’t to say you had a problem with Eren Yeager, at least not always. You’d see him fairly often before starting these weekly sessions, given the fact the two of you ran in overlapping social circles. You see him at parties, and game nights, and even the soccer games Levi always asks you to show up to. Some part of him just made you want to pull your hair out, from the way he fought with Jean at every social gathering, to the way you'd been forced to sit next to him during every spring break trip since you'd started college.

He was always too loud, too jumpy, too much.

Nevermind the fact that he looked terribly attractive most days, or that he was always the one to get everyone home safe if they drank too much, or that he’d bugged Erwin for his soup recipe because Armin had gotten sick one week.

He also never showed up to his lectures, and would always ruthlessly bicker with Jean whenever they were in the same room. You don’t think he’s ever been on time to anything your friends have invited him to.

Or to the study sessions he’d gotten Erwin to beg you for, you think. Dropping your head forward against the uncomfortable wood of the table, you release a quiet groan.

"How am I supposed to help him when he doesn’t try in the first place?", you’d sighed to Erwin. "He barely shows up for his own classes—which, may I add, he wouldn’t need a tutor for if he did—so what makes you think he’s going to come to a tutoring session with me?"

Every part of you is aching from spending so long cramped into the material of your chair. Brushing your shoes against the bag by your foot, you begin shuffling the papers strewn across the table into a neat pile, gathering your different colored folders together. Papers you’d spent forever printing out for Eren, because he’d complained about getting so many things mixed up. Folders that Eren had teased you for relentlessly during your first few times together, something about "history being white and not orange".

Just as you’re standing to swing your backpack over your shoulder, hurried footsteps meet your ears, a hand slamming itself down atop the table in front of you.

"I’m here." 

Rolling your shoulders back, you give the boy in front of you an unimpressed look. He doesn’t look the least bit sorry that he’s missed the crucial time you’ve been giving up for him, pale grey eyes trained directly on the hand you’ve got on your bag. Your eyes drag down his figure, across the hair that’s gathered at the back of his neck, run down sneakers and withering brown hair ties circling his wrist.

Your words come out in a flurry, "I have been waiting for you for so long that I finished an entire essay, Eren. I had other things to do today, things that could’ve been done if—"

Eren cuts you off, plopping himself down in the seat adjacent from yours. He gets to work pulling out a notebook from his backpack, scrawled writing labeling it for history. The straps from his bag are tattered, some parts held together by mere threads. You never comment on this, because you know the only reason he has one at all is because Armin had bought it for him as a Christmas present awhile back. His hands, ivory and gaunt, flip the pages over until he’s seemingly satisfied with where it stops, and he glances back up at you, waiting and calm.

"C’mon, Teach," he drawls, nodding his head for you to retake your seat, "don’t got all day. You’ve got other things to do, remember."

Something about the way he talks to you makes you want to strangle him, and shut him up, and everything in between. He doesn’t make any other moves than that, lips set in a straight line, seemingly uninterested in whatever you’re going to say next, as if he knows you’re not going to leave.

This is your fifth studying session you’ve had with him, and he’d been late for the first, and the second, and now this one as well. You’re doing this for Erwin, you remind yourself, and also because the sooner you helped him pass, the sooner he’d be out of your hair. 

As frustratingly captivating as Eren was, he also annoyed you to no end, and you know there were plenty of others that would agree with you.

However, the idea of getting up and leaving him here puts an uneasy feeling in your stomach that you don’t like.

So, with a baited breath, you drop back down into your seat, ignoring the corner of Eren’s mouth lifting when you say, "I thought I told you not to call me that, stupid."

Ignoring your comment, the brunette scribbles a circle onto the edge of his paper, humming as he waits for you to push your folder over to him. You do, tapping your finger against the page to guide him. He begins working silently, flipping pages in between bouts of silence while you wait for when he’ll need you.

After a few minutes, he looks up from the folder halfway, head still bowed the tiniest bit. "Thanks," he utters, refocusing after nodding his head to himself. 

Your face feels warm when you look away.

The following few weeks after that are better.

Despite endless warnings, he still shows up late, but the time gets less and less with every tutoring session you have. He shows up with his things all organized, and he even brings you bottles of water instead of the abnormal amount of Kickstart he always had with him. You almost think it's his way of making up for the tardiness. You almost want to kiss him for it. That realization has you cutting one of your meetings short, letting Eren and his confused look make his way home without the normal amount of work you send him off with.

During another Saturday evening spent pouring over books, nestled into the corner of the couch in your shared apartment with Levi and Erwin, you watch Eren with a curious stare. He’s got a pencil twirling in between his fingers, rambling on about some part of his lecture that he didn’t understand earlier today. His legs are clad in the stupidly soft sweats he’d stolen from Erwin months ago, a price for carting him back home after he’d puked on the younger’s clothes. He’s buried in the old mathletes sweater he’d coveted for ages, and his long hair is tied up in his same overly messy bun, select strands tailing out every which way; curling around the nape of his neck, hanging in front of his eyes.

"Teach?"

"Hm?"

Eren waves his hand in front of you, skinny fingers passing in front of your vision once more before he lets them drop back down to hit his lap. "Zoning out on me again?" The candle burning on the corner of your entertainment stand casts flickering shadows across his face, silhouettes dancing across the bridge of his nose, the height of his cheek. "Terrible instructing method if you ask me." He gives you a boyish grin from his side of the couch. "Don’t know how we’ve made it this far with that."

You scoff, folding your arms across your chest. "I don’t know how anyone else puts up with you." 

"You do, don’t you," he calls, and he’s not smiling anymore, simply observing the squinted eyes you give him. The upward motion of his eyebrows draws his lips into a tiny pout. "What, not up for admitting your crush on me, yet?"

"Shut up," the slight shake in your voice must not be noticeable, and if it is he makes no note of it, chuckling and leaning his head back into the cushions of the couch. 

"Listen this time, yeah? Otherwise someone might think there’s not a thought inside that pretty head." He starts back on his babbling of topics he’d found difficult, tossing in little jabs at his professor, about how stupid Jean had looked when he’d passed him on his way back to your apartment. 

A part of you thinks it's to keep you on your toes. Another thinks it's just an effort to get you to smile.

And you do. Because his teasing words weren’t as far off than he may have thought.

Eren has a maddening habit of messing with you to distract from the work he’s supposed to do, prying embarrassment from the center of your soul in order to achieve breaks from the endless studying he needs to pass his final.

Said finals are tomorrow, which gave you plenty of reason to show up at his door hours before, arms full of material he’d need to remember if he’d intended to pass. He’d let you in with a heavy sigh, body pressed against the front door as you slid past him, eyes taking in the warm beige of the interior. Something you were sure Armin and Mikasa had managed alone, seeing as Eren’s entire color palette consisted of blacks and the occasional splash of white and blue. 

He leads you past the living room, where Jean is stuffing his phone into his pocket next to Mikasa, who’s slipping on her shoes. She gives you a nod as you slip off your own, and Jean does as well, before his eyes are snatched away by Eren’s hand, extended with his middle finger poised towards the boy, slight smile offered along with his crude gesture. He keeps it faced towards him all the way until the two of you disappear around the corner, concealed by the hallway walls. 

"You didn’t have to do that," you murmur, kissing your teeth with a shove of your shoulder into his. Eren shrugs, uncaring as he twists the doorknob of his room, pushing his door open for you to step into his room. The front door closes as you do, and you look back at him in question.

"They’re going to some bullshit soccer game." He’s gone to every bullshit soccer game this season.

Laughing, you plop down on the edge of his bed, laying the armful of study material down onto his bed; you jerk your head towards where his history textbook rests on his bedside table. Seeming to get the memo, he hefts it into his arms, scooting up to the headboard of his bed. He gestures for you to do the same, watching your form as you lean back into the wall, sorting things as you normally did for your meetings. "Well, when you pass, we can go to the next. If it’s not too bullshit for you."

He doesn’t respond, and when you look back up his eyes are already on you. 

"We could?" You nod, humming. "Like, you and me?" 

"Yes, Eren," you reassure, growing increasingly warm at the devoted attention he has on you. "Wouldn’t mind if you wouldn’t. Plus, imagine how many girls in your chemistry class would be jealous that Eren Yeager is going to the football game with someone that isn’t them."

A quiet noise of disbelief falls from his lips, "You play off as shy a lot for someone who makes jokes like that." Another mumble comes from his direction, muffled by the hand he passes over his mouth. 

"What?"

He bumps his knee into yours, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"Ah, yeah right," you protest, slapping his thigh with the orange folder grasped in your hand. "What’d you say?" Again, he shakes his head, moving his head to see in front of you. "Eren." You move in front of his line of sight, lips pouting at him. "Just—"

Reaching out with a frustrated sigh, Eren’s hand cups your jaw, stopping you in your place. His washed out eyes meet yours, unwavering as he keeps you in position. "I said," he voices, not even pausing to blink, "what if I don’t want to go with anyone else?" His thumb brushes the apple of your cheek, soft and slow, his face moving closer to yours bit by bit. "You’re pretty," he whispers. There’s so little space between the two of you that you’re sharing the same breath; the little wisps of hair gathered at the front of his face tickle your own, and his nose nudges yours when he speaks next.

"Not so forward now, hm?"

And it’s hot. The air, his hand where it rests against the underside of your jaw, the way his eyes bounce back and forth between your eyes before they lower again. It’s suffocating, and you’re sure that any longer here, with him, will only make the next few weeks even more complicated than being in his presence did in the first place. There’s a numerous number of reasons why letting Eren get this close is wrong, nearly fatal. 

Which is why you pull away. There’s a surprised glaze that passes through his eyes before he’s back to his normal, dead stare. Goosebumps rise on your skin.

"I should, uh, go? We can, like, study more later. At the library, or the campus coffee shop, just not..." Not here. Pushing your hair behind your ears with a deep exhale, you gather your jacket and bag into your hands from the corner of his bed. You eye the colored folders sprawled beside him, but they’re too close to him for you to even consider going back for them. You could always ask for him to bring them to you later. In public. Where it wouldn’t just be the two of you, alone.

Eren Yeager is collateral damage. You know this. He’s failing a couple classes, he never showed up for those classes, hell, he’d even ditched your first studying session without a word to you. You’re astoundingly aware of it all.

Your feet tingle where they meet the floor, and you’re about to stand when he calls out to you.

"Where are you going?"

"Home?" You turn your head to face him, eyebrows raised in question. He’s got one of those stupid pens in his hands, twirling it around with a disinterested gaze that almost made him seem bored of you.

"Who said you could go? You’re staying."

"Why?"

Whatever resolve you have to leave him here clings desperately to the forefront of your mind. He leans back, back meeting the wooden headboard of his obnoxiously comfortable bed, eyes barely open, yet you know for a fact he’s watching you anyways. And as he opens his mouth, lips tilted up at the corners like he knows something you don’t, you can feel that resolve slipping through your fingers like water.

"To help me out."

"Eren."

His head tilts to the side, gesturing for you to move forward. "Help with school, Teach." His voice sounds teasing, eyebrows raising. "That test is tomorrow, so unless you’re planning on teaching me on the way, you’re staying." Tapping his finger against the textbook now open across his thighs—when the hell had he done that?—he sighs at the squinty eyed look you’re giving him. "I can call Armin if you don’t want to." And then, quieter, he says, "And I won’t try and kiss you again."

I’m not sure if I want that, you think. What comes from your mouth is different, more practical, controlled. "Yeah?" 

"Scouts honor," he swears, shrugging his shoulders, finger still prodded into the pages of his book. The comforter is soft underneath your fingers when you sit back, scooting back up beside him. Once your back meets the headboard, orange folder in hand, you nod your head. After a few seconds of silence between you, other than the sounds of shuffling paper and humming, another quiet murmur comes from his way. "Not unless you want me to."

"Eren!"

"Chill, I’m ki—I’m just kidding!"

"This is bullshit."

It’s the fourth time Eren’s said that in the last thirty minutes, becoming increasingly more annoyed with the information presented to him with every minute that passes. You can’t blame him though. He’d worked silently beside you for another four hours after your almost kiss, other than the times he’d ask you about something he’d read or check to see if he’d gotten an answer right. And even your hands were cramping up from writing corrections on his fake tests, the words swimming on the paper.

"You're almost done," you comment, pen scratching against the paper with every letter you write, "here—you even got most of the questions right on this." You toss the stapled bunch of papers over to his side of the bed, the two of you having migrated to different spots during your endless working. The papers hit the bed just beside his knee. 

Eren eyes them with quiet disdain, but picks them up anyways, scanning the words for less than a second before he lets it fall back onto the mattress. Despite his attempted disinterest, you catch a glimpse of a small smile when he looks back down at the textbook in his hands. 

"Does that mean we can take a break?" He reaches up, hands clasping above his head to stretch. A soft groan escapes, eyes closing. He looks tired, you notice, strands of unkempt hair invading his face, mouth set in a tiny grimace. "I’m tired of reading about old people and the Mediterranean Society—"

"Mesopotamian," you correct, but he’s already sliding off of the bed, your words falling on deaf ears. He stretches again once he stands, his shirt rising to expose pale, silky looking skin. Checking the time on your phone, you hum in thought. "Fifteen minutes. Then we go back to working. If we work fast enough, we could be done in...an hour?" 

Nodding his head, Eren brings a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Be back in a second. Want anythin’?" His eyes pass over you while you shake your head, washed out grey feeling like needles on your skin. He passes through his door without another word, pulling it closed gently behind him.

Sighing, you lean your head against the wall, flexing your hands to work out the cramps. You’ve been writing for hours, either correcting Eren’s mistakes, writing out guides for what he needed more work on, or the piles of work you’d needed to work through on your own. You close your eyes, waiting for Eren’s return while still wringing your hands out.

"Falling asleep on me already, Teach?"

Said boy plops down on his bed, resuming his previous position. He’s got two bottles of water in his hand, one of which he holds out to you. He eyeballs the way you rub your hands after accepting it, still attempting to remove the kinks. 

"No, sorry, just ready to get this over with." Grabbing your pen from where it lays between the folder in your lap. "Ready to—what’re you—" Eren pulls the pen from your hand, tossing it to the table beside his bed, where it rattles before rolling and hitting the floor. "Hey," you whine, eyebrows furrowed at him.

He envelopes one of your hands in his, holding it stationary before slowly beginning to knead his fingers into the muscles in your hand. 

"You kept wincing every time you wrote something down earlier," he explains, not bothering to look up to see your reaction. You’re almost thankful for that, widened eyes trained on his face, then where his hands are holding yours. "And seeing as it's kind of my fault you’re doing all this anyway, figured I should do something to help." He continues massaging your hand, switching to the other not soon after. 

Still watching him, you tilt your head to the side in curiosity. "Why do you even take history anyways? You hate it. And you’re...not very good at it. No offense."

His gaze travels back up to yours at your words, seemingly unamused at your jab. "Shut up," he replies. Scooting even closer towards your spot against the wall, he huffs. "I forgot to sign up until the last day sign ups were going on. Accidentally checked off the class and now here I am." He shrugs, and stops massaging your hands. However, he doesn’t let them go, holding them in his hands, resting on your legs. "It’s a Gen Ed course, so I was gonna have to take it eventually anyways."

Eren’s eyes on yours make you realize that you’re just sitting here, too distracted by holding his hand and hearing him speak softly instead of finishing what you need to do now. 

"We should really go back to studying. Got alot more to do."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do we?"

"You’ve got a final in fifteen hours and we still have so much to go through." You suck in a breath, releasing it slow and steady, shoulders relaxing.

His grasp slides up from his hands to just below your elbow, hold light. "Hey, Teach?"

"Hm?"

"Can I try something else instead?"

Your heart jumps in your chest, and even though you know what he’s going to do, you nod your head anyways. Even though you’d been hesitant about it before, you want him to kiss you anyways.  

And I won’t try and kiss you again. Not unless you want me to.

"Yeah," you whisper, already leaning towards him. 

He pulls you in by his hold on your arm, a little too fast, chest knocking into his with a shallow breath. He kisses you with fervor, his lips fitting against your own. You move forward again, Eren’s head tilting back to accommodate the decrease of space. Rising onto your knees, you slide your way onto his lap. The crinkle of paper meets your ears, and you disconnect your lips as you look towards where the noise came from. Eren groans in annoyance, snatching the few stray papers and folders within his reach up, and tossing them over the side of his bed. He even shoves his history book to the floor, hitting the carpet with a loud thump. 

"There," he grits out, pressing a kiss to the edge of your mouth. "Now stop worrying about the stupid work and—"

"Can I suck you off?" 

The words have him freezing in his pot, lips still working around the middle of his sentence. Splotches of pink begin flooding his face, and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck with a muttered curse. "You can’t just say things like that, you know." The steady stream of air from his breathing makes you shiver, hands steady on his shoulders, fingers smoothing over the muscles of his shoulders underneath his shirt. His cheek is warm against your shoulder, and a small part of you revels in the glory of making him flustered. "Not after how much I," Eren breathes, lips skimming over the sensitive skin of your neck.

"How much you...?"

Slowly, Eren removes his face from its hiding spot, pulling back with baby pink cheeks. "How much I’ve wanted you before. How much I want you now." His fingers trace shapes into your sides, and for once you think you see something other than disinterest in his eyes. "Pretty hard not to notice someone like you, Teach."

Surging forwards, you connect your lips with his again, messy and all teeth and tongue. His mouth is warm against yours, nipping at your bottom lip for access, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You pull back, huffing at the way his lips chase yours. Sliding back off of his lap, you push your knees into the soft mattress, sitting pretty and quiet before him.

You’re pretty sure you’re way too far in to be embarrassed now, what with you asking to give him a blowjob a mere two minutes ago. But when he’s looking at you like this, watching you through lidded eyes, you’re still, the prickling feeling of self consciousness hot on the back of your neck.

"Getting all shy on me again?", Eren murmurs, eyes low and dark. The intensity of his gaze makes your stomach clench in anticipation. 

Breathing in to try to calm your trembling hands, your hands reach for the strings of his sweats, pulling them undone with bated breaths. You tug the fabric down enough to reach inside his boxers, pulling the length of his dick free. Hesitant, you wet your lips, eyes locked onto the path of veins that stretch to the underside of his cock.

"Hey", Eren breathes, sliding his hand along the underside of your jaw, soft as he tilts your head to face him. "We stop anytime you say so, yeah?"

You nod, humming despite the part of your brain telling you not to embarrass yourself. You brush your fingers over the pretty head of his length, excitement racing through you at the muffled groan he releases. A quiet hiss escapes Eren, hands twitching at his sides, fisted into the grey sheets. He’s hard when you take him into your hand, barely grasping it with your hand loosely wrapped around the base. 

"You can grip it tighter than that you know," he murmurs, head tilted to the side, cold eyes taking in every movement you make, "you’re not gonna hurt me, pretty thing."

Heat spreads from the back of your neck to your cheeks. "Okay, uh, yeah, I..." You readjust the hold you have on his cock, wide eyes jumping back up to meet his at the groan that rumbles from his throat. "I don’t wanna be bad at it." 

"Bad?", Eren exhales, watching as your hand begins stroking up and down the length of his dick, hips stuttering, pushing it even further into the warmth of your hand. Swallowing, his next words are choked out, "I don’t think you could be bad at this if you tried." He settles even further back, watching as your pretty hand works his cock up and down. 

You give a few more experimental pumps of your fist, drinking in every moan and twitch. Beads of pre cum drip down from the tip, following a  direct path down until they meet your fist, adding lubricant to the steady stroking of his cock. When you look back at him, eager to commit the moment—the moment you made Eren Yeager helpless—to memory, your heart jumps in your chest at the sight before you.

Eren’s eyes are still on you, just barely able to see from the lazy drooping of his eyes due to the pleasure. God, he’s stupidly fucking pretty. The type of pretty that makes you angry; but also the type of pretty that makes it easy to move forward, taking the head of his cock into your mouth. "Shit, you’re..." It takes almost everything in you to continue instead of getting lost at how good he looks like this—head tossed back against his headboard, small whines and breathless praises thrown into the air between you. "Oh, fuck, you can...yeah, like...like that. You’re so good." You swirl your tongue around the tip, taking as much of him as you can, jerking what you can’t fit in your mouth with your fist. 

"Hey, shit." The hand cupping your cheek guides you backwards, lips disconnecting from the head of his cock with a soft pop. A string of spit connects your lips to the tip, catching the light from his bedside table. "Pretty," Eren whispers, thumb swiping over the mess of spit and pre cum that covers your chin. He drags it across your bottom lip, gathering it and dipping the finger back into your mouth. Lips closing around it, you pause at his unblinking stare, before hesitantly swirling your tongue around his thumb like you’d done to his cock; another deep groan comes from the swell of his throat. "You’re killing me, Teach."

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his firm grasp on your chin keeping you pulled against him. He moves you backwards enough for your elbows to meet the mattress underneath you, back falling against it soon after. From above you, Eren looks ethereal, lips puffy, cheeks and the tips of his ears tinted pink. He abandons his hold on your chin for placing his hand beside your head, caging you in between both arms. "Wouldn’t mind seeing you like this more often."

Dipping back down to you, his nose bumps into yours as he reaches down, palm sliding across the expanse of your thigh, pulling it to rest against his hip. His fingers stroke the skin, soft hum reverberating from him. 

"You’re so soft."

Your head is mush at the feeling of his hands all over you, lips smoothing over every patch of skin they can find. His hand travels from its place on your thigh, fingers teasing the edge of your hip, trailing up and around your navel, and over the fabric covering your chest before he rests it against your throat. His fingers leave a pleasant weight at the base, just barely enough pressure to know they’re there. Eren’s hair falls in a curtain around him as he presses his mouth to your own, wanting and desperate. "Want me to touch you, pretty thing?" 

He gives your throat a final squeeze before abandoning it in favor of tracing his hand over the area where your thighs meet, teasing his fingers over the space between them. "Want me here?" 

"Please," a whimper accompanies the forward grind of your hips against his hand, something that has him chuckling. You’re too desperate to be embarrassed, eyes stinging with tears. "Please." 

Eren presses another opened mouth kiss to your lips, before trailing down, peppering kisses across your neck. He continues his journey down, pausing in between to mark soft spots of skin, temporary tattoos that resemble his desire, until he’s resting his cheek against your inner thigh. Glancing up, Eren’s lips lift upwards in the tiniest of smiles. The strands of hair framing his face tickle. "Still okay?"

Nodding, your chin brushes your chest when you meet his gaze. "Yeah, just," an exhale, "want more." A few beats pass, eyes darting back and forth between him and the grip he has on your thigh. "Please."

He huffs out a laugh. "Since you asked so nicely." Tapping against the side of your hip, Eren loops his fingers through the band of your shorts. "Up." At his command, you lift your hips from the bed, letting him tug the shorts and underwear down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him. The first touch of his fingers against your core makes you cry out; he tugs your thighs open further, your cunt open to his fingers completely. His fingers dive between your folds, welcomed to the wetness gathered there. Another lewd whimper falls from your pouted lips.

"You’re so noisy," he scolds, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your clit, tutting when another stuttering moan comes from your mouth. The hand that’s not making a mess of you is clutching the skin of your thigh, keeping it pressed into his mattress. "Barely even done anythin’, and you’re this loud." His hand cups your dripping cunt, middle finger sliding between your folds with ease. "You sound so pretty though, don’t you?" Eyes fluttering shut, you drag your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet yourself, hips pushing themselves against his touch. "Ah, eyes open, sweetheart." Your thighs twitch ever slightly, hole clenching and sending a fresh wave of arousal to meet Eren’s fingers. 

"Can’t," you whine, voice cracking. His fingers slip even closer to your entrance, making you clench around nothing, desperate for something. Your head drops back even further as the brunette sinks two digits into your little hole, hips attempting to arch off the mattress. "E-Eren!" 

"You can’t," he repeats, working his fingers inside of you with a disapproving hum. "Baby’s gone stupid over my fingers already, hm?" A short cry is given as his answer, whining as his fingers slip out from inside of you, leaving your core empty once more. Another few seconds pass before something hot fans out against your swollen cunt. "Gonna let me make you cum, sweetheart?" 

You nod hurriedly, your hips canting into the air, only for them to be pushed back down. 

"Use your words, sweet thing. Not too fucked out that you can’t tell me what you want, are you?" Wet fingers scale your side, all the way up to your chest, where he cups your breast through the material of your shirt, swiping his thumb over the cup of your bra. "Wanna come, yeah?" 

"Y-Yes, Eren, please make me come, I—" Fisting the cotton material of his blanket, your head dips even further back into the mattress. 

Chuckling, Eren’s hold on you tightens, and he pulls you closer to him, nose brushing the inside of your thigh. "Don’t worry, pretty baby," he drawls, teeth nipping at the inside of your thighs, "I’ll make you come." Eren’s tongue flattens against your slit, pulling a long, drawn out whine from your throat. He’s got his forearms wrapped securely under your legs, mouth pressed perfectly against your core. His tongue traces circles against your clit, before sucking the bud into his mouth.

He’s cocky enough without you shouting his name like a prayer, but you can feel the rumble of his words as much as you hear them when he says, "Fucked so stupid all you can think of is me, huh?" His tongue dips below to lap at your juices before dragging up to tongue at your clit; you keen, chest heaving. You let go of your grip on the sheets, hand clumsily travelling towards where his is wrapped around your thigh. He flips his hand over, palm up to meet yours, fingers tangling together when you slide your hand into his. His touch is grounding, fingertips tingling where they press against his own. "Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this; wanna do this every day. You’re so wet, so pretty, aren’t you? Just for me?"

"Yes," you choke out, tightening your hold on his hand, squeezing it harder and harder, "it’s all for you, Eren, o-only for you."

"Good," he calls, fingers joining his ruinous descent of your cunt, swiping through the wet mix of spit and cum, stroking up your slit. Eren tucks two fingers into your entrance, pausing once they’re knuckle deep, seated within the warm, wet walls of your cunt. "Gonna make you come, yeah?" He starts on your core with a newfound pace, fucking you with his fingers eagerly. His tongue dances over your clit, adding fuel to the loud squelching made every time his fingers sink back into your cunt.  

Your juices coat his fingers entirely, making it easy to slip them in and out of your tight hole. Your core feels full, stuffed with his fingers, entrance stretched by the scissoring motion of the slick digits. Lewd moans and whimpers fall left and right from your pretty mouth, mixed in with shouts of his name, begs for more. A wave of pleasure crashes through you, stomach clenching tight, your cunt clamping down on his fingers. "E-Ere—" The boy between your legs takes one last lick against your messy slit before you fall apart, body shaking underneath his hold. Legs attempting to close around his head, Eren pushes them back down, greedily lapping at the cum gushing out of your sweet cunt.

By the time your breathing has returned to normal, he’s pressing his lips against the inside of your thigh. Your hand is clutching his in a death grip still, to which you blink bearily at him, lower half still tingling from the aftereffects of your orgasm. Eren lifts himself from between your legs, trailing open mouthed kisses up the base of your stomach, pushing the material of your shirt up to make room as he goes. He stops just below your breasts, biting a final kiss there. "Still good?" 

Nodding shallowly, your hands tangle into his hair, pulling his face down to your level. His eyes stare through you, pale grey making your core clench around nothing once more. "Think you’re pretty, too," you murmur into the space between you. He pulls back with a short laugh, stretching his arm to pinch the hem of his shirt between his fingers. Quickly, he pulls the offending material up and over his head, throwing it to the other side of the bed. His eyes scan the bedside table to his right; it gives you a chance to ogle at the bare skin before you, contracting with each inhale and exhale. Reaching down, Eren opens the drawer, rifling through the contents before coming back with a square foil packet between his ring and middle finger. 

Bringing the packet to his mouth, his teeth rip into the side, dragging the excess away. He works the condom out of the packaging, letting the wrapper fall to the floor beside his bed. Rolling the condom over the head of his cock, Eren continues until it’s resting at the base.

"You would be the type of guy to have condoms in your bedside table."

Scoffing, he drags you closer by your ankles, slipping his hold up underneath your knees to slot himself between your legs. "I got them for you."

"Who said you would’ve ever gotten to use them?", you laugh.

Eren grips the base of his cock, sliding it through your folds. "Guess I don’t have to worry about that now, do I?" He looks as good as he always does, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes trained on the place where your bodies meet. Letting your slick coat his cock, he pushes his hips forwards, tip prodding at your entrance with a choked moan. The head of his dick sinks into your heat with ease, your last orgasm making your walls take him in with no problem. 

"Look at you, pretty thing," he growls out, "taking my cock so well." He doesn’t stop until his hips are flush against yours, pelvis brushing against your abused clit. Eren rolls his hips, his dick sliding from back from your hole, before being sucked back into your greedy cunt. Your nails dig into the bed, letting out stammered whines and pitched mewls as he fucks into you. His cock brushes your sweet spot, drawing a near pornographic moan from your mouth. "Such a perfect little cunt, taking me like I was made for you." He taps his finger against your clit, rubbing the swollen nub in fast, circular motions. 

"So...So good, Eren, I..." you cry out, mouth agape, legs beginning to tremble with pleasure. Your cunt leaks steady onto his cock, soaking his length with your juices. Clenching around him, your cheeks warm at the moan that Eren gives. His pace becomes rushed, pounding against the spot inside of you that makes you see stars over and over again. The delicious drag of his cock against your warm walls makes you crazy, body jerking with every sharp thrust into your pulsing cunt. The pitch of your cries is so loud Eren smushes his thumb against your lips. And without thought, you take his thumb into your mouth, velvet tongue encasing the digit.

A growl slips from his mouth, eyes rolling slightly at the sight. Each moan that you release vibrates against his thumb, serving towards his hips snapping against your pelvis harder, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. "Come," he commands, cock setting a bruising pace against your slit. "Come around my cock, pretty thing."

His words have you keening around his thumb, your body going into overdrive at the sparks of pleasure that shoot through your entire body. Eren continues his short thrusts into your cunt, panting before he goes still, a pleasant, unfamiliar warmth invading your walls. He goes still over you, releasing one final, drawn out choked groan. After a moment, he removes his thumb from where it's resting against your tongue, his cock slipping out from your wet hole, and collapses beside you with a short exhale. Eren wraps an arm around the front of your waist, laying it there for a second, still, before pulling you into his side. You rest your cheek against his chest, body still buzzing. 

Once your breathing returns to normal, feeling returning in your legs, you wet your lips with a laugh. "We never finished reading the rest of the material, you know."

Eren’s chest shakes underneath your head, cheek vibrating with the deep rumble. "Fuck Mesopotamia, Teach." He walks his fingers down your arm, all the way down until he’s lacing his fingers with yours. "But we could always do some more studying."

You hum, even though your eyes are practically already closed, body feeling heavy and warm. You’re leaning into him more, nearly half asleep when another rumble pulsates against your cheek.

"Sure I’d remember anything if your study methods are jumping me." 

You’re walking back home from your final class days later when your phone buzzes in your hand. Unlocking it, your eyes zero in on the notification on the screen. It’s from Eren, and your lips tilt up gently into a smile. 

He passed his final with an eighty-nine. 

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ 

1.   Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

[yeojaa]

come over, pt. i

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  this is pwp.  smut in the forms of:  kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex.  use of the pet name shy girl.  wc. 6.2k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life.  author note.  this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang​.  while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way.  tysm for reading!  (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that.  You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library.  He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room.  (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).  

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.  

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights.  You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.) 

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas.  It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed.  One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!"  You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks.  The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs.  You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands.  “Stop stealing all my chips.” 

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered.  (You know better though.  Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for. 

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips.  They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar.  (Note to self:  thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,”  you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows.  “I’m just—“  Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades.  “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout.  You aren’t actually.  The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter.  It’s just annoying.  You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls.  It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good.  People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail.  One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.) 

“Pay attention to the movie.”  The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time.  You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.  

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were.  Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin.  Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him.  The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised.  You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite.  You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful.  You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.  

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery;  he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong.  Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,”  he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room.  Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.”  It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight.  Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level.  It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him.  "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest.  It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.  

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh.  Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt.  It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up.  A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention.  It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit. 

A part of you wants to run from the room.  Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck.  It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop.  (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook."  You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away.  Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out.  Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.  

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests.  (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most.  Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw.  A sigh escapes before you can help it.  "Shy girl,”  he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m not shy,”  you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you.  "We're watching a movie."  You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it. 

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips.  A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear. 

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be.  You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation.  Term paper due the next morning?  He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night.  Break something at a house party?  He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.”  He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's."  Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks.  So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh.  The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not.  They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt.  So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed.  “What’re you—“  The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people.  (Okay, not a lot, but enough.)  You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.  

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you.  There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck.  They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick.  Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day.  (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,”  he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky.  “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending.  You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality.  You hope it doesn’t.  Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.  

“I’m not.”  

“Oh?”  There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach.  You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features.  “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he?  Of course he did.  Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though.  Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you.  Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet.  It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though. 

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair.  It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.  

“Oh my god,”  you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of  relief.  You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots.  “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in.  It’s his fault, after all.  

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed.  Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit.  You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth.  You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists.  Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this.  Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip.  There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands.  You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth.  A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels.  “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue.  You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.  

You want to be his pretty girl. 

"I want you.  I need more,"  you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth.  He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked. 

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips.  When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers.  They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease.  The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.  

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing.  (You swear you see stars;  you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving.  It feels so good to have him between your legs.  You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats.  Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself.  It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?”  You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.  

“Fuck.”  He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy.  He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves.  “You want a taste?  Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”  

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs.  You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.  

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else.  Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip.  It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy.  You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb. 

“Please.”  You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand.  You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing.  "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself.  It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.  

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs.  “Open up, ____,”  he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full.  “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind.  If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length.  A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives.  You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip.  Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away.  (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?"  You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie. 

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you.  The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion.  He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag.  Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand.  He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch.  It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more.  For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants.  As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.”  He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek.  You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up.  “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat.  It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now.  Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls.  When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks.  “Is it my turn yet?”  You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs.  Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.  

“Your turn?”  The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful.  It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed.  Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal.  “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,”  you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose.  Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did.  It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight.  He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared.  You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.”  Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air.  The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter.  Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me,"  you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks.  Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,”  Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck.  He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin.  You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit.  “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement;  or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees.  You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return.  You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need.  "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable.  Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.”  Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain.  You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes.  They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.  

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t.  It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?”  He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric.  Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.  

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.”  It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist.  You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core.  It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half. 

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help.  Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion.  “Oh my god,”  you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in.  “You’re so big.  I c-can’t—”  You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck.  A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder.  The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness.  “You feel so good, Kook.”  You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper.  “Please, move,”  you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you.  He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven.  When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out.  It sounds like that, anyway.  With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently;  you can practically feel him in your throat.  (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier.  You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake.  They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat. 

There’s slick all across your thighs.  You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in.  It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half.  "Harder, p-please."  Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes.  "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut.  Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits.  Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used.  You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking.  The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop.  A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?”  It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway.  (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward.  (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.)  "Like it so m-much.  Feels so good.”  You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him. 

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length.  You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years.  You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.  

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer:  every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much.  With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring.  "R-right there,"  you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?”  He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops.  They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.  

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.  

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care.  The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts.  He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered.  “Perfect,”  he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it.  You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more.  “So sensitive.  Such a shy girl.  Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon.  He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind.  It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves.  Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision.  Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over.  "So big.  It's too m-much.”  And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed. 

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap.  When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over. 

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit.  It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude.  It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses. 

"Kook—please—come for me.”  You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).  

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high.  You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop.  It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared.  “Are you okay?”  You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours.  He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,”  he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time.  “You’re welcome.”  It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for.  You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.  

“You too.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[elianaroselight]

Did someone ask for a Giggle Glow Birthday Part 2? No? Well, too bad! You get one anyways.

@animemoonprincess

Please enjoy the sweet softness from your beautiful AU. 😉😊

(P. S. When I told your mama that I was preparing to kill one of her kids, she gave me a message for you. Mama Winter loves you. 💗😊)

When Macaque woke up this morning, he was not expecting... Today. It had been a chilly winter morning and he had been up in time to watch the sunrise as he thought. It had been a few months since LBD had been defeated and things had fallen into an odd rhythm. He had moved back to his dojo, trying to figure out what next.

The kids came around often enough that he couldn't just up and leave. Plus they were entertaining to watch and who would turn down free entertainment?! (He refused to acknowledge that he had grown a soft spot for them). Something he had expected to happen since the 'final boss battle, ' as Mei called it, was the cutting of whatever ties he had built with Wukong during the whole journey.

The golden monkie had disappeared and Mac hadn't seen him since. Oh Macaque knew where he was, but he didn't want to push things again. Might as well leave it as is. MK made sure to keep him updated though, so he knew that Wukong was doing somewhat okay. Mac refused to admit he missed the chaotic monkie, no matter how many times he thought through all the battles they had over trying to flustered each other. All the jokes and glowing laughter. The hiccup incidents and the revival of Flutterbutter.

What he hadn't expected was MK to walk in to his dojo, calling "Delivery for Macaque!" While he had heard MK coming, it was surprising that it was during his shift which added to the surprise of having a delivery bag placed in from of him.

Macaque looks at it in suspicion, before eyeing MK. The boy just shrugs. "Pigsy told me to bring it while I was out on my runs. Figured he is just trying to reach out to you. Since you really haven't been by the shop in a while." Macaque nods slightly before moving to open the bag and see what was inside.

Inside was one of those cardboard cupholders you could get from a fast food joint. Inside each of the four holders held a jar of an orange cream of sorts. MK watched excitedly as Macaque pulled one out and opened it. The smell of Mangoes and sweet cream wafted to his nose and the Monkie couldn't help the soft smile on his face.

Chinese Mango Pudding. It was one of Macaque's favorite desserts as it wasn't too sweet and only really tasted of creamy mangoes. Almost like peaches and cream. But only one person knew of his love for the dish and that person was on his island. Well, however the chef found out, Macaque was glad to have received some.

A note in the bag catches his eye. Pulling it out, he reads, 'Hey Mac. I figured you would like a taste of a new dish I have been trying out since you seem to like mangoes. Make sure to send the kid on his way quickly. I don't pay him to get side tracked. - Pigsy P.s. Happy Birthday'.

The Monkie let's out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he glows softly. Of course the pig demon would find a way to celebrate his birthday without breaking his promise of not telling anyone. MK tilts his head in curiosity. "What does it say?" Macaque pockets the note quickly. "Pigsy is trying out a new recipe and thought I wanted some. Oh, and to send you on your way so you can finish your shift."

"Awww. Okay. But I'm coming over later with Mei! You promised you would come with us to a new coffee shop so we are holding you to that!" Mac nods slightly. "Yeah, yeah. Get going squirt. Don't wanna make your boss mad." He ruffles MK's hair, receiving a glowing giggle. "I'm going! I'm going!"

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

Mac walks into his dojo as the sun was setting. He had just spent the last few hours with MK, Mei and Red drinking coffee, going to a farmers market before going back to Pigsy's Noodle Shop. He hate to admit it, but the he was worn out from being with them and their high energy. He was definitely glad for the quiet as the amount of noise he heard earlier had been tough on his poor ears.

He grabs one of the unopened jars of the pudding, (he had eaten 2 earlier) before heading to his room. He figured he might as well finish off his birthday with his favorite dessert while watching the sunset. The window in his room had the best way to climb to the roof.

As Macaque enters his room, he stops. On his bed sat a a box wrapped in paper with moons and snowflakes all over it. He frowns and let's his ears flare out, listening for anything suspicious from both the box and the dojo. Hearing nothing, Mac slowly crept his way to the bed, footsteps silent and prepared to slip into the shadows if needed. Reaching the bed, he pokes the box with a nail, causing it to tilt before settling back into place.

He decides to carefully unwrap it as quietly as possible so he could hear if something happened. Soon enough, the box was unwrapped and he gently opens it. Once open, the monkie steps away, expecting something to have triggered, but only silence met his ears. He peeks in and gives a confused look at the occupants in the box. Macaque carefully reaches in and pulls out a stuffed mango toy. He decides it was probably safe and heads to the roof to look at it closer.

He sits down, looking at the sunset for a moment before holding up the mango toy. It was small. Small enough he could hide it in his scarf or a pocket, but just big enough to hug. It was soft and squishy to the touch. The mango had a cute little face with glittering golden eyes that had been embroidered on. He couldn't help but be reminded of a certain pair of golden eyes from the friend he long since lost. It smiled up at him as if it was alive and caring about him. He almost wanted to hug it.

After a few moments, he decided to act on the thought. Pulling it close, he looks up at the sun until he hears a crumpling sound from the toy. It sounded almost like paper. The shadow monkie pulls away and looks the mango over. At the top, he finds a hole that seemed to where the sound came from. When he started to reach in, he was surprised at the hole growing larger, as if an elastic was stretching.

He opens it a bit more and notices another cute smile inside the pouch. Mac then begins to flip it inside out and by the end of doing so, the cute little mango had become a peach with brilliant, embroidered silver eyes that shone like stars. While he had been flipping it, a paper fell out. It was rolled into a tube and held shut with an embroidery thread. Setting the toy down gently, he picks up the paper and unroll it.

'The Sun is lost without the Moon to guide him. He misses his Moon just as much as he needs him. Happy birthday, my precious Moon.'

Macaque feels a tear slip down his face and onto the paper. Did...Did he really mean that? He looks at the toy, understanding what it was. It was handmade. It must have teken several months to do. Probably had to start working on it about the time of LBD's battle....

He let's out a soft laugh, his soft moonlit glow mixing with the glow of the sun beautifully. Macaque holds the toy close and looks at the fading light of the sun as tears silently fell down his cheeks.

This was the best birthday he has had in a very very long time.