#the entire plate of pasta is just one long noodle

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Howdy and Barnaby Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene. *Poofs away, never to be seen again*

when they ordered the 'endless spaghetti' they thought it meant free refills

[ariseur]

hey again 👀 soooo you said i should send another ask if i had an idea and diva you said that to the wrong person. i have too many lmao

im stressing that u should write this at your own time! no rush :)

but yeah im actually writing a longform seph/reader fic where the reader is from a southern/appalachian coded town near gongaga. my idea id love to have your spin on is a scene where sephiroth (someone raised on protein powder and spinach probably) gets to try some real southern comfort food that the reader makes for him :). im talking biscuits, fried chicken, some kind of creamy noodle dish, just all the unhealthy savory goodness

he deserves it 🥺

ty for the last request again btw✨💕

“ spread kisses like honey. ”

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg this has been sitting in my drafts sooo long!! this was really cute and i loved writing it, it reminded me of lucy gray and coriolanus snow from hg hence why i put the title as a lyric from her ballad 💕 always look forward to your requests!! thank you againnn!!

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

you and seph being sickly sweet towards each other, sephiroth being utterly in love with you in his inner monologue, kind of not canon because there are moments where i mention how sephiroth talks to genesis and angeal despite knowing zack and interacting with zack ( which like clashes with the entire point of cc .. but shhh i wanted domesticity ), intended lowercase, lmk if i missed anything!! 💕

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1088 words, 5905 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“you’ve never had this?” you gasped dramatically, your shocked face only to be met with sephiroth’s stoic one. he hesitantly nodded— was that.. a bad thing? did he somehow offend you in some way? the steam that had emitted from the plates below you set on the

“don’t you like pasta?” you asked, still utterly baffled.

he nodded slowly, “is something wrong?” he didn’t understand the confusion. there were a lot of foods he hasn’t tried, isn’t that normal for everyone? you blinked owlishly, lifting up the fork with the pasta noodles stabbed against the metal, the creamy sauce departing from the food in small, slow drips.

“what have you been eating if you’ve never had something as delicious as this?” you muttered, your lips reverting back into a tight ‘o’ as you blew on the fork— before finally slipping it into your mouth. “i’m shocked.” words muffled as you still chewed on your food, at least covering your mouth while you spoke.

sephiroth chuckled amusedly, “we’ve grown up in deeply contrasting places.” he crossed his arms against his chest, watching as you slurped up the pasta with stars in your eyes— occasionally opening your mouth to let the heat escape, soft steam pouring out from the small gap you’ve left while chewing. “still,” said you, “‘s so good.” he could barely make out your voice from how full your mouth was but he still shook his head as he leaned further back in his chair.

closing his eyes, he tilted his head down while he let the strands of snowy hair fell and covered bits of his face, blocking the bright sun even to the darkness beneath his eyelids. sephiroth didn’t pay much mind to the fact that your loud chewing of garlic bread and slurping of buttered food had come to a halt until he felt a strong aroma slip in from under his nostrils, it was only then did he open his eyes to see you holding the fork to his lips.

you held an expectant gaze and he quirked a brow before ultimately leaning forward while he let his eyes rake over the food. it looked a little messy, the sauce dripping over the place as you had ripped a piece of garlic bread off along with it and placed a chunk on the metal twinges of the utensil. he looked up again at you, waiting as you nodded your head and tried to keep your excitement contained. he blew on the fork a little bit before opening his mouth and letting it settle upon the steel. what could one bite do, he asked himself.

but once he had finally tried it, he could’ve dropped dead right then and there. the combination of the salty and savory flavors was perfect, and the way the bread had soaked some of it up too was incredible. sephiroth closed his eyes, letting his jaw work as he let his taste buds be blessed with what was known as your cooking. he had always seen you working your way through the kitchen, using various pots and pans and oils while you zipped around — and when sephiroth had offered help, you simply put a hand up and looked up at him for a split second, trying to simultaneously get the perfect roast as you smiled at him sweetly. that was enough for him.

despite watching you cook a lot ( and the only times he did get to help, he ended up being ordered by you to stand in the corner or measure occasional ingredients ), he had never actually savored something as good as this. being a first class prevented him from doing any good when it came to dinner time, either the timing being too late and you had already gone to bed or you were too tired and he decided not to bother you and he ate something small.

but this, he thought, this was perfection. when it came to you, sephiroth never let his appreciation go silent as he would always thank you or give you sayings of endearment and encouragement. he didn’t have words for this dish, he had never tried anything like it. so in awe, he merely said, “you’ve truly outdone yourself,” as he handed you back the fork. you didn’t mind the simple compliment. it never sounded generic to you when sephiroth would express his gratitude, even when they were mumbled in passing with dragged feet when he had come home from an exasperatingly tiring job, he always made sure to tell you how much he was grateful for you and what you do when he’s away.

he couldn’t wait until he was back at hq to boast to genesis and angeal about how delectable your cooking was. maybe zack, too — although sepiroth had a feeling that the energetic SOLDIER might just end up begging you for food even more. not that you minded, though. you were always so kind, sephiroth didn’t know how you were always able to do it.

“thanks.” you chimed, your voice ever so warm that it made his heart flutter. sephiroth wasn’t exactly what you’d call — expressive. he always held a smooth, cool tone of voice and occasionally threw a sassy remark towards you or genesis, or even that kid zack fair he introduced you to. but you understood his inflection of which he spoke in, you could tell his emotion even when he had entered a room ( and vice versa ). you were one of the most cherished things in sephiroth’s life and it could not go unnoticed.

with his tongue peeking out from between his bottom lip to gather some of the residual flavor that was left behind, his eyes roamed across the table further to more so further treasure your sacrifices ( of both time and food ).

“what’s that over there?” he lifted a finger, almost perfectly manicured despite using his hands excessively in battle, to point over at a small white dish filled with elbow macaroni and a homemade cheese sauce. you turned your head and grinned, reaching over the wooden dining table to grab it and lower the bowl on its side to reveal the contents. “mac ‘n’ cheese,” you replied, “want some?” your eyes seemed to glimmer with more amusement. sephiroth had now developed a new interest in your food and he couldn’t wait to indulge in it.

with the smile and those eyes of yours, how could he say no to one more bite?

𐙚 taglist ; @snoopicle

𐙚 requests are closed — june tenth, 2024

[arlh0e]

Almost (sweet music)

Part: 1/? “All Things End”

Summary: You’d lived in Ireland for just over a year, having moved for work, and you had managed to find a group of people who you could call friends, and one in particular who was more than that. You and Andrew had been practically attached at the hip for almost 6 months now. You loved everything about him, his music and his way with words just added to that love you have for him. But you know he wont be home forever, with his new album, he’s Leaving for tour.

Rating: Very mature at times (No smut in this part)

Warnings: not proof-read and I kept trying to switch point of views in the middle of this shit cause I’m an idiot, so if you see that, ignore it lmao, Hozier X Fem! Reader, No smut, fluff, Established relationship, no use of Y/n (I still think that shit is annoying), ANGST, I’m serious, this shit starts off bad and just gets worse, read at your own risk, I’m boutta make you sad as fuck

Word count: Idk I’ll check later, and if I forget, my bad I guess.

I had been staying with Andrew for a few days, I was fully aware that he had to leave soon and that he would be gone for months. The tour in its whole would last over a year, and he wouldn’t’ be back for an extended period of time until December. This was something that the two of us had discussed at length, and though I dreaded the fact that he would be gone, I had Tod him everything would be okay without him here. I knew that the second he left you would be an inconsolable mess.

He was scheduled to leave in the morning, and although we had both made the decision to stay together in the days leading up to the departure, tonight seemed a bit off. I had been watching a movie on the couch for a while, while Andrew made the two of us dinner. He was making pasta, homemade pesto sauce with tortellini noodles (If you don’t like pesto sauce, sorry it’s my favorite 🤷‍♀️) He usually listened to music while he was cooking, sometimes he even danced and sang while he was in the kitchen, but tonight, nothing. He was just standing over the stove, making dinner without a sound.

I didn’t want to say anything about it, just because if he was upset about leaving in the morning, I didn’t want to make it worse for the both of us. Tomorrow morning would be hard enough, why ruin the last night we have together?

I don’t have to wait very long for him to bring two plates of food to the couch and he hands me one. The bottle of wine and glasses that he also brings in with the food does take me a bit by surprise. Although, it wasn’t completely uncommon of him to open a bottle of wine for the two of us to drink with dinner, however, that was usually reserved for a very very happy Andrew, which I knew he wasn’t. It almost seemed as if he was trying to drink in attempt to not have to think about the inevitability of his flight tomorrow.

I knew that he was excited to be touring again, and I was so proud of him and the album which I had watched him work so hard on for almost a year, even before we were together, I could tell that his Music was the single most important thing in his life.

“What are you thinking about?” I nudge him with my elbow while taking a bite of my food, smiling slightly as he turns to me. His stare is almost entirely blank, also unusual for him, he was almost always smiling, but now it seemed as if he was completely devoid of any emotion.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t wanna leave you here. It’s not fair.” He was so tense, and I didn’t want to pry, but I knew that there was something else going on.

“It’s really okay. You’ll be back in December, it’s not that far out. Plus we can call every night and in the grand scheme of things, a year isn’t that long.” I shrug and lean your head onto his shoulder before continuing. “Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to you for me to ask you to stay. I want you to be happy, and your music makes you happy.” I smile up at him a bit.

The smile he offers in return is so sad. I hate seeing him like this. Everything about the absence of his nearly ever present smile and the sudden serious tone of his entire demeanor was off-putting. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong.

“I mean it’s not fair to you.” He sighs and moves himself away from me, causing my head to fall a little before I regain my stability and face him. “I’m not gonna make you sit here and wait around for me to get back. You deserve more than a relationship that happens over a fucking phone.” He’s running his hands over his face, I can tell he’s trying really hard to maintain the look and the idea that he was numb and didn’t feel any of this.

“Andrew, I don’t care. I’ll be okay, You’ll be back and everything will be fine once you’re home, and I mean, who knows what the situation will be next tour, we’ll figure it out.” I move to take his hand, but he pulls away from me.

“No. I will not put you through that. It’s not up for discussion.” His words are harsh and absolute. I’ve never seen him act this way, even in arguments, he never just stopped listening and refused to give me a chance to voice my opinion.

“What’s wrong with you? Like you get to decide what my feelings are for me? No. That’s bull shit Andrew.” I raise my voice at him a bit, knowing where this is going and knowing that he realistically wont be swayed, I still try. Even if it wont work, I know that I wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if I didn’t try everything first. “I want to be with you, you do realize that leaving forever is gonna hurt worse than you not being physically here for a few months right?”

“I never said it would be forever I just,” He stops for a moment to breathe, gathering his thoughts with his head in his hands. “I’ve done this before, okay? I know how this goes, you’ll be all for it at the beginning, and by the time I come back for a bit, you’ll be planning a break up speech because you cant handle it. I don’t want to waste your time that way.” He sits up again and turns to look back at me, taking one of my hands in both of his. “I’m not saying that it’s forever. I’m saying that I don’t want you here just waiting for me to get back. I want you to be able to be happy and not have to live your life through a computer screen because you want us to be together without actually being together. If I get back and this is still what you want then I will be more than happy to pick back up right where we left off. I swear. I just don’t want to destroy what we have in the process of trying to keep it safe.”

At this point, I’m crying. I don’t fully understand the point of this. As far as I’m concerned, people who love each other should be together and circumstance shouldn’t change that. If we were truly made for one another, then him being going wouldn’t change anything. “If that’s really what you want, fine. I don’t understand the point because I’m just gonna be waiting either way, but fine. Do whatever you want.” I honestly cant even rationalize my anger with him. I can’t think of any reason why he would do this. I can’t bring yourself to actually believe him.

I don’t even think as I get up from the couch and pull my arm away from him to grab my stuff to leave. “Wait, I thought you were staying the night.” I can barely hear his voice from behind me, for the first time tonight, I hear his voice break.

“Yeah, I was, and then you broke up with me.” I don’t even turn around. “Normal people don’t have sleepovers with their exes Andrew.”

“It’s not-“ His voice cracks again. “Baby, it’s not like that I just-“

“You just don’t wanna be with me right now and it just so happens to be while you’re going to be on tour. And what’s worse is that you’re trying to make me feel like this is about you caring for me.” I laugh and shake my head. “and to think, I actually sat here and thought that this was gonna be it for me. That you were gonna be it for me. God.” I’ve. walked out of his house by this point, with my house being just across the street, I do my best to walk away from him, a feat which isn’t easy given his long legs and how quickly he’s trailing behind me.

“You really think so little of me that I would break up with you for something like that? So that I could, what? Sleep with fans on the bus after shows? Christ, why would I do that? If it were up to me, I’d bring you with me. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d Marry you right now and we’d never be apart again, but it’s not fucking up to me.” I can tell at this point without even looking back that he’s crying. I don’t know what to believe.

Finally, I turn around and stop. I take in one shaky breath with my eyes closed before opening them on the exhale. “I need you to go home. I need time to process all of this, and I need to be away from you to do so.” Looking up at him and seeing the way his tears fell freely from the beautiful green eyes which I had grown to love with every fiber of my being, I almost give in and stay. I almost find it in me to sit down and talk with him about how to make this work with a compromise. “I’ll see you tomorrow. At the airport, okay?” I reach up and wipe the tears from his face and then turn and keep walking.

***

The next morning is hell.

I have to drag myself out of bed, and the events of last night just make me feel even more like curling up under the covers and sobbing is the right move for this morning.

I really just couldn’t bring myself. to believe that he was doing this because he thought it would benefit me.

Even after I ha specifically told him that all I wanted was to stay together and to be with him. He was the best thing about me. I breathed differently when we were together, I was more myself around him than I was alone. Something about the fact that he didn’t want me anymore was terrifying.

When I finally muster enough courage to get out of bed, I had 10 minutes before I had to leave to see Andrew and the band off. I wouldn’t have had the energy to get dressed up anyways, so having woken up late just gave me an excuse to wear sweats and a hoodie and look how I felt.

I had already promised to give everyone a ride to the airport, and of course, with him living down the street, I had to pick up Andrew first.

I didn’t want to be alone with him. The thought actually made me feel physically ill, I really had no clue how I would be able to even look at him without crying. I wondered for a moment if he had talked to the band about his decision. Did they all know before I did? I doubted that Mia would have known and not knocked some sense into him, and Alex likely would have done the same. They probably knew by now, but the idea that they had known before he did it was far fetched at best.

When I reach his driveway, I text him a quick ‘Hey, I’m here’ and wait for a second before I see him leave his house, locking the door behind him and carrying his bags to the trunk of my car. He walks back around and sits in the passenger seat.

“Hey.” He’s so quiet I can barely hear him, and looking over at him now from a closer distance, he looks like he’s literally been crying all night. His eyes are glassy, he’s likely not had any sleep, the bags under his eyes are exceptionally puffy and red. His voice is unstable, even though he had only said the one word, I could tell that his voice was raw.

“Hey.” I want to say more. I want to apologize for leaving things the way I did last night. I want to talk to him about why I think that this is a bad idea and that all that’s going to happen is that we’ll both be miserable until he gets back, and then we’ll be even more miserable when he gets here because there’s no getting back together after a year of little to no contact. It just wont happen.

The silence in the car is deafening. Even with the music playing, a playlist that we had composed together, a list of our favorite songs, and neither of us dared to even sing along. The air was so thick with tension, I swear I could see it hanging there in between us. Nothing about this seemed right.

Part of me wanted to hate him for this. I wanted to be angry and never speak to him again because of this whole situation he had created for us and another part of me wanted to beg him to just give me a chance to prove him wrong about this.

The most heartbreaking thing about his actions was that Andrew was truly the first person I had ever been with who felt like him. He was the first person I’d dated who made my life make more sense with him in. It. We weren’t meant to be apart. And he knew that just as well as I did and yet here we are.

“I am sorry about all of this.” He’s still so quiet.

“I just don’t understand why you refuse you give me any say in it. Or at least try to have faith in the fact that I love you and i want to be with you regardless.” My hands tighten around the wheel and my eyes narrow, glaring at the road ahead of me, as if it were the one to blame for this mess.

“It’s not that I don’t believe that you love me, I just don’t want to risk you falling out of love because I’m not here and I’m always too busy to talk to you.” His hands are in his hands again, his palms pressed firmly over his eyes and his fingers drawing smoothing circles in his hair. “I’m all too aware of. How much I’m hurting both of us in this, but I don’t want to lose you completely. Even if that means we need to bust friends for a while.”

I sigh and continue my death glare out the windshield. “Fine, but for the record, I still think this is bull shit.”

We make our way to pick everyone else up, I silently thank whatever god is out there when Alex gets in the car and seems to either not know or not care about Andrews and my current arrangement, he just skips to making conversation with him from the backseat. I start to think he hasn’t told anyone when we pick up Mia and she also says nothing about it, so I opt to just not say anything and laugh when appropriate, but otherwise stay out of the conversation the three of them are engrossed in.

When we get to the airport is the moment when everything kicks in for me. I help with everyone’s bags as they get everything checked, just barely holding myself together, but when I realize that it’s time for them to make their way to security and I have to go, I lose it.

My body moves of its own volition, before I know it, I’m sobbing into Andrew’s chest with my arms around him. He doesn’t seem shocked, or even slightly taken aback, Without any kind of hesitation, I feel his arms around me and his head leaning down against mine with one hand soothing my hair.

“For she, my pride, my lovely one, is lost, and I am left, in hopeless anguish tossed.” His voice is just barely above a whisper, just loud enough for the two of us to hear. The particular poem he’s quoting, he knows is one of my favorites, Herbert Giles’s ‘Gone’, one that I introduced to him before we started dating, one that I never thought I would hear him say in the context of this situation and with the weight that it bears in this moment.

And yet, somehow it’s almost comforting to know that of all of the poetry he’s read about love lost and the grief that comes with it, that this is what comes to mind. I melt then and there.

“I promise, when I get back, we will get right back to being so in love that the gods are jealous of our devotion to each other. I swear.” He kisses the top of my head through my hair and pulls away from me to look at my tear stained face. “So long as you’ll have me, I swear I will make this up to you when I come home. I’ll beg on my knees for forgiveness if need be.”

I wipe some of my stray tears away from my face and roll my eyes. “ You have a lot of groveling in your future, rest assured.” We both laugh a little bit.

He leans down and softly, but over so quickly plants a kiss on my lips. It’s fleeting, and barely there, but followed with an “I love you.”

“Always.”

And with that, I let him go and he walks away, without a single turn backward.

Okay, listen.Be mad if you want, but trust the process, a series wouldn’t be interesting without conflict, and I created that shit from the get go. I swear to god, this isn’t gonna be one of those 90% miscommunication trope things, no. It’s an “I love you but I can’t have you, but I cant help myself” kinda thing, We’ll get there. It’s gonna be fun. Lmk if you wanna be on the tag list, cause I have no idea when the next update will be.

Also, props to @itsjustmarwa for the idea, you’re a real one.

[pedgito]

Aliiii, I need another Tom Grant fic in my life. Maybe makeup sex after he thinks reader is flirting with someone. 😮‍💨

author’s note: i can’t resist this soft boyfriend of a man for the life of me, so enjoy! this can be read as a third part to my previous tom fics but is also fine to read by itself!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), some possessiveness, soft dom!tom, slightly bratty!reader, fem terms/praise, insecure!tom, unprotected sex, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.5k

“Eat.” Tom’s voice bellows through the long, drawn out silence.

You’ve been staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, mixed in with the scrapping of his fork as he twirled the spaghetti around the utensil and piled it into his open mouth.

He’s angry, annoyed, pissed—and not a single inclination as to why exactly, just an expression void of warmth or comfort.

You stab at the noodles lacking the sauce of his you loved so much. He’d rushed dinner, slamming dishes around in annoyance as you picked up around the trailer. Tom didn’t always get like this, but there were times where he couldn’t convey what he wanted to say, let it build up and took it out on you by chance. You couldn’t blame him, you were guilty of it too.

“Not hungry.” You mumble, the fork slipping from your hands and clattering against the plate.

“Oh, what now?” Tom asks, his enunciation around the vowels elongated as his deep Cornish accent peeked through when he got riled up—never usually out of anger, but here you were.

“You’re the one who wanted to go back home, you know.” You argue, pushing your plate to the side. Tom’s nearly finished with his food, following suit as he chews on the last bite of pasta. “Not me, you.”

“You know why,” Tom replies arrogantly, his voice as calm and level as ever, “don’t play oblivious.”

He’d caught a man, a friend of a friend of another friend, hounding you with a drink, begging you to accept. It was Tom’s idea to come to the party to begin with, trying to be supportive of his close friend, show up and be polite before slipping out unnoticed.

And really, Tom was slightly to blame here. He left you unattended at a party full of people you didn’t know, forcing you to meld yourself into conversations you didn’t care about, a drink being slipped into your hand insistently by a guy who looked beyond sketchy.

You weren’t naive—there was no way you were taking a sip of that drink. Still, you accepted it with a smile, nursing it close to your chest as the man lingered and talked with the surrounding people, all the while Tom catching things from a distance, getting an entirely different view of what was actually happening.

He wasn’t mad at you either—frustrated, yes, to a degree. But, he’s never experienced jealousy like this. He never worried with Ruth, not at first. Things changed, he didn’t know how to handle that situation with her so he fled.

You were left to pick up the pieces she’d left broken.

You’re too polite for your own good, exchanging meaningless small talk and cheap smiles until Tom is gently tugging you away, tossing the drink into a nearby trash bin before he’s crowding you in the passenger seat of his car and initiating a silent drive home.

It got you to this point, heated gazes shared across your tiny dining room table, eyes never leaving you as he sips from the glass, a brief movement as his lips barely touch the cup.

“You left me alone,” You force out, standing up abruptly to reach for your dishes, guiding them toward the sink, “and now you feel the need to act jealous?”

“I’m not jealous.” He remained firm, leaning back in his chair, cup scraping against the cheap tabletop and he pushed it around lazily with his finger.

He was the poster boy for just that, his eyes flickering to and away from you every so often, watching as you scraped the food away into the trash. It’s his fault, he knows it—but the tinge of harm to his ego, your relationship, even if it was nothing, it still eats at him.

He’s tried hard to get to this point, a vulnerability and openness he never had in past relationships, and he was screaming that up. Again.

“I don’t know why you won’t trust me.” You sigh, hands pressed hard against the edge of the sink, dishes clanking against each other as you tossed them in. “It’s been a year, Tom.”

He can see the tense line of your shoulders as you rest there, head hung slightly as you close your eyes, taking a deep breath through your nose. He rises slowly, silently, making his way toward you.

“I trust you.” He reminds you softly, “God, I fuckin’ trust you. You’ve no idea.”

There’s a gentle press of hands against your waist, his front crowding against your back and his chin resting against your shoulder. He’s light and gentle as he breathes his apology.

“Can’t stand seeing you being drooled on,” He admits, “M’not blaming them, you’re a pretty one.”

You laugh softly, turning your head back toward them.

“Yeah?” You question with a cheeky tone, earning a blush faced and subtle smile from Tom. “So, what’s with all the shit then?”

Tom is silent for too long, fingers cataloging every curve of your hips, stomach, until his palm is resting flat over the skin, forcing you tight against him and pressing it to the obvious and hard line of his cock in his sweats, telling you everything you needed to know.

“Needin’ to remind you,” Tom speaks low, lips barely touching the shell of your ear, “feels like you forgot.”

“Of?” You ask humorously, voice trickling with amusement.

It’s clear what Tom wanted, and for the time being, you’d allow it.

“Who you belong to,” Tom says, coarse fingers rising to grip your face, thumb rubbing along the expanse of your cheek until you’re coaxed to look at him, eyes connecting his, all big and brown and everything but intimidating. But, he’s demanding, his grip tight like a vice, “s’not fair all these other chavs get a chance at you when I’m right here.”

“I only want you, Tom.”

It’s the most serious you’ve ever been. It feels like you’re constantly reminding him, but you’d do it a thousand times, until it’s burned into his memory.

The hand pressed against your stomach slides toward the front of your shorts, beyond the waistband until he’s cupping you bare, barking a short, quiet laugh as his finger dip between your legs and coats with your wetness, feeling that neediness throb inside you the moment he pressed himself against your back.

Sex didn’t fix everything, but it sure as hell made things better for the time being—Tom could have you however he needed you, there was time to sort out everything else later.

“Prove it?” He challenges, voice clouded and hit as he pressed himself further against you, rubbing a gentle rhythm into your ass while his fingers played between your folds, featherlight touches that had you begging for more, the most.

“How?” You say soft, breathing out on a sigh as you push away, forgoing the dirty dishes for now as you turn to him.

“Dunno,” He shrugs, following your backwards ascent to the bedroom, his gaze growing evermore intense as he approaches, “you’re smart?”

You shrug, “You're asking?”

“Smiling at those fuckers,” He says with a forced laugh, mouth turning up into a smirk, his hand extending to press you against the edge of the bed by your hips, lending you to lean back, eyes glued to the slow crawl of his body over you as he adjusted you further and further up the bed, “you knew what you were doing, love.”

“Being nice,” You defend, “polite, you know?”

Tom huffs through his nose, not believing it for a second.

“Touch my cock, baby.” He tells you, the tone slightly startling. It was still, unwavering, lacking the normal warmth it carried.

His hand reaches for yours, guiding it over the tent in his sweatpants, squeezing for emphasis as you look at him, following the fleeting gaze of his—he’s taking you in, every line and curve of your face, and you’re mesmerized.

“Feel that?” He gruffs out, groaning softly when you rub your palm against him, daring to stretch your fingers underneath the fabric holding you back.

You nod silently, eager as your chin tips up toward him. His hands spread wide over your knees, spreading your legs apart.

“Gonna make me fuck you, ‘s that what I need to do?” Tom asks, hooking behind the juncture in your knee to pull against him, a small, playful yelp escaping you. “Am I needing to remind you who you should be smiling at?”

“Tom,” You complain, an airy giggle escaping your chest, “I’m yours, is that not obvious?”

He smiles, pressing a quick but firm kiss to your lips.

“Sweetheart, just play along.” Tom begs, “For me?”

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth to bite back the smile threatening to show, nodding obediently. Your eyes shift to seriousness, finally dipping your fingers into his waistband to press against his bare cock—he didn’t even bother with underwear after his shower, he’d planned this.

“Tell me,” He hums softly against your cheek, grinding up into your touch slowly, “how hard do I need to fuck you to forget about those guys?”

There’s no response, distracted by the lips assaulting your skin, hands squeezing in the curves of your body in a way that leaves you speechless every time. But, that’s not what Tom wants, gripping your face between his fingers firmly.

“Answer me.” He chided, unable to hide that sneaking smile creeping into his face. “M’not asking twice.”

“Not even thinking about anyone but you,” You assure him, struggling against his grip slightly, “I’m telling you, how else can I prove that?”

“You’re my smart girl,” He compliments, ever the smoosher, “you’ll figure it out.”

And you do. Quickly.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Tom underneath you despite his obvious struggle for power—he likes the idea of being in control, to a point, but mostly it’s just a way to mess with you, rile you up.

It worked.

Despite switching positions and finding yourself seated fully on his lap, cock stuffed inside you to the degree where if it was any further it would be a problem, his thumbs leaving indentations into your hip bones as you rocked with his movements, letting him control the pace.

He’s got your hands tied up messily in the bunched material of your shirt, twisting and looping until your hands are immobile, leaving them interlocked over his chest with nowhere else to, nowhere else to roam.

Your face punches in discomfort slightly, always needing a moment to adjust to his size, but he wasn’t giving you that.

“No need for greediness now,” He chirps, bottom lip stuffed between his teeth as he bit, his chest rocking with every sharp thrust, his hips nearly lifting off the bed as he stabilizes you on top of him, “got my cock in you and you still want more?”

He sounds sinful, voice thick with arousal.

“Not that,” You say mindlessly, mouth drifting open as he pinned you down, hitting that familiar spot over and over again, stuck in an endless loop of desperate moans and pleas, “it’s—fuck, slower, please.”

You shove against him slightly, fingertips digging into his skin until he groans, enlightened by his own pain.

“You’ve got it,” He encourages, “never had a problem takin’ me before, why now?”

And just to drive you even further into madness.

“Said you were going to prove it,” Tom teases, “can’t even take my cock and you want me to slow down?”

“Tom.” You say once, a soft needy tone.

Tom makes an obvious noise of disapproval, shaking his head as he uses his advantage to flip you over in one quick movement, pressing you roughly into the mattress.

Somehow he manages to get your hands above your head and under the pillow you’re resting on before you can even process, his hips keeping a rough but uneven pace as he made it pure torture to be consumed by him in that moment.

“Please, please, please,” It’s the only thing you can think, not sure of what you’re begging for, “Tom, enough.”

Tom nudges your face toward him, his fingers slotting around your cheek as bringing your eyes to his, his expression just as intense as earlier, staring at you from across the dinner table.

“Tell me,” He urges, “gotta talk to me, love.”

You peek up toward your bindings, “It’s uncomfortable,” You pout, and he’s undoing the knot in seconds, rubbing at the tender skin, “thank you.”

“That all?” He asks, your expression flicking away, going shy for a moment. “Mmm, no going teazy on me now.”

You flex your sore hands, reaching for the soft lines of his face, thumb running along the dimple in his cheek as he smiled, watching you fall more and more into madness below him. You moan raggedly when he’s lifting your leg, switching the angle deeper.

“I’m begging you,” You gasp, his fingers tightening against your skin, “I need slow, Tom. Please.”

Tom understand when things get too much, they sense of protection and comfort you’re craving from him creeping back as he slows, releasing the tight hold he on you and settling for something simpler, your knees resting loosely at his hips as he fucked into you, slow and deep.

Tom nods to himself, forehead bumping against your own as he leaned further against you, “Good—see how easy it when you’re not bein’ difficult?”

You scoff lightly, eyebrows knitting together when his hand sneaks between your legs, rubbing at your already overworked clit.

“Good girl,” He laughs deeply, “and they get rewarded too.”

You respond absently, nodding in agreement to whatever he was saying as you tipped over the edge, body going hot as your orgasmed creeped in and took you by surprise, moaning brokenly into Tom’s open mouth as his own thrusts slowed, a few lingering pumps before he was spilling inside you.

The peace that follows is blissful, quiet moments as you both separate and redress, trying desperately to ignore Tom’s continued gazes your way, knowing you couldn’t resist if he tried hard enough.

But he surprises you, speaking a quiet, “M’sorry.”

You smile to yourself, fixing the shirt over your head as you approach him, perching your thighs over his lap as he shifts back, hands resting against the mattress. You trace the pale skin of his chest, stopping at the small patch of hair near the top.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, before thinking for a moment, “Well—it’s not, to be fair. But, I’m not mad.”

“You sure?” He asks shyly, eyes squinting in apprehension of rejection.

You nod slightly, taping his chest with your fingertips lightly, “I’m not complaining about the sex—fuck if that isn’t better when you’re kinda pissed off, but I’m begging you to trust me, Tom. I would never hurt you.”

And he’s heard that before, but with you, he can see that you mean it.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” He speaks boldly, smirking confidently. “Just puttin’ that out there now.”

“Bold of you,” You note, teasing him slightly when he leans in for a kiss, pulling away briefly, “help me clean up dinner and we have a deal, yeah?”

Tom couldn’t think of a fairer trade.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[firefly-bites]

Jjba takes you out to dinner 1-7 (JoJos+Jobros)

warnings: None

Jonathan:

Takes you to a nice, quiet place without many people.

Holds your hand or hooks around your arm while you’re waiting for seats.

Points out every. single. item. This man wants all of it and can never decide what he wants to eat, please give him some help and chose for him.

Not a picky eater in any way, shape, or form. You put a plate in font of him and he’ll eat it.

Offers to share and asks to try your food as long as nobody’s paying attention to you two.

ALWAYS PAYS THE BILL. If you even suggest money and grab your wallet he will immediately say no, he’s got it covered.

Speedwagon:

He’s SO excited to take you out and will dress as nice and clean as physically possible.

Stares in awe when he sees you for the first time that night; then he compliments you with the most bashful look.

Takes you to a quaint local restaurant, nothing too fancy but nice enough to share a date.

He definitely likes pasta dishes.

Speaking of pasta, you two totally have a lady and the tramp moment with your shared plate of spaghetti where the noodle is connected and you almost kiss.

He definitely pays as often as possible, a true gentleman.

Joseph:

He had to swallow his pride and ask Ceaser for a good restaurant to take you to; also asked for tips on what to get you and what to say.

Surprises you with a giant bouquet of flowers; most likely roses.

He really loves sharing plates of food, he thinks it’s so romantic and lovey.

Takes a napkin and wipes your face super gently, trying to lean closer for a smooch.

Actually hates the taste of beer, he pulled the most disgusted face when the waiter offered to grab him one.

Usually pays the bill, but will also settle for 50/50 if you’re insistent on paying.

Ceaser:

He’s a total gentleman and will try to match with whatever you’re wearing. Usually just colours but if he’s in a fancy mood he buys you a perfect matching dress/tux/whatever you want.

Gives you a single rose that’s your favourite colour and says some corny shit like ‘for you, mia cara’

Insists on calling you cheesy names the entire night.

Takes you to a really nice and expensive restaurant and you two are the most romantic couple there.

He’s totally a wine man. He gets like three different bottles of the restaurants finest quality for you two to enjoy.

Another man who will not let you pay, don’t even mention money around him, he doesn’t want you to worry about anything.

Lisa Lisa:

She brings you a rose, complimenting you in a way that will make you feel warm all night.

Her preferred place to go is an expensive restaurant, wanting to spoil you as much as possible.

She’s a red wine type of woman, and will hold her glass up for you to take a sip.

She loves talking with you and she always asks how you’ve been doing, wanting to know every little detail about your day.

She leaves a red lipstick mark on the corner of your lips, ghosting her lips over yours as a goodbye and a promise.

She will always pay, she wants to spoil you and paying for your meal is just another way to do exactly that.

Jotaro:

Probably takes you to a restaurant in an aquarium.

Takes off his hat for you at the table, he learned manners from Holly.

It’s a quiet dinner, where you two have simple talks and just enjoy each others company and the sea life around you.

You probably have to calm him down when the waiter shamelessly flirts with him. He won’t yell because he knows you don’t like it, but if you don’t help him out he might just lose it.

He loves watching you. Not in a creepy way, but in an admiring way. He loves how you sparkle when your food comes and your face when trying something new.

He also pays for it, lightheartedly glaring at you when you try to offer your card. If you nag him enough, he’ll go 50/50 but it’s rare.

Kakyoin:

You two are always eating out and trying new places to dine. He makes sure that he takes you to your favourite places during dinners.

He loves Asian food and more specifically Chinese food.

Spends extra time on his looks (his hair) and always has the best cologne. It smells like cherries and sandalwood.

He’s also somewhat quiet at dinner, mostly prefers to chat about trivial thing and enjoy the time he spends with you.

You two usually just order a few small plates and share them, offering the most variety.

He likes to pay for dinner, but is also totally okay with splitting the bill.

Avdol:

Takes you to an Egyptian restaurant and has you try his childhood foods.

He’s got this soft smile the whole dinner and you can’t help but be charmed by him.

He prefers to listen to you talk about anything and everything, he will always listen and dinner is a nice opportunity to catch up.

Definitely laughs if you can’t handle spicy food. He also has the best tips on how to get rid of the pain.

Has a preference for warm food, and it somehow stays warm the entire dinner.

He will 100% pay for you. He always shrugs it off and tells you not to worry about it.

Polnareff:

Dresses super nice, like, crazy nice and makes sure every little detail about his looks is okay.

Calls you random French nicknames the whole night and compliments you in French cause he thinks it’s romantic.

You two are chatting up a storm, he always matches your energy and loves when you do the same.

Orders random dishes that sound cool and it’s like a game of Russian roulette, it’s either really yummy or the worst thing you’ve ever eaten.

If it’s bad, you two ditch after paying and go somewhere else to do the same thing.

ALWAYS PAYS. He says he wouldn’t be a proper French gentleman if he didn’t.

Josuke:

Takes you to Tonio’s.

He definitely just stared in pure awe when he sees you all dressed up and fancy, stuttering out a compliment as soon as you meet up at his side.

Endless compliments and bad pick-up lines. Most are awful but some have your eyes crinkling at the corners from laughter.

He always cracks up jokes and the whole energy of the dinner is fun and light, he doesn’t want you to think about anything but the moment.

Please compliment his hair, he put extra effort into it for you.

He offers to pay but is also cool with going 50/50, whatever you wanna do.

Okuyasu:

Also takes you to Tonio’s restaurant.

A total dork, makes jokes and says silly stuff just to see you smile but is also strangely charming.

You two are playing footsies under the table 100% just please be careful not to stab him with a heel, he will cry.

Almost gets you two kicked out from being too loud, thank God for Tonio.

Excitedly gets you to try his food, asking if he can try yours as well.

He doesn't really care who pays, but if it's the first dinner he definitely payed to seem like a gentleman.

Rohan:

He’s always busy, but he managed to find time after finishing his manga early that week.

He’s dressed in a designer suit, and always buys you something nice to wear so that you guys look amazing together #bestdressescoupleinmorioh

He loves taking you out to help him find inspiration, and often dedicates parts of his manga to your guy’s dates.

His attention is solely on you, and you can’t help but feel flustered under his gaze.

He makes sure to keep an eye out for anything that bothers you, making sure it’s removed from the table immediately.

Always pays. No discussion.

Giorno:

He either takes you to a really nice restaurant or a small, quaint diner.

He’s dressed nicely, just a simple tux with a rose on the chest. He doesn’t really care what you wear, but likes to match.

He definitely does a ‘magic trick’ and uses G.E to make a flower ‘appear’ and tuck it behind your ear.

Orders a few small things for both of you, always asking what you like and don’t like. He’s super sweet because he always remembers your taste.

You two talk about everything under the sun over a glass or two of wine or rosé, maybe champagne if you’re feeling fancy.

He prefers to pay, he’s got a ton of money he doesn’t need, so there’s no reason to have you pay.

Bucciarati:

He takes you out all afternoon, picking you up with flowers at the ready.

He takes you to his favourite Italian restaurant, probably not Libeccio cause it reminds him of his job, but some other really nice place.

Holds your hand over the table, gently rubbing his thumb in circles across the back of your hand.

He loves hearing you laugh and talk the night away, all his stress seems to melt while he’s with you.

He gives you a passionate kiss at the end of the night, craving you until the next time you meet him again.

He pays for everything, you don’t even have a chance to try and pay when he does it so fast you can barely keep up.

Abbacchio:

He prefers eating at home, but makes an exception for you.

Takes you to a nice, quiet restaurant that’s not at all busy, probably later in the night at 7pm so there’s not too many people.

He doesn’t talk much, instead opting to listen to whatever you want to talk about but he’ll always make sure you know he’s listening.

Sits and chats with you over a glass of the finest wine the place can offer before eating.

He really enjoys a nice medium-rare steak and some salad, if the food is really good he offers a bite to you.

He will also always pay. It’s like this unspoken thing where you don’t even question him or ask.

Mista:

He puts so much effort into his appearance, he even smells strangely good, like burnt cinnamon.

He also takes off his hat for dinner, revealing a head of dark curls.

He flirts the entire night, barely giving you a break to eat before he’s firing compliments.

He’s loves taking you on dates, and always has a fun little gift for you. Flowers, trinkets, anything he finds that he thinks you’ll like.-

He definitely wants to sit beside you instead of across from you so he can nudge your thigh or have you lean against him.

He also usually pays, but he’s more relaxed than the others if you want to split it. As long as you don’t want to pay for the entire thing.

Fugo:

He’s not a fan of busy places, so he suggests a less populated restaurant for you two.

He dresses up, wearing a good quality suit with his strawberry tie. He loves when you accidentally match.

He’s pretty nervous, he gets antsy while picking you up and takes a solid three minutes to knock on your door.

Once he sees you though he gives an awkward compliment and tries not to think too hard.

He really loves being around you, and even if he can be awkward about it, he always tries to show how much he loves you by listening to you talk and offering advice when he can.

He doesn’t really care about payment, but is expecting to pay for the whole thing. He will be pleasantly surprised if you offer to split the bill.

Narancia:

He’s so excited oh my god. Buddy is buzzing with energy and it’s definitely contagious.

He definitely asked Bruno for advice on how to treat you right.

He’s dressed so nicely, but he probably has his tie backwards, please help him with it and you’ll get the brightest smile.

The energy is fun and light as you go to a fairly nice spot, not super fancy but it’s a nice place.

You two are always smiling and laughing with each other, he cracks some jokes but he’s just happy to be around you.

He pays for the dinner, he thinks it’s un-gentlemanly to let you pay.

Trish:

She’s so ready. She’s wearing the nicest dress she owns and is taking in a whole limo to the most luxurious restaurant in Italy.

Her eyes have stars as she sees you; the most beautiful person in the world to her.

She has a table away from other people so you have privacy to act however you want.

Her hands are always playing with yours while you sit and wait for the food, talking about your days and typical ‘girly’ things.

Her smile is contagious while she talks about the new issues of vogue and the new Chanel products.

She is definitely paying. She wants to enjoy her time with you, without you worrying about the money.

Jolyne:

She LOVES going to retro diners and vintage restaurants.

She greets you with a heartfelt compliment and a bouquet of your favourite flowers, practically buzzing with happiness.

She’s wearing a nice top with dress pants, it’s not that she doesn’t like dresses, she just prefers pants.

Her eyes never leave you. Your lips, your face, your nose, your collarbones, she soaks up your entirety.

She loves to listen to you talk, conversing with you as much as possible with some appetizers before you order your main dishes.

She’s not super picky about the bill. She wants to pay, but will let you take some of the bill if you really want to.

Ermes:

She takes you to a nice, lively Mexican restaurant.

You and her have a nice evening, eating your dishes and jokingly giving feedback as if you were 5-star chefs.

She’s shared her dream of owning a restaurant with you, and you two point out things you would put in your own restaurant.

You two have some drinks and catch up on everything that you missed between the last time you saw each other.

She peppers kisses across your cheeks when you say goodbye, smudging a very faint trace of her lipstick all over your face.

She also pays the bill, shushing you with a smooch when you try to complain.

F.F:

She would LOVE to take you to her favourite places.

She orders tons of different food, sprawling it across the table for you two to share and dig into.

She has at least 5 different drinks, trying and rating them all after giving you some of it. Your opinion definitely effects the rating.

Her favourite thing is spending the whole evening with you, just talking and trying out tons of different things.

She fidgets a lot with everything. Your hands? She’s holding them and running her hands over your knuckles. Your legs? She’s playing footies with you beneath the table, gently nudging you while she talks.

She doesn’t mind paying, but prefers to split the bill.

Weather Report:

Adores taking you to quiet, fancy restaurants where the two of you can chat freely without disruption.

He has the nicest clothes omg his suit is designer and he looks amazing.

He'll request flowers to be brought to the table before you guys get there.

He prefers to listen to you talk, vent, complain, or rant about things that you learned, he thinks it's so cute when you tell a story and trail off topic.

He always asks you to order for him since he speaks so softly, but if you have anxiety or anything he will 100% order. No questions asked.

He pays, but doesn't really care if you want to pitch in.

Anasui:

He prefers doing at-home fancy dinners so he's the only one you can pay attention to, but will also go anywhere you ask.

Gets jealous when the waiter makes you smile or laugh. He has this terrifying glare for just those kinds of situations and you'll never know why the waiter stopped making jokes cause he's sneaky with it.

He wants to match so everyone knows he's yours. If you wrap an arm around him or hold his hand over the table he melts.

He loves to have lighthearted conversations, deeper ones shouldn't be heard by others in his opinion.

He also takes you out pretty late, it's like a 7-8pm start and it ends whenever you two are finished, no rush.

He pays. He wants to spoil you so much and it you can't move an inch towards your wallet.

Johnny:

He takes you to a nice place, not super fancy, but somewhere you can both enjoy a relaxing dinner.

He's a fairly picky eater, but he likes Italian food and the kind of food he grew up with. He's open to try anything, but he won't always like it.

He’s not a fan of crowded or loud restaurants and he’s always careful so that news people and reporters don’t see you two.

If it’s before he got paralyzed, he knows he’s popular so he likes to show you off, wearing matching stuff or grabbing your waist.

If it’s after, sometimes he struggles to ask for accommodations for his wheel chair but as long as you’re there to help, he’s okay. Doesn’t show you off as much but still loves being beside you.

He usually pays, but isn’t opposed to splitting it either.

Gyro:

Surprise dinners! He’ll come home with a flower and tell you to go get ready and you two will go to a new place he saw on his way home.

He also love staying home and doing at-home fancy dinners, he’s an amazing cook and would love to teach you his family recipes.

Wine critic. He’ll order the best stuff and he knows his drinks so when you tell him you don’t like one, he’ll get the opposite and see if you like that better.

He’s so cheesy. He has the funniest stories and is always willing to tell you some of them.

Tried to do something to impress you, probably doing some cool fork magic trick he messes it up most of the time.

He always pays, says it’s against his morals to let his partner pay.

Hot Pants:

Actually really likes going to dinner, she would ask you out with a love note and a flower.

She wears a suit and looks SO FINE and encourages you to match with either a dress or a suit.

Her talks are usually about her day, sometimes stories from the church sneak in and they’re always interesting.

She love when you tell her about your day, even if it was boring or lame, she wants to hear it.

the rage in her eyes when the waiter tries asking for your number, he scurried away after the first time and you never had him again.

She pays most of the time, but if you convince her enough you can pay for like 10% of it.

Diego:

He’s LOVES showing you off, bragging to anyone he talk to during dinner.

Reporters are annoying, but he doesn’t exactly hide from them cause he thinks you deserve to be seen.

Food wise, he’s a bit of a carnivore and always orders the steaks. He encourages you to also try them.

He’s oddly posh while eating out, but you know his mischievous smirk when you see it.

He’s always sipping on a rum or whiskey, ordering you a glass of wine while you talk.

He always pays, not only does he want to treat you, but it would be a nightmare if the media saw you paying.

[phykios]

If I Were A Blackbird, part 12 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

His Majesty King Frederick III of Sweden, dispensing entirely with etiquette, noisily slurped up a noodle, and then picked out a bit of chicken with his fork, before grasping it between his fingers and popping it in his mouth. “Mm,” he hummed. “Delicious. Nothing like a classic American alfredo.” 

Annabeth, Crown Princess and Duchess of Södermanland, pushed her pasta around the plate, stomach too tight to eat. 

Over the last few years, dinner with her father had become less and less of a frightening affair. Which was ironic, because in that time he���d gone from being a regular old prince, to the King. With all the divine power and magical rituals that went along with it. 

It helped that the Princess Consort rarely joined them anymore, a decision Annabeth was pretty sure traced to the fact that she was the Princess Consort, and not the Queen. And dinners that had once felt like they took place between Princess Annabeth and Prince Frederick now feel more like they are just between Annabeth and her dad. 

She liked that. 

But it didn’t stop her from stress-knitting a sweater for Percie on her flight all morning and afternoon after being informed via calendar notification that she had been invited to dinner with the king upon her arrival back home. 

The sweater was dark blue and had the Olympic rings, matching the one she had knitted for her dog’s namesake. And also the one she was making for herself. 

“Guido really outdid himself with dinner tonight,” he said, dabbing at his face with a napkin, “but it still isn’t as good as the donut you brought me from New York.” He grinned at her. “We really do need to get them to build a Dunkin here.”

She couldn’t help but grin back. “Maybe that will be my first act as queen.”

He laughed. “A good use of your divine rights, but I am not sure I want to wait that long. Do you think I would be able to get a Dunkaccino in Fólkvangr?”

“Well you certainly seem sure of your future.”

“One must be prepared to dream big,” he said, “particularly when one is a king.” 

“An iced coffee and a warrior's death,” she laughed. “What more could a king ask for?”

His smile dropped, face hardening, and the very air seemed to grow… uncomfortable. He considered her, and carefully put down his fork. “Perhaps nothing more a king could want. But… as a father…” 

A chill went down her spine. Oh gods. Oh no. Anything but this. 

And neither, apparently, was her dad, who was suddenly very interested in the embroidery on his napkin. “...Is Percy ready for Athens?” 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. This was what he was playing at? “Yeah, just a few more weeks. He’s excited.” 

“Any chance he’s going to stop by here, on his way?”

“Um, no, he’s got his normal ritual at home, and then he’s heading over with team USA.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Well,” he said, with a significant look, “it will have been four years, at the Olympics, won’t it? And I was wondering when we were going to be seeing him on a more… permanent basis.” 

That brought her up a little short. Percy was around for almost all major holidays now, unless it conflicted with a race. And even then, sometimes he skipped them. What could he possibly want Percy to come back to Sweden for? He’d been here a month for National Day and Midsummer, and the two of them seemed to be getting on fine. 

And as for permanent… he’d more or less abandoned Luke’s apartment in New York City as anything more than a pretense. It was still on his driver's license, but she was pretty sure none of his stuff was there anymore. Two weeks ago, when he’d been in New York for a Good Morning America appearance, he’d stayed over at hers, despite her still being in Sweden at the time. And that wasn’t a rare occurrence. He’d been calling it their apartment for about a year now, and he didn’t even look sheepish about it anymore. 

Percy was a permanent fixture in her life. She was determined to make it so. “It feels pretty permanent to me,” she said, quietly. 

He looked at her, and she looked back, for several long, long seconds, before he sighed and looked away. “Are you really going to demand I say it, dear?”

She sucked in a breath. And here it was. The other shoe, come to drop in between her and Percy. And he had seemed so perfect on paper: he loved her, he was getting good enough at Swedish that he didn’t ask her to translate anything at official dinners anymore, he looked great in a suit by her side, he could smile and wave with the best of them, and he seemed okay with the prospect of that being the rest of his life. So, what problem had been dug up? What was going to prevent Princess Annabeth from being with her prince charming?

“Say what?” If he had a problem with her choice of partner, if he had spent years getting buddy buddy with her, only to crush her dreams worse than before, then he had damn well better spell it out to her face. 

He had to know that Percy was it for her. He wasn’t that oblivious. So, it was all coming back around. He’d asked her, four of five years ago, if she intended to abdicate for true love. He was calling that marker in now. 

He was going to make her choose between Percy and her crown. 

No, worse, he was going to make her choose between Percy and letting her stepmother win. 

“When are you and Percy getting married?” 

And there it was. The ultimatum.

“Well…” Wait. “What?” 

He shrugged again, a touch self-conscious. “Well, dear, you are almost thirty, and while you are certainly young, I know you’ve talked about your plans for your future. And your… desire to secure succession for your descendants.” She felt herself go red at that statement. Though it wasn’t untrue, clearly. “I was just wondering if… now might be the proper time.” 

Well, that wasn’t the other shoe, that was a whole damn Louboutin store. “You want me to make Percy my consort?”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted to make Percy your consort.” 

“I do,” she said, “I do.” By all the gods, Greek and Norse and whatever the hell else there might be out there, did she want to.

“Well then, of course I want you to marry him. I like Percy. You know that.” Which she did. It wasn’t like he had hidden it. “And more than that, I know you love him. And he loves you, and what’s more, accepts you. Accepts all the wonderful parts of you.”

Oh, so that was the other shoe. She couldn’t even properly appreciate her father’s explicit and enthusiastic support of Percy, of her choices, of what she wanted to happen more than anything in the world. 

She groaned and put her head in her hands. 

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

“He hasn’t,” she mumbled into her palms. 

“What?”

“He hasn’t accepted all the parts of me.”

“Oh.” It was silent for a long moment, save for her father fiddling with his napkin. “That’s… Are you sure, dear?”

She looked up. “Huh?”

“Well, I only ask because he’s been such a good sport at dinners. And he was absolutely wonderful during the funeral and the coronation and with everything. I… is he really not on board with royal life?”

“No, no, he’s–we’ve talked about that. Quite a lot. He’s a better sport about,” she waved a hand, “all of that than I deserve.” 

That part was fine. It was just everything else that was the problem. 

“You deserve everything, dear,” her father said without a second's hesitation. “He is, as you say, a good sport, but I do not for a second think that he would be if it wasn’t for you. Trust me when I say, I know the difference between someone who loves the prince versus someone who loves the man. Percy loves you. I promise you dear. I promise you he does.” He took her hand across the table. “Nearly as much as I do.”  

And wasn’t that something. She could stop the feel of tears pooling in her eyes. Her father was staring at her, earnestness plain on his face. She had thought, not two minutes ago, that he meant to separate her from Percy, and he was proclaiming Percy’s love for her. 

Her father, her dad, the King of Sweden, wanted her to be happy and loved and the Queen. And he wanted her to marry Percy Jackson to make it happen. She blinked back the tears as best she could. 

It was not a totally successful endeavor. 

“I haven’t told Percy,” she said, finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. And, she realized a second later, not in Swedish. Or English. Nor her grade school French. She was speaking in ancient Greek. Wasn’t she lucky that Perseus’ name fit so well in this cursed language. “I haven’t told him about my mother, or about our ancestry, or any of it.” 

“I see,” her father said, his Greek not as natural as her, but clear and precise from many years of practice. “Well, do you think that will be a problem?”

“Of course it will be a problem. I have to tell him the gods are real. Like, the Greek gods. And the Norse gods!” 

He waved a hand. “He’s a classicist, I am sure he’s got passing familiarity with it. It isn’t as though you’ll need to worry about him not having paid attention to that lesson in school. I’m sure it will go fine.” 

“You really think so?” she asked, and for a split second, it was like she was back in that diner in California. Trusting her father to soothe her fears, and make it all better. 

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, squeezing her hand. “I think… I think he loves you, and that, to be honest, a royal life is a much bigger burden for him to have to deal with than marrying a demigod. It isn’t as though hydras will be attacking him during his calc finals. I do believe your mother to be far more formidable than the Riksdag, and significantly more beautiful,” he couldn’t help but add, and Annabeth chuckled. “But she could have no objection to Percy, nor your marriage, compared to any other mortal man. But the Riksdag will always want to butt in. He has put up with much worse than your mother. Or our Frey ancestors. And I believe he has shown he will continue to do so. This, all of this, is just a matter of belief. Nothing Percy has said has suggested to me that he’s particularly religious, anyway.” 

“No,” Annabeth conceded, “No, he’s not.” 

“So, I am sure–I am positive–that all will be well.” 

She swallowed a few times, just a little afraid to speak the hope in her chest. To give life to the little hearth in her heart. “I… I think he’ll be alright with it. If I can get him to believe. I think he’ll be able to accept it. To accept me.” 

Her father beamed at her. “And when are you going to tell him?”

“Soon,” she said. “I was thinking maybe in Athens, since we’ll be there together.” 

Her father let out a laugh. “Has this always been your plan?”

“Maybe not always,” she chuckled, “but… I have been thinking about it for a while. A couple of months, at least.” Or maybe a couple of years. “He really wants to get a gold in the Olympics. And this year, he’s the favorite.” 

“There is a long history of royalty competing in the Olympics, all over Europe. I think he could continue, if he doesn’t manage it this time. Though I am told his odds are very good.” 

She smiled at him. It was such a thoughtful thing to say. “He wants to win for team USA,” she said, “and I can’t really begrudge him that if he turns around and immediately devotes his life to Sweden, now can?” 

Her father laughed again. “I suppose not.” 

Her eyes still a little blurry, in her mind she conjured up the wonderful image of him and her in her–their–New York apartment, Percy smiling at her over their kitchen table, and her entire body was seized with a sudden, painful need. “I really, really want to marry him, Dad,” she whispered. 

“I know, dear.” 

“And after we get married, he’s going to be part of this–this machine. So I just have to be honest with him. And let him accomplish as many of his goals as I can.”

“So,” he said. “Athens, then.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you think he’ll propose after that?” 

That would be nice. “I don’t know if he’ll think it's alright, though.”

“Well,” he grinned, a little sheepish, “I may have, ah… cornered him a few months ago and informed him that it would be, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” 

“Dad!” She felt the blush coat her cheeks. 

“Honestly, you’ve given me some insight into what was taking him so long. But I do understand his desire to go for gold,” he said, stroking his chin. “If my father, or even Randolph, had prevented me from getting my PhD, or from pursuing some scholarship for a bit, well… I would be very cross indeed.” 

“He deserves it.” 

“He does,” he agreed. “Just as you deserve all those buildings in New York with your name on them.” 

And that’s what did it. She felt the tears fall out of her eyes. 

“I’m going to tell him,” she said, voice thick. “After he wins a gold medal, I’m going to tell him all about it.” 

“Or perhaps,” her father replied, with a sparkle in his eye, “you should tell him before, go up to the Parthenon, tell him about it, and help him pray to Athena and Nike for victory.” 

That… was not a bad idea. Perhaps the ritual nature of it would ease him into the idea. And he was, like her dad said, a classicist. He’d want to see the Parthenon. And she could get him VIP access. Maybe even private access, if she asked the right person. “And Poseidon, too, I think. He is sailing, after all.” Hopefully the lord of the ocean hadn’t heard all the shade Percy had been throwing his way recently. Of if he had, hopefully a sacrifice would soothe his ego.  

“And then, we can finally get through all the paperwork.” 

Annabeth blinked. “What paperwork?”

“All the paperwork I had drawn up to get your marriage approved,” he said. 

“Oh,” she grimaced.

“Sadly, other people will want to hear of it, too. But I promise, it is all just a formality. Just tell me when, and I’ll turn the crown Princess into the Crown Princess couple.” 

“You really think it will be alright?”

“I’m the king,” said her father, taking a sip of his beer. “Haven’t you heard? What I say, goes.” 

***

Luke whistled. “Dang.”

“So, you approve?”

“Dude, I don’t think anyone wouldn’t approve.” Luke said, holding the ring up for a better look. The large diamond at the center, square cut and aquamarine blue, perfectly reflected the light, casting glittering refractions all over his fingers. It was surrounded by diamonds so old that they’d been cut before that technology existed. They were framed by pearls, all natural, all saltwater, all perfect, and the shining platinum band which held them all was fit for a princess. Percy hoped.

“Great,” Percy said, “because I need you to create a paper trail that makes it look like I got this ring legally.”

Luke raised an eyebrow, clearly suppressing a grin that Percy knew would only be one of approval. “Did you not?”

“The diamonds came from wrecks that I scavenged. I had to take Hazel with me to make sure I’d gotten the right ones. It's basically looting.” He’d spent the last three years collecting these pearls. It was grueling work, but it was worth it. It was so worth it. 

“Hazel didn’t do the actual jewelry work, did she?” Luke asked, concerned. 

Percy shook his head. She normally wasn’t super comfortable with that, what with her propensity for accidental curses, and Percy would never have made her do that if she didn’t want to. “No, she wouldn’t even call the stuff in the ocean, she'd point it out, and then I’d have to go through rotting wood and rusted metal to get them. Tyson made it for me. And sourced the platinum.” And also designed it for him, with a little help from his harpy girlfriend. Tyson had blushed when he told Percy about it. “But she’s a princess. Some magazine or newspaper–not to mention all of the Internet–is going to want details about where they came from, and I need to explain it without using words like ‘magic’ and ‘Poseidon.’”

Luke turned the ring over, inspecting the underside of the gems. “I thought you were going to tell Annabeth before your proposal.”

He nodded. “I am, in Athens. But I’m not planning on announcing it to the world.”

“I don’t know, that might be kind of funny.”

“I feel like they’d take away my medals if I tell them I can control my boat with my mind. And the ocean, too.” Percy said, “And I would always take you down with me in that situation.”

Luke let his grin out, savage and unrepentant. “Fair. So, you need a place for it to have come from. I can make it look above board. Any other requests?”

“Could you not make it a blood diamond thing? I would love not to imply that.”

“Just looting, then?” he asked, handing the ring back.

Percy made a face, even as he carefully placed it back inside the velvet box. “Look, looting from ships that sank centuries ago for a few gems that would otherwise be lost, so my princess girlfriend can have an engagement ring worthy of her, is reasonable, I think. Over a century of controlling diamond markets, and using it to exploit colonialist populations is not. Having said that, though… Please don’t say I looted anything.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, with relief. And more than a little excitement. After months–years–of planning, it was almost time. He knew he wanted to marry her one normal Tuesday afternoon, as they sat together at Annabeth’s–their–kitchen table, laughing over something silly. Whenever he got cold feet, or felt like the royal life might be too much to handle, he cast his mind back to that beautiful, quiet moment, and reminded himself: no matter how weird and fucky it got, it was worth it. She was worth it all. 

“Anything for you cuz. And that princess.” He smiled, crooked and pleased. “Have you decided how you’re going to do it yet?”

“Not sure yet,” Percy admitted. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Your race?” 

“Oh, yeah, with that too.” 

Luke frowned. “That’s not what’s been preoccupying you?”

“I mean… it hasn’t… not been preoccupying me,” he said. “But… I’ve been distracted.” 

“With what?”

Percy sighed, sinking into the couch. “You said it. I have to tell her before I can propose to her.” 

Frowning with sympathy, Luke settled down next to him, crossing his arms. “You really think it's going to be a big deal?”

“Of course it's going to be a big deal. You think it won’t be a big deal?”

“No, just go up to her and say ‘the gods are real, like the greek gods, like the ones you learned about but weren't paying attention to.” 

“She likes mythology, she was probably paying attention.” 

“Well, it will be like when I explained things to your mom.” 

Percy snorted. “My mom was hired by Hermes. She knew about my dad. She knew all about everything. She didn’t need some nine year old loser giving her a Greek mythology tutorial.”

“Yeah, well this nine year old loser saved your life.” 

“Tell that to the snakes I strangled at age two.” 

Luke reached over and ruffled Percy’s hair. “Big three braggart.” 

“And proud of it.” 

It was weird being over here. He hadn’t stayed with Luke in New York for a year. Without meaning to, Annabeth’s apartment became home base. The doorman and housekeeper recognized him. He’d had to pack a bag to come over this weekend. But Luke had just short of begged him, saying that it was probably the last time they could do it. 

And frankly, Percy kind of hoped he was right.

“I wasn’t talking about the snakes,” Luke said. 

“No?”

“No, I was talking about our quest.”

Technically speaking, he and Luke had been on half a dozen little quests. But he could only be talking about one. “You did save me from Ladon,” said Percy, probably a little too nostalgic for a near-death experience. 

“I did,” Luke agreed, “on a quest you weren’t even supposed to be on.”

“Come on, you know you wanted me there.”

“Oh yeah, a ten year old hanger on was exactly what I wanted on my deadly quest.”

‘Stowaway’ might have been a more appropriate term, since Percy had hidden in the back seat of Luke’s car and only revealed himself once they had gotten past the George Washington Bridge. Luke, surprised, angry, and having missed the turn to detour North to the Tappan Zee bridge to take Percy back, begrudgingly decided that Percy could stay. Though he did make Percy call his mom and explain where he had gone.  

“What’s gotten you so nostalgic?” Percy asked. 

Pursing his lips, Luke was silent for a little while, determinedly staring up at the ceiling. “Can I be honest?” he said, eventually. 

“I don’t know, big ask for a son of Hermes.” He was expecting the throw pillow to the face, and he caught it.

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway. So for real, what’s up?”

“I think it’s the whole Athens thing,” said Luke, quietly. 

“The Olympics?”

“No. It’s more the where than the what. We’re going to the motherland.”

Percy paused and considered him. “I think it’s more the fatherland, for us.”

“Be serious.”

“I can‘t. If I am serious, I have to think about it. And then I get freaked out.” 

Luke frowned at him. “What are you freaked out about?”

“Take your pick: the ancient sea, deadly monsters, Zeus being upset at me on the way, not getting gold, Annabeth realizing that she’s too good for a crazy moron like me. I can go on.”

But Luke was undeterred. “Hey–you can kill a lousy monster and control the lousy ocean. Zeus knows the Olympics are for him, and we’re gonna burn a sacrifice and everything, I already have the AirBNB with the fire pit and grill booked.” He paused, took a deep breath, and clapped Percy in the shoulder, but he didn’t move his hand when he was done. “You could win this race with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your back. But that isn’t what you want. And so, you’re going to put your whole heart into it. And also your body. And it will probably go great, but–”

“It didn’t last time.” 

Luke narrowed his eyes, and then used the hand resting on Percy’s shoulder, brought it up and cuffed the side of his head.

“Ow!” 

“Dude, you know the world is full of Olympians who lost at the last second. And settled for silver. Or bronze. You also know that you have the power to make it so that doesn’t happen to you. You chose not to use that power last time.”

Rubbing his head, Percy pouted. “You think I should have cheated.” 

“I think that, given that you only failed to win last time because of supernatural interference, it isn’t really cheating.”

“No?”

“No! Look,” he said, the fire in his eyes blazing with the same kind of righteous indignation he had at sixteen, but without the sickly poison of almost giving himself over to a Titan, “our parents fuck us over. It’s like, their whole thing. They fuck over our mothers, then they fuck over us. But at the very least, they try to make up for it. It isn’t like some stupid fantasy movie where we aren’t allowed to use our powers for ourselves, or let mortals catch on. Mortals don’t notice, and we get to use our powers to balance the scales.” 

Percy raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’s how it works?”

“Sure. What, do you think that a child of Athena is cheating on a test by being really smart?” 

“...Probably not.” 

“Well, it's basically the same thing.”

“So you want me to cheat.” 

Luke shook his head. “No. I want you to forgive yourself if something goes wrong, if another monster attacks. And you choose to intervene, like I know you will, and you choose not to bring your full powers to bear. If you choose not to go for gold, know it is a choice you’re making. And it's okay.” 

That… helped. Something in Percy’s chest unwound a little. “There's always next time, is that it?”

“Not at all,” Luke said with a grin, “because come Tartarus or high water, you’re marrying your princess when this is over.” 

And that brought everything crashing back. “But what if she’s not okay about the demigod stuff?”

“The whole point of monarchy is ‘my bloodline is super special.’ Of course she’ll be cool about it.” 

“And if she is cool with the demigod shit, but says no when I propose?”

Luke stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?” 

“What?”

“That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said in your life.”

“Hey!”

“She is obsessed with you. And in love with you. She has brought you to state dinners. You’ve waved at coronations. Of course she’ll say yes.” 

“Only the one coronation.” Percy felt the need to point out. 

Luke kicked him in the shin. He did not hold back.

[bilobatum]

i think my issue with recent barry seasons (3/4) is that it looks like the show is losing its appreciation of the serialized format. it is a pitfall many recent shows fall into, but mainly the ones that release entire seasons at a time, since it allows the viewer to literally watch them like one very long film. bill hader is clearly more interested in writing and directing movies now (he has said he planned on doing so as soon as barry was over) so it feels like this season, especially, is being treated like one drawn out indie psychological horror movie. since season 3 i cant pinpoint episode themes and distinguishing points anymore. even though they are still released weekly, it doesnt seem they care that much about making the episodes individually appealing anymore, which is why many people might find its pace too slow or repetitive -- its not that they cant enjoy the long still takes and the recurring themes, is just that the episodes dont work that well on their own. like a plate of pasta made with a single overly long noodle

[luxaofhesperides]

stealing clothes

college au ft. domestic joongdok. i am so predictable.

also on ao3.

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Kim Dokja is extremely lucky to have Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate. Not just because Yoo Joonghyuk is the campus heartthrob and Kim Dokja is the one who gets to see him everyday, and not because Yoo Joonghyuk is the perfect house husband, cleaning and cooking because he banned Kim Dokja from doing both. 

While both those things are nice, the best part about having Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate is stealing his shirts. 

Not to do anything weird! They’re just… comfortable.

He even got permission! For the first few, at least. 

It all starts because Yoo Joonghyuk was going to throw out perfectly good shirts that have been worn and washed enough to become soft, the type of softness that even the most high quality shirts can’t capture. They weren’t dirty, or torn, just old. So Kim Dokja protests this and tries to get Yoo Joonghyuk to keep them, only for him to scowl and throw the shirts at him.

“You keep them then,” he said, then left. And Kim Dokja did. 

He’s well aware that wearing his hot roommate’s shirts might be (is) weird, so he only wears them on long nights when he needs some extra comfort to get him through his last assignments, or when Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t home. He never wears them when Yoo Joonghyuk might see. He’d rather die. 

And because his wonderful roommate is out for the night, no doubt at a party celebrating his latest gaming tournament win, Kim Dokja is settled in for a long night of reading, curled up on the couch in one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s old shirts. It’s long enough to reach down past his thighs, so he doesn’t bother wearing pants, and a blanket over his shoulders helps with the chill his exposed collarbones bring. 

The apartment is quiet, most people out or sleeping, and the latest update of his favorite web novel is a long one. And should he get hungry, there’s dinner in the fridge, courtesy of Yoo Joonghyuk who is very determined to get Kim Dokja eating more regularly. 

It’s been too long since he was able to be so relaxed and comfortable. No urgent deadlines, no projects to stress about, no tests in the near future hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

He’s so comfortable that halfway through the chapter he’s reading, Kim Dokja begins nodding off. The living room is gradually getting darker as the sun begins to set, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t take a nap; his sleep schedule is fucked anyways, a little rest won’t hurt him at all.

The sound of the door opening rouses him. 

Distantly, Kim Dokja hears a lock click and a heavy sigh, but half-awake, he can’t be sure if it’s real or part of a dream. 

He opens sleep-heavy eyes to a dark living room; he must have been sleeping for a few hours, long enough for the sun to fully set and the moon to shine brightly. His entire body feels heavy and slow. 

Slowly, Kim Dokja sits up, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his hips. He stretches his arms up above his head, arching his spine a bit, drawing out the stretch as he shakes off the last of his nap. 

Behind him, someone chokes. 

Startled, Kim Dokja drops his arms and turns to see Yoo Joonghyuk standing in front of the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s… shirtless. Kim Dokja quickly looks away. 

“When did you get back?” he asks, trying to break the strange tension that suddenly fills the apartment.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent for a few moments before Kim Dokja hears him step closer. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is it late?”

The light turns on suddenly and Kim Dokja winces, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. 

“It’s only nine.” 

Huh. He wasn’t asleep for too long then. He feels the couch dip and looks up to see Yoo Joonghyuk sitting right next to him instead of anywhere else on their rather large couch. He’s staring at Kim Dokja’s chest, which makes him shift uncomfortably. 

He glances down to see what has Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. There’s no stains or anything…

Then his heart stops for a solid minute. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. And Yoo Joonghyuk knows it’s his old shirt because it’s way too big for Kim Dokja! 

Please don’t bring it up, Kim Dokja mentally begs, trying to send the plea into Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. 

“Isn’t that one of my old shirts?” he asks. Telepathy has failed. Kim Dokja changes to Plan B which is Fake His Death And Start A New Life. 

“Uh. Yeah. You gave it to me,” Kim Dokja answers, hoping Yoo Joonghyuk won’t think he’s weird and kick him out. He’s not willing to give up the best roommate he’s ever had! He just can’t go back to living with the worst people in existence, who treat him horribly and steal his things. He just can’t. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them,” Yoo Joonghyuk says instead of demanding that Kim Dokja move out. 

“I don’t wear them often.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dart farther down. “You’re also not wearing pants.”

Kim Dokja pulls the blanket over his legs and tries to pretend Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t just say that. “Well, you’re not wearing a shirt! You’re only wearing…” he trails off, finally letting himself look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Those sweatpants look familiar. They look just like the ones he thought he lost months ago. “...Isn’t that mine?”

“...Our laundry must have gotten mixed up.”

That’s a lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is not one to mix up their laundry. They’ve never accidentally taken each other’s clothes. 

Kim Dokja smiles and Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, his ears turning red. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he says sweetly in a way that Yoo Joonghyuk knows is a threat.

“I don’t see why I can’t have some of your clothes if you have mine.”

“My clothes don’t fit you! And besides, isn’t it strange for us to be sharing clothes?”

“No. You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”

Kim Dokja has no response to that. He freezes, then ducks his head, trying to hide his quickly warming cheeks. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard that he is, doesn’t let Kim Dokja hide. He wraps an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist and pulls him closer, hard enough to send him falling against his side. “Stop being so shy and wear my shirts while I’m around.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I got bored and left early. I prefer being here with you.”

“Don’t think sweet talking is going to make me forget about you stealing my sweatpants.”

“Oh?” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a large hand down Kim Dokja’s spine, making him shiver. “What should I do then?”

“Nothing!” Kim Dokja hits his chest, but makes no moves to put any space between them. He is not going to be thinking about why. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should go to sleep since you spent hours at that tournament. Congratulations on another win, by the way.”

Smiling, Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, forcing Kim Dokja to bend back a bit, putting more of his weight on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “You were watching?”

“I always watch when you compete. What’s the point of having a popular gamer for a roommate if I can’t brag about him?”

Without another word, Yoo Joonghyuk collapses on top of him, crushing him against the couch.

“Hey!” Kim Dokja flails, then smacks Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “What’s that for!”

“You’re right, I am tired.”

“Then go to bed!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk tightens his grip on Kim Dokja’s waist, then nuzzles into his neck. The feeling of his hair brushing against his neck makes Kim Dokja shiver, not quite tickling him but just enough to have the sensation send sparks down his spine. 

He sighs softly, and feeling it against his skin brings a deep blush to Kim Dokja’s cheeks. “I’d prefer to stay here for the night,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja grumbles about being squished beneath the heavy weight of his body, but ultimately decides to indulge himself and stay. 

They stay like that, sleeping on the couch, all through the night. They both wake with stiff necks in the morning, but Kim Dokja doesn’t mind at all when it lets him stay in Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace a little longer.

Things change after that. 

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call them friends, per se. Not before That Night. Roommates, yes. Acquaintances who get along well, yes. Friends? No. 

But now, he’s not too sure what to call their relationship. They live together so they have to spend some time together, but school keeps them both busy and Kim Dokja often spends his time at the library with Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah while Yoo Joonghyuk streams and goes to tournaments. 

It’s more accurate to say they exist in the same space, than to say that they spend time together. 

They get along well enough, which is why they’ve renewed their lease together for another year, but somehow, after That Night Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly… sticky.

He’s constantly making food for them. More so than before. He asks for Kim Dokja’s preferences instead of just silently handing him a plate?

Kim Dokja stares at the box of pasta in his hands. He doesn’t understand why he’s grocery shopping with Yoo Joonghyuk, but he’s gone with it for too long and can’t ask any questions now.

“Did you want pasta?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, appearing behind him without warning. Kim Dokja jumps a little, then glares at him, annoyed by how amused he looks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can just buy instant noodles.”

Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the box of pasta from his hands and adds it to the cart. “Absolutely not. I’ll make noodles for you later.”

“You can make noodles from scratch?”

“It’s not hard.”

Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk right that very second if asked. He also doesn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly spoiling him, but he’s not going to question a good thing. He’s going to get as much as he can out of this, because who knows when it will end?

So he bumps his hip against Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a smile as they walk down the aisle, and asks, “Can we get ice cream?”

Yoo Joonghyuk does not answer for a long minute, then glances at Kim Dokja’s hopeful expression and sighs. “Fine.”

He really is getting spoiled.

Kim Dokja fully intends to use this knowledge for evil.

Another thing that’s changed: clothes. 

Since Kim Dokja didn’t complain enough about his sweatpants being stolen before he fell asleep, Yoo Joonghyuk decided he could just take Kim Dokja’s most comfortable sweatpants and wear them whenever he wants. So what if he looks really good! They’re still Kim Dokja’s and he will hold this grudge for as long as he needs to. 

He intends to steal more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts as revenge, except he doesn’t need to steal anything. Because Yoo Joonghyuk just leaves his shirts in Kim Dokja’s room. So he wears them and tries not to get flustered when Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him each time he walks out of his room wearing something Yoo Joonghyuk left him. 

It’s a losing battle.

On the bright side, he no longer has to hide it. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s getting more and more used to lounging in the living room in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts. 

The hungry look Yoo Joonghyuk gives him is also nice to see. 

Kim Dokja may be the king of denial, but even he can’t lie to himself with how obvious Yoo Joonghyuk is being. Nor can he pretend that he isn’t doing this for that exact reason, or spending more time at the apartment to be with him. 

They’re both pushing in little ways, but it’s not enough for him to be willing to push their relationship out of the cloud of ambiguity its currently in. 

Before he knows it, half his closet is Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothes, and he has to go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants to study in because all of them got stolen. The rude bastard really has no shame. 

“Why don’t we just keep our clothes in the same room?” Yoo Joonghyuk suggests after Kim Dokja complains to him about this. 

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Just take all your things into my room. I’ll make space for you.”

And so Kim Dokja suddenly finds himself sharing a room with Yoo Joonghyuk. And then sharing a bed. And then waking up with him to his absurdly early alarm. 

They’re not dating, and he says as much to Han Sooyoung when talking about this; she just rolls her eyes and calls him and idiot for not realizing what’s going on. 

She has absolutely no room to talk, being in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Yoo Sangah instead of just asking her out on a date like normal people would. 

They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja leans into him when they watch a movie together after rejecting a party invite. They’re not dating, but Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his cheek each morning before he gets up to make breakfast. They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja will settle into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap while wearing nothing but one of his shirts to finish a reading for one of his classes. 

They’re not dating, but he certainly wants to. 

However, Kim Dokja would sooner pass away then actually talk about his feelings, so he bottles it up, greedily hoards all the affection he gets from Yoo Joonghyuk, and hopes he makes his move soon because Kim Dokja is starting to get impatient.

In the meantime, he’ll steal another shirt and pretend he didn’t do it on purpose just to get Yoo Joonghyuk to look at him. 

[duffslut]

I'm gonna do it here so its easy rather than the comments lol

steven and pasta

You and your boyfriend were shooting a music video, you weren't sure if you were going to show it to anyone yet, but the idea was fun so you just turned on the camera and put on specific clothes, Steven only tied half of his blond hair into a bun on top of his head and left the rest down, it took you forever to convince him to do it, but he sure had gotten even more handsome, and his smile had gotten even more enhanced. You put on your sundress and a red lipstick. There was a small table set up outside the house, with a plate of pasta on it, you and Steven sat down, the camera started recording and some soft music played in the background just to make you two more comfortable.

Steven stared into your eyes as you started to eat the pasta, and it turned out that the entire plate of pasta was just one strand of noodles that was too long. The strand was shortening until finally there was a minimum distance between your mouths.

When your lips touched Steven's with a peck, your red lipstick colored his mouth, leaving the shape of your lips on his.

Steven somehow noticed it, maybe from the way you were looking at him.

- Was this supposed to happen? - He asked, his head still, only moving his eyes towards the camera.

You couldn't control yourself seeing how cute he was, and even if no, that shouldn't happen, you placed your hands on Steven's cheeks and started kissing all over his face, leaving your love marks on his skin, and in the music video.

[phantasmagoric-acquaintance]

who said anything about marriage

[read it here or on ao3]

Barry was nervous.

That was nothing new. Barry was nervous most of the time. But Barry hadn’t been nervous around Lup in decades.

There were so many things that could go wrong. For one, he could lose the ring. For the millionth time in the past half hour, he patted the outside of his jacket pocket. He felt the little box and exhaled quietly.

He could screw up the plan. They’d already made it to the restaurant on time, thank the Gods. But what if they missed the gondola ride? He’d booked the damned thing in advance, and if the rules he’d read online were any indication, the company didn’t give latecomers a whole lot of leeway. He could pop the question on the streets next to the canal, he supposed, but that was unromantic. Plus, he’d pre-paid so much for the ride.

And what if he fell? He’d made himself sick the night before reading articles about mistakes to avoid on a gondola. He knew not to try to stand, but what if he forgot? He could tip the boat and soak them both.

“Um, babe?”

Lup’s voice brought Barry out of his anxious reverie, and he remembered he’d been pouring a glass of wine, which was now very close to overflowing. “Aah!” He hastily righted the bottle, hitting the mouth against the overfilled glass in the process and very nearly knocking it over.

Lup snickered, eyes glinting with amusement. “You are a wreck,” she said as she lifted her own wine glass to her lips. There wasn’t a hint of malice in her voice or in her expression. Barry remembered that he’d probably embarrassed himself in front of her thousands of times, and she still loved him. As the waiter came by to take their orders, Barry felt himself relaxing.

That calm moment was short-lived.

When the waiter turned away from their table, Lup propped her elbows up on the table and rested her chin on her palms. “Hey, Bear?”

“Mm-hm?” Barry vocalized, sipping from his comically full wine glass.

“When are we gonna get married?”

Barry sputtered, spitting a little wine back into his glass and trying not to choke on the rest of it. “Huh?!?” Had she figured out his plan? She was clever, and he wasn’t the best at keeping secrets, but he thought he’d done a good job of keeping it from her. He’d known better, too, than to tell anyone expect Taako. Did she get it out of him?

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, don’t freak out or anything. It’s just, you know, we’ve been together for, like, I don’t know, an entire human lifespan?” She shifted her chin so that it rested only on her left palm and reached for her glass with her free hand. “I mean, we’re pretty much already married. I just thought, I dunno, maybe we should make it official.”

If Barry had been thinking, he might’ve told her “Yes! Gods, yes!” right then and there. He might’ve pulled out the ring and said, “Funny you should ask, I was thinking the same thing!” If he had been thinking, he might have realized that this moment, right here in the restaurant, was the perfect opportunity to do what he’d set out to do this evening.

But Barry wasn’t thinking. Barry was panicking.

“M-marriage? Who said anything about marriage?”

Lup set her left arm back down on the table. “Huh? Nobody said anything about it. Or, I guess I did.” She looked down at her glass and swirled it around a bit. “Geez, Barry, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I knew it’d make you all, like, panicky and sweaty and shit.”

“I-I’m not panicky and sweaty.” He was very obviously both of these things. It was this moment that the waiter came by, awkwardly setting their plates in front of them and hurrying off, sensing that whatever was happening here, it was definitely not something he wanted to be privy to any longer than necessary. “Y-you just caught me off guard, that’s all. Marriage is, you know, a big word.”

“Well, sure.” Lup picked up a fork and began swirling it in her pasta. “But, like, haven’t you thought about it before?” She lifted the fork to her mouth.

“Thought about marrying you?” Barry was drenched in sweat now.

“Mm-hm,” Lup managed through a mouthful of linguini.

“Well, no, I mean, why would I?”

This was absolutely, positively, the wrong thing to say. It might have been the worst possible thing Barry could’ve said, and he’d said it, and he couldn't take it back.

Lup swallowed her food hard and gaped at him. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Uhh…” He took a long sip of his wine.

“What do you mean, ‘Why would I?’?”

The pressure was on now, and Barry tended to falter under pressure. “I just, I mean, marriage is, it’s such a long-term commitment, you know? It, uh, ties you down and stuff.”

Lup’s eyes went even wider. “Barry, what are you trying to say?” she asked softly.

Barry threw his hands up. “Nothing! I- nothing! Just, you’re such a, a free spirit, I, uh, wouldn’t wanna… hold you back?”

She deflated, and he knew he’d dug himself deeper. “Yeah, okay.” She put her elbow back on the table, making a fist with her left hand and resting her cheekbone on her knuckles, and looked down at her plate.

Silence. Barry cut off a bit of his salmon and ate it. “Mmm!” he hummed exaggeratedly. “The salmon is amazing! How’s your food?”

Lup pushed her noodles around on her plate, not looking up. “It’s fine. Fantastic.”

They stayed like that for a while, him slowly eating his food and watching her, her only taking small occasional bites and refusing to look anywhere but her plate.

“Um, are… are you ready for the check?” Barry asked after some time.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Whenever.” Lup stood. “Just, like, excuse me for a minute first.” She walked quickly towards the restroom.

When the door closed behind her, Barry sighed and sunk his face into his hands. He didn’t have the slightest idea how he was going to recover. “Fuck,” he breathed into his hands.

After a minute, Barry heard the sound of footsteps, distinct from the clicking of Lup’s heels, approach the table. “Barold.”

He lifted his head to see Taako, still in his full chef’s uniform, glaring at him, arms crossed. Fuck, he was really in trouble now. “Hi, Taako.” In retrospect, maybe it was a mistake to have this dinner at Lup’s brother’s restaurant. It had seemed like a sweet idea at the time. Taako had only recently gotten comfortable cooking for large crowds again, and he and Lup made efforts to support him when they could.

Taako leveled a glare at Barry. “One of my little birdies has just informed me that she saw my sister run crying into the bathroom. Would you, dear customer, mind telling me why that is?”

Barry exhaled, long and slow. “I beefed it, Taako.”

“You beefed it? What does that mean, exactly?”

“Okay, she brought up marriage out of nowhere and it threw me off and I didn’t want to spoil the proposal and I panicked and maybe I said some things I didn’t mean.”

“Such as…?”

“Such as… ‘I’ve never thought about marrying you,’ and ‘Marriage ties people down’…”

“Oh, good Gods. All because you didn’t wanna spoil some dumb overly romantic surprise?”

Barry flushed. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Taako pinched the bridge of his nose. “Barry, I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to have this fixed by the end of tonight.”

Barry grimaced. “I-I’ll try.”

“You’ve also wasted my food.” Taako nodded at Lup’s mostly-untouched plate and tossed a leather check holder onto the table. “And if I find any fire damage in my bathroom, I’m charging you for that, too.” With that, Taako turned and strode back into the kitchen.

By the time Lup came out of the bathroom, Barry’s credit card had already been returned to him and he was signing the receipt. He looked up at her and tried not to wince when he noticed the mascara tracks marking paths down her cheeks from her puffy eyes. “Ready to go?”

“Mm.” She still wouldn’t look at him. He led her outside, and she leaned against the building, hugging herself and staring into space, eyes unfocused.

Barry stood next to her uneasily. “Uh, I’m going to… call the taxi now?”

“Mm-hm.”

Barry didn’t reach for his phone. Another uncomfortable silence passed.

Then, he sighed. “Okay, I-I didn’t wanna do it like this, but…”

Barry knelt down, pulled the ring box out of his pocket, and flipped it open.

Lup finally turned to face him now, stunned. “Wh-what-?”

He blushed and began rambling. “I had this whole evening planned, and there was supposed to be a gondola ride, that’s where we were supposed to go next, and I was going to ask you there, but then you brought up marriage and I panicked and I put my fucking foot in my mouth. It was so dumb, I’m so sorry I said all that shit, I didn’t mean any of it, I just really wanted it to be a surprise. Gods, I was so fucking dumb, of course I wanna marry you, if you’ll still have m-“

Lup bent down, grabbed Barry’s face, and kissed him hard.

Barry felt all the tension in his body melt away. He shut the ring box and held it securely in one hand. He brought the other up to sweep Lup’s hair behind her ear and held it there, against her cheek.

When Lup pulled away, she rested her forehead against his. “You’re a fucking wreck, baby.”

He chuckled. She was crying again and, Barry realized, so was he. “I know.”

She beamed. “We’ll work on it together, fiancé.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I can’t believe you did all that for a fucking gondola ride, though. I mean, no offense, dear, but I’m kinda glad we didn’t do that.”

He grimaced. “Well, about that, I paid a lot of money for it, and there’s still time…”

Lup pouted. “Do we have to? I’d rather go home.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’ll make it up to you,” she breathed.

Barry smiled. “Yeah, okay. You’ve convinced me.”

“Perfect!” Lup stood up, smirked, and held out her left hand. “Now gimme that rock!”

Taako lifted his phone off the bedside table and squinted at his notifications.

Lulu: Missed Call

Lulu: Voicemail

Remembering the scene at his restaurant the night before, he inhaled sharply and unlocked his phone. There are two ways that situation could’ve played out, he thought. He navigated to his voicemailbox and pressed play on the most recent message.

“Ugh, it’s so annoying how you’re never awake when I have news. I have big fucking news, by the way, so I’m gonna be really pissed at you if you don’t call me back within the next, like, two hours. Okay, later.”

Taako smiled. It was a relief to hear her sound so chipper. It meant this news of hers was definitely good, and it meant that Taako didn’t have to fight Barold. He sat up, rubbed the dust out of his eyes, and called his sister.

[onyxylophone]

(♡♡ another piece for @bakedbananners werewolf mcga AU! ♡♡)

"Can You Stay With Me For Dinner?"

"Alright, Chase. Tonight it's your turn to bring her dinner."

          Magnus made a face as he held up his plate, "Why does it feel like it's my turn a lot?"

          Mallory shrugged, "You're the only one of us that hasn't gotten maimed, 'cept for Sam. Maybe she likes you?"

          She scooped out two servings- one plate for Magnus, the other for the new girl. Spaghetti; a pack favorite multiple nights a week. Cheap, filling, and everyone in the house knew how to make it.

          "Mallory, she hates me."

          "Well, somebody's got to bring her a plate, and Gunderson's still traumatized from last time."

          Magnus sighed, resigning to his fate. He pushed aside the multiple empty pasta boxes on the counter to grab a fork each and two cans of Sprite. A nice, caffeine-free peace offering; or, more accurately, a bribe that would hopefully prevent him from getting his face ripped off.

          Balancing both plates proved to be a somewhat difficult task. Magnus carefully made his way up the stairs, earning a sympathetic look from TJ as the other werewolf was coming down for dinner.

          Magnus let out a deep breath as he knocked on their newest pack member's bedroom door. Immediately, he could hear a familiar, low warning growl start up. He slowly opened the door inwards. 

          Light from the hallway washed over the only furniture currently in the room: a solitary air mattress pushed into the corner across from the window. The rest of the room was decorated with deep, gouging claw marks.

          The pile of blankets on said mattress shrunk further in on herself, leaving only a few green curls visible against the pillows.

         "Hey," Magnus tried for a soft, quiet tone of voice. The growling got louder as she recognized who it was. "I, uh…brought you food?"

          The blankets slowly sat up and promptly fell away, revealing Alex Fierro. She glared at him with her one good eye. At first, it was kind of terrifying, but the more he looked the more Magnus kind of felt…bad for her. The entire left side of her face was bandaged, wrapping around her throat and down towards her chest.

          Magnus remembered how much it had sucked recovering from his wounds. How much it hurt. How miserable he'd felt being stuck in bed all day like that.

          He must have been standing there too long. Alex snarled at him, making a move like she was going to transform. Magnus stepped backwards, getting ready to grab the door and swing it closed.

          "Wait!" He warned, "If you shift, you'll rip your bandages again!"

          Alex paused, still rumbling deep in her throat, "Where's Samirah?" She demanded.

          "She's got soccer practice," Magnus told her, "So it's just me tonight."

          Alex thought that over for a moment, before finally motioning for him to come in. She watched him warily. He handed her both her pasta plate and can of pop. She winced as she slowly pulled herself into a proper sitting position on the air mattress.

          Without saying a word, Magnus sat cross-legged on the floor across from her, balancing his own plate in his lap and setting his Sprite down next to his knee.

          "Uh-?" Alex raised an eyebrow, her growl faltering, "Isn't this supposed to be the part where you, you know, leave?"

          Magnus shrugged, "I figured you could use somebody to eat with."

          He dug his fork into a section of spaghetti and haphazardly shoveled in a mouthful. A few noodles fell from his mouth.

          "Oh," Alex said quietly, looking down at her food, "...Okay."

          She twirled a bite of spaghetti onto her fork and raised it to her mouth. Chewing was still a little painful. She forced herself to eat slower than she would normally.

          "...Still hurts?"

          Alex hummed. "A little," She admitted, "But I've had it worse."

          She carefully ate another bite. Magnus reached over and opened her drink for her.

          "Is there something I can do to help?" He asked, now opening his own can as well, "Do you need anything?"

          He downed a swig of Sprite and immediately followed it up with another much-too-big mouthful. As he tried to scoop the rest of the bite inside, the other end of a group of noodles flung upwards, smacking him between the eyes and leaving a red smear of sauce across his nose and forehead.

          Alex barked out a laugh, making Magnus jump. He watched her with wide eyes as she hunched over, shoulders shaking, her fork sliding along the rim of her plate. It was the first time he'd ever seen her look genuinely happy.

          "Oof, ow- ow!" Alex exhaled, one hand reaching for her bandaged side. "That," She told him, her eye glittering as she wiped away a tear with the back of her hand, "I needed that."

          The room felt noticeably lighter. Alex still wasn't exactly much for conversation, but Magnus didn't mind. They ate together quietly. 

          Magnus finished first, resorting to scraping up leftover sauce with the side of his fork while he waited. Once Alex was finished eating, he stacked her empty plate on top of his and grabbed his half-empty drink.

          "Um, goodnight?" Magnus said, "I hope you feel better."

          He made his way over to the open doorway and placed his hand on the doorknob.

          "Magnus." It was the first time she'd called him by his name.

          He paused, looking back over his shoulder, "Yeah?"

          Alex stared at him. Her expression was carefully unreadable.

          "...Thank you."

[ageless-soul-au]

Omg Imagine Warriors and Legend doing that famous spagetti scene from the lady and the tramp.

I wrote a little something for this and Mizu doodled!! I colored bc I'm insatiable lol

Spaghetti Amore 🤌

Sharing food is romantic, Ravio had said. It would be cute, Nadea had said. Sit in his lap while you do or it's not authentic, Marin had said.

Yeah, well, Legend was dying a little and Link wasn't faring much better.

Legend wasn't quite in his boyfriend's lap, but it was damn close. Their chairs were pressed close together at the dining table to the point their thighs brushed and Legend could easily hook their ankles together (which he did) and they were sharing a plate of spaghetti. Why were they sharing a plate instead of just splitting it between two and calling it a day? Because their partners hated them, apparently.

"You two are adorable," Marin said, but her tone was sickeningly sweet and her grin made Legend's eye twitch.

"Hush," he grumbled, but Link nudged him.

"It's not that bad," the colonel said with a fond little eye roll, and Legend knew he was right. He was just being melodramatic because Marin and Ravio were being little shits about it and Nadea was going along with them and they were preying on his embarrassment. But no, it wasn't all bad. Link's arm was wrapped around his waist which forced him to eat with his non dominant hand, but it was so he wouldn't elbow Legend accidentally. The small gesture was sweet, and Legend was being held because of it, and maybe possibly that made it almost tolerable.

His boyfriend was sweet and considerate and Legend liked him, okay? Fuckin' hell.

It became intolerable though.

Legend was very much not looking at Link (so he wouldn't turn as red as his tunic from all the butterflies occupying his chest cavity) and that was his first mistake. His second was trusting that the noodles were short enough to not cause problems while sharing food. His third was assuming that Link was paying attention instead.

A single too-long noodle was their downfall.

One second they were eating, listening to Ravio talk about shenanigans going on in Lorule Castle, the next Legend was following wherever the fuck his noodle was going and he was met with Link entirely too close to his face, one noodle strung between them, almost picturesque.

Legend did not squeak. He didn't.

He did jerk back, breaking the noodle and nearly falling off his chair if it wasn't for Link's arm around his waist, though the other hero jumped too.

Ravio broke off mid sentence to pout, "Awww, you didn't kiss! Boo!! That would've been perfect!"

Legend was as red as his tunic now, unfortunately. He balked. "Wh--! How can you--! I'm not kissing any of you with food in your mouth!"

"Di' you plan this?!" Link accused the merchant, flustered and a little pink himself.

"Whaaaat? No, how could someone plan something so specific?" Marin answered for him, and Legend wanted to scream at the mischievous glint in her eye and that fucking wry smile.

Ravio shook his head. "Totally not orchestrated at all."

"Oh I'm so fucking sorry I don't believe you," Legend tried to sneer, but it probably didn't come across very intimidating.

Link sighed and leaned back in his chair. "....Dea?"

She was pointedly not looking at them, but Nadea responded, "...No idea what you're talking about."

Legend threw his head back and groaned. "I hate all of you..."

Ravio stuck his tongue out at him while Marin grinned behind her hand, trying not to giggle.

"...E'en me?" Link asked, glancing sideways at him.

And Legend hated, hated it, but he was weak, and he tucked himself into Link's side just a little before stabbing at the pasta with his fork.

"...No. You can stay in good graces."

"AWWWW--"

"Rav, shut up!"

(hope you enjoyed!)

-Kio

[mae-gi-writes]

hi maemae, what about i got you by bebe rexha with either ju/sangyeon? 🙈

AHHHH Yu! MY NUMBER ONE MOOT WHO’S BEEN THERE FROM DAY 1! I HOPE YOU LIKE YOUR REQUEST <3 Heree we go for some sangyeon feels 🌹🌹🌹 Also I got carried away with this but oh welll this is what happens when you’re on a roll xx

-----

I got you | l. sangyeon

Song request: I Got You - BeBe Rexha

Genre: angst/fluff

Everything has been so hard. 

Your work. Your social life. Your eating habits. Your entire life. 

You’ve carved yourself into a hole that keeps on crumbling upon you, piles and piles of responsibility that keep getting thrust in your face the more you try struggling. Work has turned into a boring, monotonous routine of getting to the office, spending eight hours straight staring at your screen, then going back home and collapsing onto your bed with no energy left. You haven’t seen your friends since forever and your phone which usually blew up with messages is now silent and empty, void of any human interaction that you crave for. 

It’s harder these days because of the pandemic and you know that this will pass eventually. You just can’t seem to figure out how.

Which is why you find yourself drowning in a bottle of wine by the time Friday evening rolls around. Sitting outside upon your porch and letting its bittersweet aftertaste drip down your throat like medicine, you’re not quite sure what you’re aiming for really -- whether it be to throw up or pass out -- until there’s a soft knock at your door.

Groggily opening up with a confused frown, you see none other than Sangyeon’s face and immediately reel back with shock. 

“What are you doing here?!” you screech out. If you had known, you would’ve tried making an effort with your appearance! Unconsciously, your hand finds its way to your hair in an attempt to detangle its knots.

“You look terrible,” is his response. He doesn’t wait before blundering past you into the kitchen and settling down what looks like a bunch of takeaway containers, “Why have you been avoiding my calls?” 

You flinch out of impulse. He’s right; you have been avoiding your maybe-boyfriend most of all, merely due to the fact that you can’t help feeling like a failure and wondering how lowly he must think of you. 

Sangyeon is the epitome of a hard worker, starting out as a mere waiter in a quaint noodle shop and toiling hard for two years before he got promoted as a sous-chef. Then, his manager has seen so much potential in him that Sangyeon got appointed as the head chef a year later. 

You know all this because you’ve seen him go through it and grow through every single obstacle sent his way, circulating in the same friend group and sharing the same passion for food. However, it hasn’t been long since this friendship has slowly budded into something you’d like to believe is a start of a romance.

Not that either of you made it clear. It’s something, but what? You’re not quite sure yourself. 

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” 

“Huh?” you snap back to reality, blushing upon realizing the lack of distance between your faces, “oh--sorry. What did you say?” 

“I asked you why you’ve been avoiding my calls,” there’s a tone of exasperation in his voice. But a little more than that. You’d like to believe that it’s concern, “are you okay, Y/N? You really look like--” 

“I’m fine,” you cut him off, turning away before he can spot the slight tremble in your lip, the slow tears building at the corner of your eyes. 

A warm hand grasps your forearm, “tell me.” 

It’s an order. One that you can’t help to oblige. You swivel around slowly, embarrassed that he -- your biggest crush -- gets to see you like this, in such a horrible, vulnerable state. 

You hate it. Yet, once the tears start silently carving silvery paths down your cheeks, there’s no stopping them. 

Sangyeon pulls you into his chest with a soft sigh, allowing his arms to encircle your waist while one of his hands comb through your hair. You cry silently in his shoulder, fully aware of the growing wetness seeping through his shirt, but his grip doesn’t lessen when you try tugging back. 

Instead, he holds you a little tighter, murmuring into your ear, “come on, let it out.” 

You’ve never been a fan of loud crying. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re so used to keeping in your sobs, stuffing your blanket into your mouth in order to restrain the tears, the pain, the suffering. But Sangyeon stays even so, hand continuously smoothing along your head and down your back in a way that renders you soft and mellow against him.

When you have no tears left to cry, he does the job of pulling away slightly so that his face hovers just millimetres from your own. You hope you don’t look like shit.

“I brought you some pasta,” he murmurs, “cooked by yours truly.” 

And you swear it’s the best fucking pasta you’ve ever eaten in your life. You’re not entirely sure how you manage to finish a whole plate -- considering you’d barely had any appetite these days -- but you have to admit that you feel much, much better after finally leaning back into your cheek with a full stomach.

Sangyeon eyes you from his side of the table, chuckling at the look of satisfaction on your face. 

“What?” you’re about to scowl, but then remember that you shouldn’t put your walls up so high. It’s only Sangyeon. Only Sangyeon.

"Should’ve started by giving you the pasta,” his eyes, warm and tender and just so fucking beautiful, sparkle in the dim light of the kitchen, “maybe then you wouldn’t have cried over my shirt.” 

“Oh shut up,” you snap back half-heartedly. He knows there’s no bite to your tone. 

His leg nudges yours underneath the table and, prompted to gaze up at him, he asks, “what’s going on, Y/N?” 

You bite your lower lip. Eyes fixing onto the table top before you, you decide to spill everything. Everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sangyeon’s voice is rough wth concern, annoyance that permeates through. But you’re adamant on not making eye contact, so adamant that you hear his chair scrape back, then the soft pad of his feet over to your side of the table.

Warm fingers cup your chin, leaving you with no choice but to face him as your eyes quickly slip downwards.

"I didn't want to trouble you," is what spills from your lips in a soft murmur, "I'm not used to people worrying about me and I guess...I just got used to it. Dealing with that shit on my own."

You don't have to look at him to know that his gaze is soft and warm. It makes you want to curl up in his lap and burrow your face into hid chest, away from the world.

As if reading your mind, Sangyeon tugs you closer so that he can hug you properly, "I got you," his murmur brushes against your ear, "I got your back Y/N. And you can tell me anything. I don't care if you think it's none of my business. I want to know."

He holds you in silence for a while, the only sound echoing through your ears being his heartbeat. A soft thumping against his chest, vibrating with every breath taken.

It's almost like a miracle, the way your body softens underneath his touch like it has been waiting for him all along. With Sangyeon there, it feels easier to breathe, not to think so much.

"Thank you," you whisper, clearing your throat. You repeat yourself once more for good measure, to which he chuckles and presses the lightest of kisses atop your head.

"Next time, you'll tell me. Right?" He cocks his head to look at you.

You pull back slightly to gaze up at him in the dim back light of the dining room. It's crappy lighting and yet, it curves along his features so nicely.

"Fine," you mumble after realizing you hadn't answered him yet, "I'll try."

A smile breaks over his face. He kisses your cheek then, causing heat to spring up over your face, "that's a promise then."

[wwilloww]

unwind - m | knj

Pairing: soft dom Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut. Explicit. 18+.

WC: 5.5k

Summary: You come home after a long, stressful day at work to your boyfriend, who does his best to cheer you up and remind you that you can always rely on him. Sometimes the best form of self-care is simply accepting affection and care from someone else.  

Warnings: softdom!Namjoon. Dom and sub play. Dirty talk. Spanking. Fingering. Oral sex (f receiving). Edging. Orgasm denial. Thigh riding. Begging. Unprotected sex within a committed relationship. Multiple orgasms. Creampie. Aftercare.

A/N: This story is a commission by an anonymous donor through @ficswithluv‘s Changes With Luv project. Thank you so much for your donation—I hope it lives up to your idea! I’m sending my whole heart out to the incredible Luna @moonchild-og​ and Ash @ot7always who beta read this very late last night! Also, shoutout to @meowxyoong @strawbxxymilk @randombtsprincessa @diedinwarofhormones for sharing their thirst for soft doms with me.

|| masterlist || ao3 ||

wwilloww ©️ do not repost, translate, or copy.

The door seems particularly heavy as you close it behind you. You slump against it, dropping your bag on the floor as you close your eyes.

Today has been an absolute shitshow. Not only had the day been long and arduous, but your asshole boss seemed to have some kind of personal vendetta against you.

You take a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

When you open your eyes, you are met with the sight of Namjoon reclined on your couch, a thick book held up to his face. He looks over the tome at you, an eyebrow raised.  

As he takes in your sinking shoulders and tired gaze, his excitement that you’re finally home shifts into concern. Immediately, he hops off the couch to come to you, slipping your coat off of your shoulders before wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” You untuck yourself and press a kiss to his lips. When you pull back you can see a crease forming between his brow, so you reach up to roll your thumb over his forehead, smoothing out the skin for him before bringing your hand down to cradle his cheek. “Everything’s fine.”

Namjoon tightens his grip around your waist, knowing you well enough to spot the tension in your posture.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll whip something up for dinner,” he prompts, brushing a strand of hair that has fallen out of your ponytail behind your ear.

“You? Cook?”

He nods eagerly.

“I have a new recipe I’ve been practicing.” He grins, pushing you lightly away from him. “Go. Shower. You’ll feel better.” You throw him a weak smile as you make your way to the back bedroom.

You emerge from the bedroom twenty minutes later, smelling of balsam wood and lavender and wrapped in your softest sweatshirt and a pair of sleep shorts.

You wander into the kitchen, slipping quietly into one of the stools at the breakfast bar where Namjoon has left a glass of your favorite red wine. You sip the wine, pursing your lips together at the swirling bitterness that takes over your mouth. As you relish in the feeling of the cool liquid trickling down your throat, you prop up your head on your hand to watch Namjoon move around the kitchen, stirring noodles and chopping garlic and parsley.

“Babe, you look like you know what you’re doing,” you tease, sending him a wink.

“Of course I know what I’m doing!” he scoffs. He notices your wine glass is empty and makes his way around the bar with the bottle to fill it up. You eagerly offer him the glass. He fills it generously before pressing a quick kiss to your wine-stained lips.

As he turns away to return to the kitchen, you pull him towards you again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and deepening the kiss. He softens against you, letting his hands press into your lower back. However, he quickly remembers himself and pulls you away, a slight smirk on his face.

“First, you need to eat.”

He rounds the counter and proceeds to finish cooking, while you watch on with a slight pout. Your frown cracks into a gentle smile though as you study the care with which he carefully twists the pasta onto a dish and does his best to delicately sprinkle parsley on top.

He brings two identical plates to where you’re sitting. As he slides into the seat next to you, you twist so that you’re facing him, pulling his face to yours and kiss him deeply. Needing more, you tease his lips open with your tongue, sliding one hand up his thigh to squeeze the thick muscle. He kisses you back before tensing and pulling away.

“Babe, come on,” he groans, laughing.

“No, I want this,” you say, pushing your hand up until it meets the junction between hip and thigh. “I want you,” you look up innocently at him, doing your best impression of doe eyes, even as you move your hand to trace his quickly forming bulge.

His gaze hardens from playful to something more serious. He shows no sign of being affected by your increasingly distracting hand and instead picks up your fork and twirls a noodle around it, bringing it to your mouth.

“Eat or nothing else happens tonight.”

You smile sheepishly up at him and open your mouth. He feeds you until you take the fork from him and finish your meal.

“You had a tough day?” Namjoon finally asks as you finish your plate.

“No, everything’s fine.”

Namjoon watches as your brow creases. You always do this. You come home after a difficult day, and think it would be a burden to your boyfriend to share the details. So you keep them to yourself, unsuccessfully pretending that nothing has happened. Namjoon loves that you care so deeply about the way other people feel, but he hates that you do this—that you feel you need to hold back—with him.

So he sighs and puts down the dish he’s currently holding to turn to you.

“Babe, I know something’s wrong. Right?”

You pause, mulling over your options before deciding to tell him.

“Yeah,” you murmur, dropping your gaze.

“I’m not saying you need to tell me the details. I know you need time to process these kinds of things. But I also don’t want you to...to hold back from me simply because you think it’ll burden me in some way.” You meet his eyes. Instead of pity or even frustration, there’s softness there. “I’m an adult. If I can’t handle something, I’ll let you know. I don’t want you to feel like you need to hide from me or lie to me to keep me happy.”

You sigh and put your dish down so you can wrap your arms around his waist.

“I know. Thank you, Joon.” You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “I know I do this a lot. I promise I’ll work on it.”

He smiles at you.

“How can I help?”

“Is it possible to fuck the frustration away?” you tease.

You watch as something dark flashes in his eyes.

“Sure is.” He bends down to kiss you. “Will you let me take care of you?”

“Joonie, that—that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to.”

“Babe, I want to.”

“No, really, this is my shit, it’s my bad day—”

“Get on the bed.”

“What?”

“Leave your clothes at the door and get on the bed.” His voice has dropped, deep and serious, signaling his switch into his more dominating persona. “Let me take care of you.”

You leave your plate where it is and start down the hall, tugging off your sweatshirt. It’s quick work undressing, seeing as you’re only really wearing two items of clothing. As you slide your shorts down your legs you know Namjoon’s eyes are on you. You put an extra ounce of energy into slowing down the process and arching your back slightly—just enough to let his gaze linger. You peek back at him as you stand, now naked, and trail your hand over your bare skin. A soft chuckle echoes from behind you as Namjoon dumps the dishes in the sink, a task for tomorrow.

Knowing he’s shortly behind you, you step into the bedroom completely naked, and plop down on the bed.

“You know what I want, babe. Ass up.”

You smirk at him before flipping over onto your belly, kicking up your legs playfully. You rest your head on your arms as you watch Namjoon lean against the doorframe. He tugs at the top button of his shirt, his gaze roving over you: Roving over the slight valley of your lower back, the waterfall of hair against your neck, the sweet swell of your ass. He could watch you all day but knowing that he gets to touch, too, that knowledge means that just studying your form will never be enough.

He strides towards you, unbuttoning his shirt as he walks without entirely untucking it.

The bed dips under his weight as he comes behind you, swinging one knee over you so that he’s effectively straddling your upper thighs. He smooths a large palm over the smooth swell of your ass, first one cheek then the other. You melt into the sensation, his light but spanning touch raising goosebumps all over your body. He brings a second hand down on your ass, now mirroring his ministrations on each side, roving in large circles.

Slowly, he works his way upwards, palms spreading across your lower back. He’s gentle at first, hands warming you up against the cool air of the bedroom. But then his touch becomes heavier. He uses the heel of his palm to knead into the flesh and muscle of your back. Gradually he works his way up along the curve of your spine, left hand mirroring right, each one delightfully heavy as he digs into the tension you’re holding in your body.

Namjoon hits a particularly tight knot in your shoulder. As he fluctuates between the dancing pads of his fingers and the deep pressure of the heel of his hand, it slowly unravels. You groan at the painful pleasure of the pressure releasing and you know he’s smirking from behind you as he continues to work at it until he’s satisfied that he’s released it.  

“I know you had a hard day, kitten, but you should know that I’m going to take care of you—no matter what. No matter what it is that you need.” His hands come down to smooth over your back, brushing back and forth, redistributing the stagnating energy that he’s dug up. “I keep telling you this. Do you need me to remind you again?”

You nod furiously.

He leans down so that when he speaks his voice feels like it's brushing over your ear.

“You remember your safeword, love?”

You nod and mumble a soft “Mhmm.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Kaleidoscope.”

“Good girl.”

He watches as a faint blush begins to creep up your neck at the use of the pet name. Gently, he unstraddles you and pulls you up to your knees, maneuvering you to his own will. He moves so that he is sitting on the edge of the bed, and pats his lap. As if it’s second nature, you obediently lay yourself across him so your ass is up in the air.

“You know exactly what to do,” Namjoon muses, almost more to himself than to you. He runs his hand over the dip of your lower back and the rounded curve of your ass. “So pretty, just for me.”

You push up into his hand involuntarily at his words.

“Do you know why I’m doing this?”

“To remind me,” you say.

“Yes. And?”

“And?” you twist back to try to gauge his expression, but he pushes your head back down.

“And because you were so greedy earlier. Trying to get me hard at dinner, trying to get me to fuck that needy cunt in the kitchen of all places.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing and Namjoon grins when he sees the subtle movement.

“So eager, already? I haven’t even gotten started with you.”

“Plea—”

You’re cut off as his hand comes down on your ass. It’s a light slap, more of a practice run than what he knows you can take—than what he knows you crave. Still, the smallest of oh’s slips past your lips. As he runs his hand over your backside in a circular motion, you press your ass back into his touch, desperate for more.

“Is that alright?” he asks, knowing that you’re one to lean into the sting of his hand, but still wanting to check in with you.

“Yes, please, more.”

Namjoon doesn’t need any further convincing. His hand comes down on you—hard. Hard enough to elicit a gasp from you. You bite your lip to hold back the sinful sounds that threaten to escape. His hand comes down again—and again—and on the fifth hit you groan, loudly. You can feel him harden beneath you.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” Despite his obvious arousal, he does nothing but focus on the sensation of his hand hitting your supple flesh and the sight of you beneath him.

Above you, Namjoon watches as after each spank your body relaxes further in his grasp. Each strike feeds the healthy glow beneath his palm and he smiles because even as your breathing picks up, the tension you’re subconsciously holding in your body begins to slip away, allowing for a new kind of tension to grow between your legs.

His hand comes down a final time and you whimper beneath its strength.

“Okay, love. I think that’s enough for now.” He begins to pull you up, turning so he’s got one leg hanging off the bed and you’re sat upright on your knees between his legs. “You did so well.” He wraps his arms around your waist, coming to gently squeeze your ass, knowing how sensitive you must be. As you sigh into his touch, he leans in to kiss you, his lips moving tenderly over yours. “You always look so pretty for me, bent over my lap.” You flush at the praise, leaning back to push a loose strand of hair out of your mouth.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he helps move the hair out of your face.

“Much better,” you smile sweetly as you bask in the sunlight of the endorphins rushing through you.

“Better than before?”

“Mhmm. Thank you.” You press your lips against his once more before starting to slide off the bed. You move between his legs, fingers running over the leather of his belt. He’s still entirely dressed, although his shirt is hanging obscenely open, his toned chest shining softly with sweat. You tug gently on his belt, eyes looking up through your lashes and pleading.

You look gorgeous like this, on your knees, eyes wide and wet. Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, letting his head fall back just enough to expose his neck to you and groans. He reaches down to stroke your cheek as you fumble with his belt buckle.

“Darling,” he murmurs. “You are so good on your knees for me. I love it when you suck my cock—but not now.”

You pout slightly. “But, Joon, I want to make you feel good.”

“You will,” Namjoon smiles gently. “But nothing feels better than you being a good girl and listening to me.”  

He wants to say that watching the tension unravel itself from your body is what makes him feel good. That watching a smile grow softly on your face feels like heaven, or that seeing you unwind beneath him, underneath his touch, is the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

“But—”

“No. You heard what I said.”

Your pout deepens. He knows he’s not going to be able to talk you out of this, so instead, he diverts your attention.

“Go lay down.”

“I—”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow and you shut your mouth.

“Go lay down and put your hands above your head.”

You do as he asks, moving slowly until your head is resting on a short stack of pillows. You arrange yourself, knees together and hands twisted above your head. With a smirk, you spread your knees apart, revealing your inner thighs, glistening with sweat and arousal.

He watches you do this and raises an eyebrow.

“Someone’s feeling extra needy tonight, hm?” Still, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl towards you, pushing your knees even farther apart as he settles between them, still dressed.

For a moment you think he’ll stop the teasing and finally press his lips against your clit. As if reading your mind he grins up at you as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“You should know better.”

You groan in frustration, reaching down to pull his chin to where you want him. With a growl, he pins your hand back above your head and sits up slightly.

“You do know better, don’t you?” The threat is implicit in his tone: do as he’s asked or he’ll stop. You nod sheepishly. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, I’ll do what you’ve asked.”

“Good girl. Anything I want?”

You nod. “Whatever you want.”

He slowly lowers himself back to your stomach, kissing up your soft belly until he meets the slope of your breasts. He wraps his lips around your right nipple, teasing it softly, sucking, and rolling it around in his mouth. And then—oh—his teeth graze over the sensitive bud. As he continues to suckle at each nipple, your groans become louder and you squirm up into him.

Namjoon is still fully clothed and your burning skin finds little relief against the rough texture of the fabric. Still, you press up, closer to him.

Namjoon chuckles and you look down to find his lips pursed perfectly around your breast, his tongue flickering out to tease the already-bruising skin and the hard bulb of your nipple.

“God, you look wild right now, babe,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Joonie—” you gasp as he bites down particularly painfully. “I need more.”

Usually, Namjoon would draw things out or scold you for being so vocal. But alongside the dominating personality that he regularly assumes in the bedroom, tonight something softer sings alongside that hard edge. Tonight, he wants to see you unravel for him.  

You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes one long finger into your cunt without warning. Your body tenses as he begins to draw it in and out—and then quickly relaxes as he finds his pace.

He adds a second finger as he lowers his head to wrap his lips around your clitoris. With his other hand, he pushes down on your stomach, quelling the desperate movements of your hips to get more of him, to get closer to him. As he sucks on the delicate bud, it swells, pulsing rhythmically beneath his attentions. You gasp.

Namjoon gazes up at you through the swell of your breasts, watching the way your brow furrows and mouth gapes in pleasure. You can feel his lips spread into a grin against you and you look down to find him drowning in his own intensity, his shirt slipping down his shoulder, only to throw your head back again as he adds a third finger and scissors them apart.

“So obedient. You’re taking everything I give you.”

“Mhmm,” you manage to mumble through clenched teeth. “For you—”

“For me, baby girl? Just for me?” All you can do is nod stiffly as a tremor of pleasure races through you, eliciting the sweetest sounding moan from you. “That’s right, love, moan for me. You sound so gorgeous when you make those pretty little sounds.”

Your back arches as he hits a particularly spongy spot within you. As you do, he sucks extra hard on your clit, sending stars shooting up and down your spine and into your vision.

“Can I come?” you plead, breath coming in short gasps. “I-I’m so close.”

“No, baby. Hold on a little longer for me.”

Still, he doesn’t falter in his punishing pace. If anything, he picks up the speed and force. You whimper beneath him, squirming and twisting the sheets by your head between your fingers.

You do your best to hold on to the pleasure that is coiling so tightly in your belly, to hold it there, just at the edge—but then suddenly his pattern changes and you’re tipping over.

“Joon—I-I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“No,” he growls. And then as quickly as he had begun, his touch, his tongue is gone and all that is left is the cool air of the bedroom.

Tears of frustration well up in your eyes as you lift your head to see Namjoon sitting back, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I told you not to come.”

“I was so close,” you whine as you throw your head back on the pillow.

“When you come, it’ll be around my cock or not at all.”

You sit up again, crawling over to him. You tug on the loose ends of his shirt.

“Then fuck me,” you say, making your eyes big and wide just for him. You know he always goes a little weak when you do this.

His eyes grow large and he pulls you against him to kiss you furiously. He quickly slips his tongue between your lips and swipes it against the roof of your mouth. You groan into him, pressing closer, finding his clothed thigh between your legs. Unabashedly, you grind down on it, your clit rubbing against the rough material.

“Shit,” he murmurs against you, taking one of your lips between his teeth.

You continue to circle your hips against his leg, undoubtedly ruining the pants. Namjoon bites down on your lip, causing you to yelp into his mouth.

“I love to see you this desperate,” he groans. “So worked up that you’re going to use my thigh to cum, huh? Is that enough for you? Are you so fucking desperate for me that you’ll get yourself off on my thigh when you can’t get my fingers or my tongue?”

“Yes, god, yes.” Your movements become erratic as the tension he left broken within you minutes ago quickly rebuilds.

At this point your arousal has soaked entirely through the fabric of his trousers, leaving the skin beneath it wet and sticky. You’re so close, if you could just get a little closer, a little more, a—

“Stop.”

The word cuts through your blissed-out haze. You slow but don’t stop.

“I said, stop.” Namjoon's hands come down on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he halts your movements. “My girl is having trouble listening today, hm?” He takes a finger to tilt your chin up as you whine and continue to try to press against him. His fingers dig deeper into your hips. That’ll definitely leave a mark for tomorrow, and the thought of it has your cunt clenching. “What did I say about cumming?”

“Not to,” you frown.

“Unless?”

“Unless it's on your cock.”

“Good girl.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Joonie, I can’t wait anymore.”

Looking down at you, he can see that. You’re covered in sweat, love bites, and fresh bruises. Your skin is so delightfully flushed and the look in your eyes is desperate. So slowly, he nods his consent and lets you unbutton the remaining button on his shirt and slip if off his shoulders.

He watches as you unbutton his trousers and needily push them down just enough that you can slide the band of his boxers down and slip your hand inside. His cock springs free, the tip an angry red and leaking precome.

“You’re so hard for me.”

You wrap your hand around the base, stroking up once torturously slow. He loves the way your hand looks wrapped around him, and when you look up there’s a new fire in his eyes. He’s held back for about an hour, untouched, and now that your beautiful hand is stroking up and down his length, every sensation feels wildly intense.

You let go of him to reach down in between your legs and slide two fingers into your cunt to collect the slick that has gathered there. Without breaking eye contact, you wrap your hand around his cock again, spreading your wetness onto his length.

“Fuck.”

He freezes for a moment before springing into action.

Before you know what’s happening, Namjoon has wrapped his arms around your torso and is flipping you over onto your belly. The air wooshes out of you as you hit the bed, but he’s done this enough times that he knows exactly how to cradle your fall. You start to twist back to him to see what he’s doing, but he moves quickly, pressing your thighs together and coming to straddle you, similarly to how he had when he massaged you earlier. He leans over you, pushing your shoulder down so you’re facing forward again.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget everything except for this cock. How it feels inside of you, filling you,” he whispers in your ear, raising goosebumps over every inch of your skin.  

And then his movements slow. His hands disappear and you’re left touchless, squirming on the bed.  

“I-I want it,” you whine, lifting your hips up just enough that your glistening folds brush back against his cockhead. You do your best to push back onto him, to get him inside, to fill you, but his hand comes down to press on your lower back, his fingers spreading out in a fan against your skin. He pushes your spine into a delightful arch, successfully restraining your movements.

Normally you love his calculated movements: the simplicity and strength that this kind of gesture has to put you exactly in the position that he wants you in usually has goosebumps peppering your skin and a shot of adrenaline heightening all sensation. And that remains true in this moment. However, the coil in your stomach is quickly unwinding and you’re left aching for something more, for him.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Ngh—yes,” you groan, squirming against him.

“Baby, I need more than that. Use your words.” Still, he doesn’t move and instead pushes down on your back so your movements are further limited.

“I want your cock. I want your cum,” you gasp. “I want everything,” you add with a shaky breath, knowing that although you being wordy isn’t going to speed up the process, it will make Namjoon harder.

You can almost hear the smirk that spreads across his face.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, Joonie, please. I need you.”

Namjoon reaches down to grip the base of his cock and slides it against your slick folds.

“Hm, but this feels so good. I could do this all day.”

“KIM NAMJOON. If you don’t put your fucking cock in my cunt right this second I will march into the bathroom, lock the door, and finish this myself.”

Namjoon fucking laughs—a big, hearty, jubilant laugh that echoes around the room—as you wriggle beneath his weight in your best display of anger.

Finally, finally, he slots the head of his cock against your entrance and leans over to whisper against your ear.

“I don’t want you to think that that comment is going to go unpunished,” he whispers. The hair on the back of your neck rises with the promise, but your next comment is quickly silenced by a roll of his hips as he slides the first inch of his cock into you.

This is nothing like his fingers. He’s girthy, filling you to the brim. The slight stretch of his cock against your sensitive walls straddles the delicate line between pain and pleasure and you groan as he slides further into you.

He begins at a slow pace, his hips rolling forward into you. In this position, it feels like your walls are sucking him in.

“God, you look so good taking my cock.” Namjoon moans. He can’t take his eyes off the way your lower lips part around him, the way he seamlessly glides in and out of you. Each time he withdraws, he comes out glistening in a mix of your arousal and his precome.

He comes down to rest on his elbows, in the process shifting his hips slightly up. With this new leverage, he begins to drive into you with a new ferocity. The slight shift has him hitting your g-spot. As he continues to pound against that soft spot within you, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his forearm and press your face into the pillow.

There were times when Namjoon took extreme pleasure in tying you up and refusing to let you touch him. But now he wanted nothing more than to be as pressed as close to you as possible. As he lowers his weight onto you and onto his forearms, he can feel the muscles of your back and hips ripple beneath him as you thrust back in tandem to his own pace.

“You feel so big,” you moan.

You don’t usually cum without direct clitoral stimulation, but after being unwound just to be riled up again and then left on the edge of your orgasm, the repeated pounding against your g-spot is consistently building up a warm pressure at the front of your pelvis. You dig your nails into Namjoon’s skin and feel him press harder into you. Between the comforting weight of his body and his unyielding thrusts, you can feel your orgasm quickly rising within you.

“Joonie—” you gasp.

“I can feel how close you are,” he groans, sweat beading on his forehead.

“I’m so close, Joonie, please, can I—”

“Cum, baby. Cum for me.”

At his command, you press back into him and dig your fingers into his arm. Your vision goes white as pleasure ripples through your pelvis and outwards, into your belly, your limbs. You vaguely understand that Namjoon is still grinding his hips into you, helping you ride out your orgasm as long as possible. You continue to clench around him and he hisses.

“Shit.”

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, doing his best to hold back from drilling into you. Instead, he circles his hips against you, grinding into your still-clenching walls as he guides you down from your orgasm. Your breath is coming in pants and huffs now, and you turn your head so that you’re looking up at him. He’s got that precious fold in his brow that appears when he’s close but holding back.

“Babe, I need—” he grunts.

“I know, I know,” you weakly lift your arm to stroke his burning cheek. “It’s okay.”

He finally lets go, allowing his pace to stutter and falter against you, morphing from a circular grind into something more primal. At this point, he’s chasing his own pleasure in a way that you almost never see. He’s still hitting your most sensitive spots and you groan in overstimulation.

All of a sudden, you’re coming again.

“I-” is all you can stutter, a long, silent groan shaping your swollen lips into a perfect O. As you come, you reach up behind you and grab onto his neck, your nails raking down the sensitive skin. All he needs is to feel the blood rise to the surface and see your neck arched back for him to come undone. His hips stutter into you, and with one final, deep thrust, he presses as deep as he can and lets go. His pleasure unravels in his stomach and you can feel him spurt again and again within you.  

Seconds after he’s come, he’s rolling off you, exposing you to the chilled air of the room—but he doesn’t want to crush you. As if reading his mind you say, “I like you on top of me, like the weight.”

He chuckles at the sleepy lilt in your voice.

“I know babe, I just don’t want to crush you.”

“You won’t.”

Namjoon doesn’t argue. He knows you become stubborn when you’re sleepy. Instead, he rolls you gently onto your back and comes to press himself almost chastely against your lips. You smile into the kiss, sliding your hands into his hair.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers into your shoulder, giving you a gentle bite before pulling back to look at you. He wants to spend the rest of the week in bed, tracing the features of your face like this: relaxed, blissful, unquestioning. Instead, he savors your expression for one final moment and brushes a sweaty piece of hair out of your eyes. Namjoon rolls off the bed and walks to the bathroom where he grabs a clean towel and dampens it. He almost doesn’t recognize his reflection in the mirror, hair unkempt, cheeks flushed, skin glistening with sweat—and something unrecognizable in his eyes. He splashes his face with water before returning to the bedroom where he sits gently on the edge of the bed. You’re already starting to fall asleep, but he runs his hand over your forehead and your eyes flutter open.

“You did so well for me baby,” he coos as he first wipes your brow before moving down your body and wiping away the mixed cum from your still-dripping cunt.

“Yes,” you mumble, lids heavy with sleep. “‘M good for you.”

“Yes, good for me. So good for me. I’d even say you earned yourself a reward.”

“Can my reward be you cuddling me?” You reach out, eyes closed at this point, trying to grab at him.

“Sure, baby.”

He reaches up to cup your cheek, running the rough pad of his thumb over your warm flesh. You sigh into his touch, nuzzling closer. He tosses the wet towel in the direction of the bathroom and climbs into bed, pulling you gently into his chest.

“Mm, love you, Joonie.” He feels more than hears you mumble into his neck.

“I love you too.”

|| masterlist || ao3 ||

[lesdemonium]

romtober day 16: right person in front of them the whole time

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2019 Summary: Geralt and Jaskier do not have the best luck when it comes to dating. At least they have each other there to make up for bad attempts.

read on ao3

“Oh no,” Jaskier said in lieu of a greeting as he answered his phone. “If you’re calling me, that must mean things are not going well.”

“Her wallet is filled with pictures of her cats,” Geralt answered with a huff.

“You love cats!”

“She has at least ten. She lost count.” Geralt did not sound amused, but Jaskier could not hold back his snicker. “She told me all of their names, and each one was more ridiculous than the last.”

“Okay, you can’t judge her on that. You’ve named every cat you’ve owned Roach,” Jaskier countered.

“I’ve owned two. At different times!”

Jaskier snorted and, though Geralt couldn’t see him, he rolled his eyes. He leaned back into his couch and balanced the phone on his shoulder as he tried to eat the noodles he had prepared. It wasn’t going well, but he hadn’t expected it to.

“So, are you coming over, or what?” Jaskier asked with a mouthful of noodles, which mostly made it to his mouth. Who was going to judge him? Geralt?

“Yeah. Open your door.”

Jaskier jumped a little at the rap at the door. As he got up, and put his dinner down, he ended the call and fixed Geralt with his best withering stare as he pulled the door open. “You know, it’s a little suspect that you manage to get inside the security door every single time without my help,” Jaskier said, though he stepped back to let Geralt in.

“You spilled something on your shirt.”

Jaskier huffed, but it was largely for show. Seconds later, they were sat on the couch together, their bodies so close they touched every time either one of them moved. Geralt moaned about Jaskier eating messily, and Jaskier ate even messier just to bother Geralt. It was nice. It was far better than Jaskier’s plans of a night to himself watching trash T.V.

“So, she wasn’t the one?” Jaskier asked, some time later. Geralt only snorted in answer.

--

Jaskier was more than a little drunk. And more than a little sad. And setting his drop-off address for the Uber to be his best friend’s apartment probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but it also wasn’t the worst. The jury was out on which of his decisions was the worst, but Jaskier was sure Geralt and Yennefer both had a few ideas, and it was definitely not this particular decision.

It was the decision that made him feel the most comforted, however, and that was what Jaskier needed right now. Even if Geralt took a little too long to open the door after Jaskier knocked. He grew anxious, in that time, and began to bite on his thumb nail as he considered his options. He couldn’t call another Uber--his phone was about dead. He couldn't walk home, it was entirely too far. Jaskier knocked again.

Geralt’s glaring face greeted him a second later.

“It’s the middle of the night, Jas--”

He barely got the words out before Jaskier forced himself past Geralt and into the apartment. Jaskier stopped, though, because really his plan had only gone as far as to get him inside, and now that he was standing in the entryway he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his body, anything.

“I think I’m going to be alone forever,” Jaskier finally said, and his shoulders slumped.

Geralt hesitated a second, then Jaskier heard the door close. “Come on,” Geralt said, taking Jaskier’s forearm and pulling him to the couch. He sat Jaskier down on it and handed him a blanket. The only way he could have made Jaskier feel more like a child would have been by laying the blanket out for him, but Jaskier found himself comforted rather than condescended to. It was nice.

“You and Virginia broke up?” Geralt asked some time later as he sat on the couch beside Jaskier and handed him a cup of tea. Jaskier nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

So they didn’t. Instead, Geralt told Jaskier all about Ciri’s middle school drama and the dog he had helped rehabilitate that day. Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt about anything of consequence, only listened quietly--unless the story called for an interruption, as middle school drama often did--until he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up, he was in Geralt’s bed, and the apartment smelled like pancakes and syrup.

--

He hasn’t shown up.

Jaskier didn’t often use punctuation in his texting--that was more Geralt’s bag. But this situation called for punctuation. Of course his first attempt at a date after his breakup would result in Jaskier getting stood up. It only made sense. Still, it was embarrassing, and Jaskier kept ducking his head to avoid the pitying glance his waitress gave him.

When were you supposed to meet? Geralt sent back.

Jaskier huffed. Half an hour ago. This was stupid. I knew it was too early, too unlikely. He could probably smell the desperation.

Where are you at? The restaurant still?

Yeah. Though I’m about to leave. I can’t take the shame anymore.

Give it ten more minutes.

When the waitress came back, Jaskier offered her an apologetic smile. “No, sorry, still not here. Might as well just--”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jaskier looked up, astonished, to see Geralt sliding into the chair across from him. Geralt hardly looked at Jaskier, though. Instead, he smiled at the waitress and ordered a bottle of wine and an appetizer Jaskier hadn’t even looked at.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, once the waitress had left. There was a bit of a spring in her step now, as if she was pleased at the way things turned out. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt shrugged, then took a sip from the water in front of him. All the ice had melted and it was close to overflowing. “No sense in wasting an evening. I was hungry.”

Jaskier beamed at his friend and rolled his eyes, but let the matter drop entirely. This was a far better way to have dinner, anyway. Jaskier probably wouldn’t have wound up liking the guy. And Geralt had much better taste in appetizers, Jaskier was sure.

--

Geralt didn’t even bother knocking before he opened the door. Jaskier only just barely masked his shriek with a gasp, but didn’t manage to do the same with his jump, and as a result banged his head on the cabinet he had just opened. He wasn’t sure which look was more unimpressed--Geralt’s or his own.

“Who just walks in like that, Geralt?” Jaskier demanded, crossing his arms.

“Who just leaves their apartment door unlocked?” Geralt countered.

Jaskier shrugged, and instead of pulling out one plate for himself, he pulled out two. He put his dinner--a pasta dish, and really he needed to figure out cooking something other than carbs, but they had to stop tasting so good--and held it out as a silent offer to Geralt. As Jaskier suspected, he took the plate, then sat at Jaskier’s very-unused table. Ugh. That meant Jaskier would have to sit there, too.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Jaskier asked as he sat across from Geralt. “Didn’t you have a date tonight? I thought this one was promising.”

Geralt shrugged and didn’t even look up from his plate. “I cancelled. It didn’t seem worth it. The last four dates haven’t gone well, why would this one?”

“You didn’t even give him a chance,” Jaskier said, pointing his fork at Geralt. “What if he was the one?”

Geralt snorted and finally met Jaskier’s eye. “I highly doubt he was the one. I’m taking a break from it all. I only signed up for the stupid app in the first place because you and Yen wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m just… not interested.” 

Jaskier sighed dramatically, but pressed no further. Geralt seemed as if his mind was made up, and nothing Jaskier said at this point would change it. As he thought on it, though, Jaskier wasn’t sure he even wanted to change Geralt’s mind.

--

Geralt was definitely ignoring him. Jaskier was standing there, dressed up, holding dinner from Geralt’s favorite restaurant and a bag of goodies, pounding on the door, and Geralt was ignoring him. Jaskier refused to let this happen, however.

“Geralt, I know you’re in there. Ciri told me you were home tonight!” Jaskier called through the door. He had paused his knocking just long enough to say that, but he started up again, this time with far more force than was necessary. So much force that when Geralt swung the door open, Jaskier staggered forward, caught off guard.

“Jesus, Jaskier, what?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Jaskier asked, straightening up and grinning at Geralt.

Geralt glared at him for a moment, but eventually he stepped back and motioned for Jaskier to enter. Jaskier set down his bags of goodies and turned to Geralt, suddenly flustered beyond belief.

“Right, well…” he started, then trailed off. He hadn’t let himself think of his speech--it made him too nervous. But now that he felt woefully underprepared, he wished he had run through it in front of the mirror a few times.

“What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His eyebrow raised and he looked over at the bags, then up and down Jaskier himself. “Are you okay?”

“I brought--” Jaskier started, then paused. He cleared his throat, then motioned toward the bags. “I brought food. And. Some other things. To make this… big gesture. But, I have to get something out first.” Jaskier stopped, then met Geralt’s eye. Geralt just watched him expectantly. “You’re not dating anyone.”

Geralt clearly hadn’t expected that, judging by the way his face scrunched up in confusion. “No, obviously I’m not.”

“Do you--want to date me?” Jaskier asked, then winced. Fuck. That hadn’t been part of even his hasty planning.

“Jaskier, what--” Geralt asked, his eyes wide, but Jaskier barrelled on.

“You’re my best friend. And. And I love spending time with you, and things are so easy between us, and whenever I’m upset, you’re the only one I want to see. Whenever I’m happy about something, I want to tell you first. Nothing has ever worked, no other relationship I’ve had, but this one always works. And for the longest time, I was afraid that… pushing things further would ruin things for us. That if we brought feelings into this, that we’d lose what we have.” He paused, and took a deep breath. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”

Geralt watched him, but his face betrayed nothing to Jaskier. Except maybe a bit of disbelief. That was okay, Jaskier could give him time to process this. After he finished.

“I think I love you. I think I’ve loved you for a really, really long time. I think you love me, too. I think that’s why you decided to stop dating.”

Jaskier stepped closer. He walked right up to Geralt, then stopped when there was just an inch between their feet. Geralt could close the gap, or not, with very little effort. If only he took it.

“That’s… an interesting conclusion to come to,” Geralt answered, and his voice was the picture of calm and collected. The way his eyes darted around Jaskier’s face told Jaskier a different story. Jaskier grinned.

“It’s the right one.”

“You sound sure,” Geralt answered. Jaskier saw the barest hint of a smile, right there, at the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

“I am.”

Geralt stared at him a moment longer, and Jaskier let out a huff.

“Geralt, I don’t mean to push you, but I kind of bared my soul there. If you could throw me some kind of bone, or kiss me, or--or do something other than just stare at me like a--”

Geralt’s answer was to cup Jaskier’s face between his hands and drag him in for a kiss. Jaskier didn’t mind being interrupted. He also didn’t mind that their food grew cold; he barely even noticed. All that mattered was that he was right, and Geralt was a fantastic kisser.

[digital-corruption]

I. Think. I'm. Finally. Done. Editing! It didn't help that this week has been very strenuous at work and I've been falling asleep right after dinner. Thank you for your patience.

Ahem...

⚠️ The following content contains bucket tons of smut. It is not suitable for people under the age of 18 so if you are under the age of 18, GET LOST. There is no plot here so by skipping this you will miss nothing.

Haunted by the Past Part 77.5

As soon as the hotel room door shut behind Jake, even before turning on the rest of the lights, he was grabbing and pulling at my clothes frenziedly. I had to help him to keep him from ripping them off my body. He came so damned closed to ripping my panties. Since all of my effort was spent keeping him controlled, I now found myself naked and pinned against the wall by a still fully clothed Jake. One hand held my hands about my head while his other hand went between my legs all the while he sucked and nipped at my neck. He inserted one finger, then a second, and rubbed furiously at my insides.

“Mmm, Jake, slow down, we have the room for the entire night,” I moaned.

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispered in my ear. “Tonight you are mine.”

Jake withdrew his fingers before I reached my climax. He clumsily unzipped his pants and pulled them down to reveal his hard, throbbing penis. He released my hands to lift my legs up and around him as he pushed his cock into me. Relentlessly he pounded into me against the wall. Desperately I tried to control my screams of pleasure.

“Don’t hold back. I want everyone to know. I want them to wish they were us,” he grunted.

I moaned at the top of my lungs, which drove Jake in frenzy. His fingers dug into my thighs as he pounded even heavier into me. My eyes rolled back as he pushed me over my edge and I came all around him. Jake pulled out and let me gently back down. He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the far side of the room. With one move he pulled back the curtains to the night cityscape. With the next move he pressed my face and chest into the window, having bent me over so he could take me from behind. His fingers ran down my back, lightly grazing his nails like he was fighting the urge to leave deep scratches. His fingers stopped at my hips where he grabbed them roughly and slammed back into me.

Within no time, Jake was back to pounding into me, but my legs were getting weaker. My knees started to shake. I pushed back against the glass and arched my back a bit. Jack grabbed my head by the roots of my hair and arched me further. I was at his mercy and I accepted it. I didn’t just accept it, I loved it. I craved it. When he stopped suddenly all I could do was whimper.

“Let me hear you ask for it,” he ordered with a slap on the ass. “Let me hear you beg for it.”

“Jake please,” I moaned.

He slapped me again, “Jake please what?”

“Jake please fuck me,” I continued.

Another slap, “I’m already doing that.”

“Jake please cum inside me. I'm yours,” I groaned.

Jake snickered, “You are.”

He pulled harder on my hair, forcing me to arch more and pulling my head further away from the glass as he rammed ruthlessly into me. We both moaned loudly, uncontrollably. I came heavily again and he shortly after. Our mutual messes dripped down my thighs while I was kept there, presented in front of the window while Jake twitched inside me.

There was a knock on the door and the soft call of “Room service.” I had completely forgotten that we had ordered it downstairs in the lobby. Jake pulled away and moved to the door, grabbing his pants as he went. I weakly sat down on the bed still in a complete daze. After swiftly pulling his pants back up, Jake opened the door and pulled the room service trolley into the room. The door closed and Jake decided it was time to turn on the rest of the lights for the room. As he pushed the trolley towards the bed he grabbed the bathrobe from the closet and tossed it to me to put on.

“I can’t help but feel that things are a bit uneven between us,” I commented as I put the robe on.

“What are you talking about?” Jake looked at me confused as he sat down on the bed next to me.

“You’re fully dressed and I’m not,” I frowned.

Jake smirked devilishly, “No sense wasting time putting your clothes back on when I'm just going to tear them off again as soon as you finish eating.”

Jake removed the two covers from our dishes. He ordered a simple spaghetti with meatballs while I had a roast meal. While I leaned forwards to dig in, Jake leaned back and watched me eat.

“You’re not going to eat yours?” I looked at him puzzled.

“Mine's too hot,” he replied.

I shrugged and went back to eating mine. While I ate, he barely touched his, only eating small amounts of it. By the time I declared myself full, he had barely made a dent in his.

“You’re done?” asked Jake as I eagerly drank the water.

“Mmhmm,” while swallowing. “You still barely touched yours. It should be a good temperature now.”

“It is,” he responded darkly.

He leant over and kissed me tenderly while pushing me back on the bed. Once he had me lying down, he pushed aside the robe and knelt up between my legs to pull off his hoodie.

“Your dinner's going to get cold,” I laughed.

“No it’s not, you'll keep it warm,” Jake reached over and moved his plate beside me on the bed.

“What are you-" I was interrupted by Jake dribbling his spaghetti onto my abdomen. “Jake!”

“It’s a good temperature now?” he teased. “We both agreed that you’re mine. Therefore, I'll eat off you if I want to.”

With that Jake leant down keeping his eyes locked on mine as he slurped an entire noodle from one end slowly, causing it to slowly drag across my abdomen. As soon as he had slurped the entire thing he licked the sauce off my skin. I squirmed under him, but he held me still as he moved to the next. He had so much spaghetti left and he intended to take his sweet time eating one piece at a time off of me. The next time he dribbled the spaghetti across my breasts, sneaking nipple licks and sucks in. It was absolute torture. I wanted nothing more than for him to be finished and give me release from the heat he was building. However he had a very large bowl and he was making it last. I closed my eyes tight as the sensation of his mouth and tongue running all over was driving me insane. It was endless.

After a while I realized it was only him, he had long stopped eating his pasta and he was now just playing with me. He looked up and made eye contact with me again. He smirked and moaned as he licked from the base of my abdomen all the way between my breasts, up my neck to my chin. He repositioned his body over me, then began kissing below my ear. His fingers drifted down between my legs and rubbed gentle circles around my clit. I moaned uncontrollably as he left wet kisses down my neck. Jake’s breathing became heavier, raspier. He dragged his bottom lip back up my neck and nibbled on my earlobe. I ran my hand up the back of his head then raked my nails back down.

Jake pulled away and removed all of his clothes. He then pushed my legs up and spread them wide apart, giving himself full access to push in. He groaned loudly at the feeling of being inside again then leant forwards to kiss me while he started rutting into me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him to keep him close. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes. I was so lost in his I didn’t notice his hand drifting to my neck until he started squeezing gently. His face twisted as I gasped. He leant forwards and kissed my lips sensually as his hand gripped a bit tighter. There was so many mixed signals from him, like he couldn’t make up his mind how he wanted to handle me.

“I don’t think you understand how crazy you make me,” he whispered, releasing his grip on my neck.

“I have an inkling,” I smirked.

“Because of you I am now free,” he spoke softly. “And yet all I want to do is tear into you. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does it have to make sense?” I questioned.

“You'll stop me from hurting you, won’t you?” he pleaded.

“Yes,” I muttered before crushing my lips onto his.

He moaned against my lips and slid his tongue into my mouth. Our tongues tangled as his hand shifted from my throat down to my hip. His fingers clawed up my skin. I groaned with pleasure against him. He grinded more passionately into me. My hands clawed at the back of his shoulders. He grunted deeply and pulled away. He turned me over forcefully. His hands grabbed my hips, pulling them up into the air as he slammed back into me. I screamed out in pleasure as I nearly orgasmed on the spot. With the second thrust hitting into my cervix, I did.

“Oh, fuck!” Jake cried out as I came around him.

He reached for my arms. Gripping one in each hand he lifted me up and fucked me in a frenzy. I was no more than a ragdoll in his control. My body started to go limp as my mind emptied. I could not form any thoughts other than how much I loved being used by him. He let go, letting me collapse into the bed as his hands gripped my hips roughly. His fingers dug into my skin. I pushed myself up on my arms so I could push back against him. One of his hands ran nails down my back possessively, then slapped my ass. He grunted and growled like a feral beast. His pure lust kept flooding into me, overwhelming everything else. The next orgasm would be it, it would be my end. I would not be able to function after. I moaned louder and louder as it built up until I was screaming in ecstasy as it washed over me. Jake rammed heavily into me before flooding me with his cum, crying out as he did.

I slumped onto the bed, my body quickly shutting down to sleep. Jake twisted me around to my side so he could spoon me. My eyes were so heavy that I couldn’t keep them open. His entire body wrapped around me and held me close to him. As I drifted off to sleep, he whispered sweet nothings into my ear.

--

I woke up the next morning still in Jake’s tight, loving embrace. I glanced at the clock in front of me and frowned.

“Go back to sleep,” Jake grumbled.

“It’s already 9,” I pointed out. “Check out is at 10.”

Jake groaned, “That’s not even enough time for one more round.”

“You've had enough rounds,” I laughed. “We live together, remember?”

“Yes, but then I have to care about the messes we make,” he reasoned. “Come on, I’ll help you to the shower.” Jake rolled out of bed groggily and walked over to my side.

“I can get myself to the shower,” I frowned. I went to stand up, but my legs nearly gave out so I sat back down.

Jake chuckled as he helped me stand, “Will you accept my help now?”

Jake walked with me to the bathroom. He filled a glass with water for me to drink while he got the shower temperature ready. Like an absolute gentleman he helped me into the shower. The shower ended up taking most of the hour as we could hardly keep our hands and mouths off each other, but we did eventually make it out of the room by 10.