#I cannot go a single day without that stomach drop feeling

[kavehater]

Truthfully it would be easier if I just isolate myself from everyone simply because after so long of just shoving things down and being told to shove things down and being told to get over it and stop being sensitive I’ve become so much more sensitive after being so unfeeling and it’s ruining everything

Not even having aventurine could fix this 😔🙏 LOLLL

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Professor, I didn’t cheat.

Summary: reader is a top student at her university. always exceeding in her courses and even taking the liberty to do study groups with other students to help them. Professor Kennedy finds out that the reader and this other student have the same thesis for an upcoming paper. What happens when he confronts y/n after class?

Warning: fem reader. Professor Leon. make out. breast play. creampie. age gap. CONSENTED.

a/n: I HATE my political class. I don’t understand anything😭 I was put in a group full of of guys and I deadass felt so out of place

(pt.1) (pt.2)

You always took notes during his lectures. You always made sure to jot down every single detail, even if it was something that you could search online. Your studies were important to you. You wanted to be the best so you strived for academic success. Many students valued your ambitious character but others were jealous.

Today’s lecture was more of an exam day. You always aced your tests, given that you studied the night before. You were one of the first students to finish their exam. You and the girl next to you finished at the same time and walked up to Leon’s desk to turn it in. You took your backpack with you as you laid the exam flat on his wooden desk. He gave you a curt nod, and then one to the other girl.

You both walked out of the classroom without any issues.

Until Leon emailed you that he wanted to have a private conference with you.

You panicked. What could have possibly have gone wrong? Or maybe he knew of an opportunity that you could take, like a job or a scholarship you should apply. Most professors did that, they helped their best students.

So when you walked to his office Monday morning, your gut feeling sank as you noticed the look on his face. It was a mixture of disappointment and disapproval. He motioned for you to step up to his desk, “Y/n, glad you’re here. Please, take a seat.” He sat down on his desk chair while you took one of the chair in front of his desk.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here,” He began as he shuffled through some papers.

What could have possibly called you for? Nevertheless, you responded, “Yes, Professor, I am.”

He looked at you for a brief moment before laying a piece of paper in front of you. It was your exam, not graded yet, but it was yours. You furrowed your brows in confusion and then looked at him, “This is my exam…what’s wrong with it?”

He cleared his throat and rested his hands on his desk, “Look, I’m going to be straight with you. You’re an excellent student. The best student I’ve had so far.” He began slowly but you felt anxious, where was this going to?

“However, academic integrity is part of the student conduct every student must follow. I cannot grade your exam, y/n.”

It was as if time stopped. Your eyes widened, your heart was beating out of your chest. The silence was deafening, the pit in your stomach dropped heavy. “If you don’t grade this exam, I’ll fail the course,” you replied anxiously, “I can’t afford another class, I’ll have to wait for other scholarship opportunities to help me pay.”

He looked at you with sympathy but that didn’t mean he believed you, “Look, I know it’s stressful but that’s life. You don’t get an easy grade from cheating off a friend.”

“Cheating off a friend? Sir, with all due respect, I am not friends with anyone in the class,” you began to feel defensive. You didn’t know anyone, you only talked to them for projects. The professor raised his eyebrow as he stared at you.

“Someone told me that you copied from them. I won’t name the student since that’s between me and them,” he leaned forward onto the desk, “You’re an exemplary student, it hurts me to say this to you.”

All you could do was stare at him, someone actually wanted to ruin your grade and reputation. While you remained silent, he spoke, “Look, you have amazing grades and your participation has been outstanding. I’ll give you another chance. Retake the exam but it must be in my office.”

You furrowed your brows, “Why should I retake an exam if I didn’t cheat? I guarantee you, I would never lie on an exam. I am aware of the consequences that comes from cheating off of someone.”

Leon sighed and leaned back against his chair, “You’re stubborn, that’s good in a student.” He paused for a few moments, staring at you in silence, almost analyzing you. “Tell you what, I’ll investigate this further, however I still want you to take the exam again. If what you say is true then the retake of the exam will be extra credit for your grade.”

Extra credit? How can you say no to that? You sighed defeatedly and nodded along to his words, “Fine, I’ll retake the exam.”

He smiled softly and gave you a short single nod, “Good, come to my office on Wednesday at 12:30.”

You nod again and stood up to leave his office. His eyes trailed behind your back as you walked away from his office. Now all you had to do was wait for Wednesday so you can retake that exam, but first, should you find the person who accused you of cheating?

Wednesday came and you, lazily, made your way to his office. It was 12:25 as you were walking the halls of offices. The Dean’s office, some other professor’s office and then there was his. With his name plastered in the door in gold, Leon Scott Kennedy.

You knocked three times and heard a soft ‘Come in.’ You stepped into his office, immediately met with the smell of coffee, you forgot how much coffee this man consumed but honestly, who doesn’t consume coffee in college? “I’m here,” you spoke awkwardly as you looked at him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you scan him, he looked strangely hot. His tie was loose, his suit jacket hung on the back of his chair and his sleeves were rolled up. You were to see how toned and muscular his arms were, the watch on his left wrist made his hands look bigger for some reason. His hair was messy but it made him look godly.

“Ah, you’re here, good,” He motioned for you to sit down at the chair in front of his desk. “Take out your laptop, I published the exam for you. It should be there.”

You walked over to the chair and sat down in front of his desk, you pulled your laptop out of your school bag and began to scroll through your student account, “I see it.” You mumbled softly.

“Let me know when you’re ready, you have 90 minutes to complete the exam,” He replied politely. You could tell he was proud that you decided to retake it. With a soft sigh, you nodded and began to work on your exam. You leaned back against the chair as your laptop rested on your lap, you answered one question after another. It was an easy exam, you’ve taken it before.

Leon was watching you attentively, his eyes scanning over your relaxed figure. He noticed the way your hair seemed a little bit messy and how your brows scrunched up together in deep thought. He felt proud because he knew you were an ambitious student, you were everything he wanted in a student. Studious, hardworking, hot- wait a minute, hot?

He quickly looked away and focused on some miscellaneous files, he shouldn’t be thinking about his students. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked on your exam and he couldn’t help but feel hot. His eyes lingering on parts of your body, as if truly seeing you for the first time. He sees you as an attractive woman.

“I finished,” you mumbled softly as you looked up from your laptop, he quickly turned his gaze to his computer to check if you finished it. With a firm nod he responded, “Yeah, I see it. Good job, you got another perfect score.”

Of course you did, you were the smartest in his class. This was easy for you, light work. You closed your laptop and began to pack up but not before he tried to stop you, “Hey, wait- don’t leave yet.”

You looked up from your bag to look at him. He clears his throat and continues, “I still have to put in your grade and we need to talk about the cheating accusation.” You nodded and remained quiet as he kept speaking, “I decided to grade both your exams and use this attempt as your extra credit. You’re a great student and it would be a shame if anything bad were to happen to you that could affect your future.”

Your eyes widened, you couldn’t believe he was being this considerate. Most times when a student s caught cheating, a lawyer gets involved. But he was being nice, too nice even.

“What happened to the investigation?” You asked with furrowed brows. “I decided to drop it. I see that you scored the same on both tries so I guess that means you weren’t lying,” he replied as he maintained eye contact. His foggy blue eyes piercing into your soul. It didn’t help that his appearance made you feel butterflies.

“Actually, I also wanted to talk to you about this scholarship I found. It might be good for you,” His hand motioned for you to come up to him and his computer, you got up from the chair and walked to stand behind him. The screen showed a website of a scholarship due next semester. You heard him talk about the details but all you could focus on was the scent of his cologne. He smelled good albeit his messy look. He turned around in his chair to look at you and your faces were merely centimeters away from each other. You looked down at him and he looked up at you from his chair. It wasn’t on purpose but your gaze fell to his lips. Your gaze switched from his eyes to your lips and you didn’t notice how he slowly brought his hand to your cheek. He cupped your side of your face and brought you down to his face.

It wasn’t meant to happen but you felt your lips against his lips. The moment the two of you joined together as one in a kiss felt surreal. His lips tasted like coffee. His other hand traveled to your waist and pulled you down to his lap. You straddled his hips and gripped on his hair as you two emerged into a passionate and sensual kiss. His tongue brushing against your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you as he forced his tongue inside your mouth. The man was old but he knew how to kiss so good. You moaned into the kiss and felt his cock hardened against your clothed core. Causing your panties to grow a wet spot from the arousal. You shifted slightly against his hips, grinding up against his erection. Your kiss turned hot and messy, saliva dripping down as your chest is pressed up against his. His hands traveled down from your waist to your hips, fingers digging at your skin.

He put hind hands on the back of your thighs near your ass and picked you up. He gently laid your back down on his desk, not caring about the files falling to the floor right now. His mouth moved to your neck as he began to nibble and suck on your skin. Red marks terrorizing your sensitive skin as you moaned and gasped. Your hands gripped on the back of his hair as his hands began to travel to the inside of your shirt, touching your stomach and swiftly making their to your breasts. He growled against your skin as he pushed his hand inside your bra and felt the hardened nipple.

“Take it off,” I mumbled against your skin and pulled back. He helped you take off your shirt as you began to unclasp your bra, revealing those beautiful titties to him. Their color only making him water the mouth, he dropped down to one of your breast and began to suck hard on it while his hand manhandled the other. You arched your back as his tongue moved swiftly across areola of your breast. The salivating skin coating your breast as his teeth grazed your nipple. Your moans and whimpers escaping your mouth as he destroyed your breasts with his mouth and hand. You felt good.

He pulled back from your chest and looked down at the marvelous sight before him. He leaned down to kiss you again before softly whispering against your lips, “Let me know if you want to stop.”

You nodded your head and watched as his hands traveled down to his trousers and began to unbuckle his belt and buttons. He pulled his pants down to his thighs and pulled down on his boxers. His erection jumping from the enclosed space, hitting his abdomen with a thwack as precum had been leaking. He was large, the tip a rosy tone of pink with a vein protruding from the side, his cock leaned to his left and you could swear you saw it twitch. It was a spectacular sight. His hands quickly went down to take off your pants, pulling them to your ankles before taking them off completely. His noticed the wet spot in your panties from your presumably wet cunt.

His index finger pressed down against the fabric covering your clit, the slick of your folds seeping through the fabric as you shut your eyes tightly and moaned quietly. He smirked and began to circled your clit through your panties, he wasn’t aware you were into this but he obliged.

Just as you were near your orgasm, he pulled his finger back and pulled your panties down towards the floor along with your pants. He stood in between your legs and aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance, “I wish I had the time to prepare you but I’ve got a meeting after this,” he mumbled as he pushed himself into you, not giving you time to respond as your mouth became full of moans.

He made sure to fill up with his cock until his balls made contact with your ass, your jaw fell slack as you rolled your head back against his desk. Leon slowly began to thrust in and out, not fully pulling out, he was kind enough to let you adjust to his size.

Once he was sure you were doing good, he began to thrust into you. Pulling out and pushing back in with force, causing the desk to grind against the floor. He leaned down and put his hands on either side of your head. Your hands traveled to his hair and back, clawing your nails through his shirt.

The sound of skin clapping and the smell of sweat and sex covered the room. The air felt humid as both of your breaths became heavy and labored. You felt his tip touch your cervix, sending a wave of pleasure over you through a whimper. He kept thrusting, making sure to hit your g-spot and cervix. He may not have fingered you but he was still a gentleman, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this just as much.

Your moans began to cut short as your breathing increasing, you arched your back and felt the band in your lower stomach stretching to a snap. And soon enough, your pussy clenched around his cock. Your orgasm milking and pulsating as he thrusted in you while you were experiencing your high. You closed your eyes and the darkness was clouded with stars.

His own thrusts faltered a little bit as he felt you clench and pulsate around his member and without a second thought he couldn’t contain his own cum from spilling inside you. His hot and thick juices shooting into your womb as he slammed his cock into your cunt for one last time. He kept himself buried inside you as he tried to catch his breath. Both of you panting and sweaty.

He slowly pulled out of you and watched as his cum dropped down from your cunt to his desk, the sight making his cock throb again but he couldn’t indulge himself for a second round as he had a meeting to attend. He helped you clean yourself up with some tissues he had and handed you your clothes from the floor. You both began to dress yourselves as the aftermath of what you two had done began to settle into your heads. He looked at you with a smirk and kissed your cheek, his stubble grazing your skin.

“I’ve got to now, sweetheart,” he whispered as his hand cupped your cheek like he did previously. “You should let me take you to dinner some time.”

You could only nod as you were still feeling dumb from the sex, “Yeah…”

He chuckled and pressed a light kiss on your lips before leaving you in his office.

Who knew a professor could fuck so good?

[moni-logues]

Thirteen Rounds

Pairing: Boxer!Jungkook x f!reader

Genre: smut smut smut smut smut! sex ban smut lmao; established relationship

Summary: JK's boxing coach tells him he can't come for four weeks before his title fight. Ah, four weeks isn't that long, right? ... Right?

Word count: 13.2k

Content: oral sex (m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex, masturbation (f.), orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sex toys, uh implied come eating? (It's not mentioned but he comes in her then eats her out sooooo it's happening 😂), cutesy nicknames that honestly even make me cringe these days lmaooo

A/N: as I said in a post earlier today, this hit 6k notes on the old blog and I know crowing about notes is tacky and no one cares (and even I don't care! That's not why I'm here!), but I never really got to celebrate this fic when I posted it and it took the fuck off. So here's to another 6k 🤪🤪🤪

FOUR WEEKS TO GO

Jungkook walks slowly, very slowly, down the corridor to the door of your apartment. He does not want to go through it. He really doesn’t want to have to tell you what he’s about to.

Four weeks no sex.

That’s what Coach said. No sex, no masturbation, orgasms 100% completely verboten. He knows this is not going to go down well with you. From the very start of your relationship, you have never gone that long without sex. Jungkook isn’t sure he’ll be able to make it; he’s not sure if you will be either. A tiny part of him worries what it might do to your relationship – you’re stronger than that, aren’t you? This won’t hurt your relationship, will it? You’ve been together for years now, four weeks without sex can’t change anything… Right? Jungkook knows in his heart of hearts that it’s right but the thought of four weeks without you is so unutterably awful that he also can’t believe it won’t change things.

He flops face-first onto the sofa next to you and squirms immediately as you rake a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. Absolutely none of that from now on.

“You ok?” you ask and he can’t answer because the answer is no and he’s not going to be for another four weeks, another 29 days in fact. He mumbles nothing into the sofa.

“Just tired? Training hard today?”

Training wasn’t hard, especially. This conversation we’re about to have is hard, Jungkook thinks. Keeping his face shoved into the sofa cushion, he breaks the news.

“Jungkook,” slight impatience in your voice now. “I cannot understand you when you talk into the sofa; what’s going on?”

He lifts his head slightly but can’t bring himself to look at you.

“Coach says we can’t have sex until the fight.”

“WHAT?”

“We can’t have sex until the fight,” he repeats, quietly, miserably.

He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, still not daring to look at you.

“But that’s four weeks away! Four weeks!”

“I know!”

He takes your hand and kisses it, leaning up on his elbows. He rests his head on your thigh, bumping it gently as if he were hitting it against a brick wall. He mumbles under his breath, as close as he ever got to invective against his Coach (whom he nevertheless trusts and respects deeply). You’re being quieter than he expected you to be and it makes him nervous. He expected outraged protestations, reasoned arguments, begging and pleading. But you’re sitting and thinking.

“Why?” you ask. “What’s it for?”

“He says it’ll improve my focus, power, and aggression if I don’t come between now and then…”

You hum in response and he risks a peek at your face. You’re smirking and something about it makes his stomach drop.

“So… You can’t come, but I can do whatever I want, hm?”

He hadn’t considered that. Of course, that makes sense; you’re not wrong, but Jungkook realises this with absolute horror. Not being able to fuck you for four weeks was going to be bad enough as it is, but four weeks of getting you off without a single second of relief for him? He feels sick.

“Noooo! Baby, please. Please, you have to do this with me.”

It’s not his usual role, but he is not above begging. You shake your head.

“No way; four weeks is a long time and I’m not fighting anyone.”

“I know it’s a long time! That’s why we have to do it together!”

“On the contrary, my sweet, little biscuit, the whole point is that we don’t do it together, isn’t it?”

You lean down and kiss his nose but it is of no comfort. He’s pouting now, both furious and devastated at this turn of events. When you start running your hands through his hair again and his dick twitches, he groans; this will kill him, he thinks. Stone cold dead, this is going to kill him. He holds your hand tight and looks at you, finally, dead in the eye, eyes wide and pleading, his absolute best puppy dog.

“Please,” he begs. “Please.”

“Why don’t we have one last night?” you suggest and Jungkook groans because he knows that tone. “You can start tomorrow. One night won’t make a difference, surely?”

You slide down the sofa until your faces are almost level and Jungkook is about to rest his head where your thigh was, but discovers your breast in its place. He holds still. This is his first test and, while you might have a point, he’s got rules to follow and he can’t break now, not at the very first hurdle. He’s got better self-control than that, hasn’t he?

“Hm?” you continue. “Start tomorrow… Come on, Kookie, please.”

He wants to say yes, of course he does, but if he’s going to last four weeks, he’s going to have to practise saying no.

You slide off the sofa onto your knees on the floor and he eyes you carefully. You’re dangerous and you know it. When you trail your fingers down his spine and kiss the back of his neck, he shivers.

“I want you so badly,” you whisper in his ear and he groans. You slip your hand underneath his T-shirt and he’s sticky with sweat. “I didn’t have you yesterday and now we have to go four weeks? Kookie, I can’t take it… Be good to me, Jungkook, please.”

He loves it when you beg. Hearing his name in your mouth all high and whiny, tremulous with need and desire. If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. Goosebumps follow your hand on his back and he shivers, groaning into the sofa, fists clenched again.

“My love, stop it, please. We can’t.” His voice is weak and he can’t believe how weak he’s feeling; if you persist might longer, he genuinely feels he might snap and he’s ashamed that his self-control is apparently all but non-existent. He must do better.

“But I’m so wet already.”

Fuck. He snaps. He kneels up and looks at you, your innocent, little face, a devil in disguise. If you’re just playing with him, just teasing, you’re going to be in big trouble.

“Get up,” he commands, slapping the sofa. You obey without hesitation and he grabs you by the legs, pulling so you’re falling onto your back. He tells him yourself you were lying, of course you won’t be wet; you’re just teasing him and he’ll tell you off and ask you to take this seriously and it’ll all be fine. Then he yanks down your trousers and your underwear.

“FUCK.”

He brings his hands to his face and rubs.

“Fuck, I thought you were lying just to tease me, but fuck, you really are.”

You are. Looking at you is almost painful; he’s desperate to touch you. You’re right there in front of him, legs spread, and all he has to do is touch you. But he can’t. If he starts, he won’t be able to stop. He shuffles back away from you slightly, hands moving to reach you and then pulling back. He swears again.

When you spread your legs wider and shuffle yourself down closer to him, he has to stand. He has to do something with his hands: clenching at his sides, on his hips, on his head, over his face. He’s pacing, too, unable to look at you once again. It would be all too easy to take his own trousers off, let his dick out of its cloth prison and fuck you into the sofa. He has to bite down on his knuckles to stop himself doing just that.

“Kookie,” you coo. “Aren’t you going to touch me? I need you… No one touches me like you do.”

Jungkook is open-mouthed and he has to turn away. He growls, deep in his throat, and gently places his fists on the kitchen counter, when what he really wants to do is smash straight through it. His whole body is tense, fighting itself in an agony of indecision. He needs you to stop; he’s sure you won’t. Not when you’re having this effect on him. He should’ve seen it coming. He knew you wouldn’t take the news well; for some reason, he didn’t expect you to immediately be so defiant. You were always so pliant and obedient for him. But then, this isn’t really his rule and you and his coach didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye.

He freezes when he hears the unmistakeable squelch of you plunging your fingers in your wet heat. Then you moan. Then you whimper.

“Jungkook, please.”

He can barely control his breathing as he stands, still with his back to you, unable to block the sound of you from his ears. He should be the one drawing those moans from you; he should be the reason your breathing is hitched.

He decides quickly that you have a point. He can’t come but that doesn’t mean he can’t do anything he likes. He crosses the space to the sofa in three large steps and forces your hand away from you. He doesn’t see the expression on your face as you look up; he’s too busy staring at his next meal. He squeezes your thighs hard and lowers his mouth to you.

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe and it goes straight to his dick.

He moans loudly as he licks from your core to your clit, drinking you in. He licks through your folds, not wanting to miss a drop. He swirls his tongue around your clit before sealing his lips and sucking hard; you grab at his hair and he flicks his eyes to you but your head is tipped back, your back arching off the sofa. He pulls your thighs, bringing you even closer, smothering him, burying him but if he can’t breathe, he doesn’t notice. He notices the pitch of your whines tilt; he notices your breath come quicker; he notices your thighs twitching under his hands; he notices you tugging harder and harder at his hair. He watches you as he works, alternately swirling his tongue across your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking, until you’re screaming, your body writhing, shuddering under the waves of your orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears repeatedly, almost sure he hears you saying the same, but he can’t move his mouth from your lips; all that fresh arousal dripping from you has his name on it.

You squirm and bring your legs together, your feet pushing against his shoulders and he relents, shifting backwards but still gripping your thighs tight.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you but fuck, I fucking love your cunt.”

His hands move higher, his thumbs spreading your lips, running up and down, the slick noises they make like music to his ears. He whines as he drops his head to your thigh with a heavy sigh. He squeezes his eyes tight shut for a moment, trying not to lose all control even as his cock aches in his pants, desperate for you.

While he’s trying to keep it together, you extricate yourself from his grip and sink onto the floor. While he’s off-guard, you spread his legs and slot yourself between them. It’s only when his dick jumps as you slide your hands up his thighs that he realises what is happening. He leaps up and away from you in one, quick, fluid motion.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, hands tangling in his hair, twisting his T-shirt, gripping the kitchen counter, anything to stop them wandering to the bulge in his trousers. He’s painfully hard now, twitching with almost no provocation; his restraint is hanging by a thread.

“Jungkook,” you call for him, still kneeling on the floor. “Kookie, come here, let me help you.”

He growls and takes a deep breath. If he even looks at you right now, he knows he’ll snap.

“I’m going to shower.”

He has to get out, get away from you, anywhere will do.

“You better not wank in there!” you call after him. “Or I’m going to be really upset!”

He chuckles bitterly; as if he would ever choose his hand over your sweet mouth. He strips quickly and steps into the shower, turning the temperature as low as it’ll go and the power on full blast. He gasps as a strong stream of icy water hits him; he shudders and shivers and forces himself to stand still. He’s panting and his skin turns red under the blast but he can’t move, not until he’s flaccid, not until he’s stopped thinking about your beautiful pussy and your soft, hot mouth and no-! Enough of this. He calls to mind all his least favourite things, conjuring up the worst images he can, disgusting, horrible, anything. He just has to stop thinking about you.

When he’s finally showered and clean and soft, he leaves the bathroom. It’s not late, but you’re already sitting up in bed, naked as you always are, and he groans, trying to avoid looking at you.

“Hey now, that’s not fair,” you tell him, sulking with an exaggerated pout as he takes the towel from his waist and rubs it over his hair.

He almost chokes on his indignation.

“Not fair? Me not being fair? And what do you call that, out there? Is that fair, huh? And this?” He gestures to you, chest on display, arms just slightly squeezing your breasts together, as if you think he won’t be able to tell. “Is this fair?”

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he sits next to you on the bed; he simply will not survive the next four weeks if he can’t get you on-side. He has to stop you reaching out to touch his cheek; he’s only just been able to lose his erection, he’s not sure he can manage another.

“I’m serious, y/n, I cannot do this.”

He’s not sure he can look at you anymore. The thought of spending a whole night next to your naked form, your soft skin pressed against him… He can’t. He can’t even think it without feeling a stir in his groin.

“I can’t do this. I’m going to sleep in the spare room.”

Never in his life has he been more grateful to have one. He’d sleep on the sofa or the floor if he had to, but, if he’s doing all this to improve his fighting, he needs to keep his sleep up, too.

“Jungkook! Don’t leave me!”

When he risks a look at you, you’re wide-eyed and open-mouthed, dismayed. He doesn’t ever want to be the cause of that face; his heart aches. Maybe this would affect your relationship after all. He returns to sit on the edge of the bed and takes your hand. He kisses your palm.

“I can’t- I… I can’t even look at you, right now, without wanting to jump you.” He says quietly, sadly. “I just-“

“I can put some clothes on?”

Your hopeful face squeezes his heart and he wishes that would be enough.

“No, baby, thank you but we both know that isn’t going to help. I know what’s under there.”

“So, we’re not even going to be able to sleep together for the next four weeks?”

“No, we will, I promise. I just… Right now, I just need to get away from you.”

He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood, but fails. He misses you already.

“Can I at least kiss you goodnight?”

Jungkook isn’t sure. He’s not sure the one thread of sanity he’s clinging to will last, but he has to give you something.

“Of course, you can,” he answers, with only a little hesitation. “But please… Be nice…”

You take his face in his hands and he shivers. You kiss him once, firmly, and then again, softly, sighing against his mouth. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss you again, wants to melt into your mouth and roll your tongue with his. Then he feels temptation in his groin and has to pull away.

“Night night, my little custard cream.”

“Night night, my love.”

He leaves, and shuts himself in the spare room, wondering just how on earth either of you will make it through the next 29 days.

THREE WEEKS TO GO

Jungkook isn’t home so you’re taking the opportunity for a little Me Time (courtesy of your favourite rabbit). It’s been a week since the last time you came (courtesy of Jungkook) and you’re on edge. You feel a little guilty for the way you behaved, but you’ve been good this week in penance, even though you’re already missing him terribly.

At night, when he wraps himself around you, his hard chest against your back, his strong arms holding you tight, you feel a steady pulse in your core. You want desperately to shift, just push your hips back a little, bring his hand to cup your breast, do something to address your need of him. It’s worse than usual because, of course, you always want most what you can’t have. Isn’t that a universal truth? Last night, you even wished he would go and sleep in the spare room again; having him so close to you, knowing that you can’t touch him like you wanted to was beginning to get unbearable.

Hence, Me Time.

Jungkook is out and not due back soon so you have plenty of time to take things slow. Or at least, that’s what you intend. You take a nice, long, hot bath; apply your favourite body lotion: a rich, thick, cocoa butter that makes you feel expensive; you potter around the apartment for a while in your sexiest lingerie – there’s no one to see you, but it makes you feel sexy anyway. You think about Jungkook. You think about his hair, too short for your preference at the moment; you like it a little longer, a little wavier, giving you plenty to grab onto at the nape of his neck just as at the crown; you like it when it flops into his face and he pushes it back; you like when he lets you plait it and style it, just for the two of you, just for fun.

You think about his beautiful, brown eyes: huge and wide, bright and shining, so open and innocent. You think about the way he looks at you sometimes, like you’re his entire world, like he’s looking at the most beautiful, peaceful sight he’s ever seen. You think about the way he looks at you at other times: like you’re prey; like he’s calculating exactly the right way to destroy you; his eyes dark, black, piercing; eyes that silently command and will be obeyed.

You think about his mouth: his soft, pink lips and two straight rows of perfect white teeth; you think about his mouth on yours, the unyielding pressure of his lip ring, the hard bite of his teeth on your bottom lip, his soft, wet tongue rolling against yours; his soft, wet tongue swirling around your nipple; his soft, wet tongue licking through your folds, flicking across your clit, his lips tight around you as he sucks. You think about his long fingers, their reach; his strong hands and how they direct and control you, pinning you down and lifting you up.

You think about his cock, the prettiest you’d ever seen (though you weren’t surprised, given the rest of him); in perfect proportion, neither too long nor too thick, a slight, gentle curve, smooth but for one thick vein running the length of it. It makes your mouth water just to think of it; your pussy throbs, missing it and you settle on the bed. You can feel the crotch of your underwear is already sticky and your heart is already thumping but you’re still telling yourself that you’re going to take this slowly, because you have plenty of time.

You discard your bra, teasing your nipples beneath it, twisting at the barbells that run through each of them, remembering the way Jungkook had reacted the first time he saw them, as if it were Christmas morning and they were a brand-new puppy and a skateboard. You slip a hand down behind the waistline of your knickers and exhale sharply as you spread your juices across your clit. You’re aching now, with desire, with frustration but you take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You let your fingers work slowly, gently, dipping down between your lips to your entrance, exploring your folds, teasing and tapping your clit. It was almost like stepping into a bath: enveloped in warmth as blood rushed to the surface of your skin, cocooned in pleasure as it radiates outwards from your core to the tips of your toes. Goosebumps spread as a shiver rushes down your spine.

Then you get out your rabbit and the lube and shuffle out of your underwear. You coat the toy with lube, wipe your hand against yourself and turn it on, letting it rest against you for a moment, cycling through the settings until you reach your favourite. You think, not for the first time, as you slip it inside you, smoothly, easily, how much you wish you had one of these moulded from Jungkook’s cock. He thought you were joking the first time you said it, but you weren’t then and aren’t now. You want to be able to have him inside you even when he wasn’t around – or at times like this when he is around but isn’t allowed inside you. Nothing compares to him and while this toy might get the job done, it will never be the same.

The little rabbit ears press intently against your clit as you angle it inside you and start to rock your hips, working out a long, soft moan. You tip your head back and close your eyes, focusing on the coiling pressure in your abdomen. You cycle to another setting – higher, faster, more insistent now – and whimper with every breath as your climax comes closer.

“God, I’ve missed that noise.”

You sit up with a jolt to see Jungkook at the bedroom door, eyes roving hungrily over your naked body.

“Jungkook,” you gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans.”

He shrugs.

“Changed ’em... Though I might be sorry I did.”

“I thought you were going to be out... But since you’re here...”

You beckon him to the bed as you switch off the toy. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sigh as he approaches you on the bed. You’re surprised; you thought he would refuse, hold back, protest even a little. Maybe this would be easier than you thought.

He looks at the rabbit, appraising.

“How does it compare, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a smirk just ghosting over his lips.

“It doesn’t, Kookie.” You flop backwards onto the mattress again. “Nothing compares to you.”

“Let me help you.”

You sigh with relief, waiting to hear his trousers unzip or the shuffle of cloth as he undresses but it doesn’t come. Instead, you hear the quiet whirring of vibration as Jungkook turns the rabbit back on. He chooses a different setting – short, intense pulses – and slips the toy back inside you, pushing the ears hard into your clit, forcing a choked moan from your throat.

“Jungkook... Kookie, no. I want you.”

The look on his face is fierce but softens when he looks into your eyes. He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear.

“You know you can’t have me now, baby. Stop playing dirty.”

He takes a hand and pushes low on your stomach as he rocks the toy inside you and changes the setting: insistent, hard vibration that almost sets your teeth chattering.

“Fuck,” you whisper as your walls start to clench and all your muscles tighten and you’re whimpering, mewling, seconds from climax, your breath catching in your throat. You’re a band stretched to its limits and just as you’re about to snap, Jungkook pulls the toy from you and sits back on the bed, not touching you.

“Wh-.. I...”

You look at him, dazed and confused, as he stands up and takes the toy with him out of the room.

“Where are you going?” you call after him, your voice weak and strangled.

You’re itching with frustration and impatience and when he returns, only a minute later, you turn to him, outraged. He’s empty-handed and he sits on the edge of the bed next to you and tucks your hair behind your ear sweetly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, still breathless, heart still pounding in your chest.

He leans closer to you, resting on his forearm on your chest, lightly crushing you beneath his weight as he takes your hand in his and directs it to his crotch, where you can feel his dick, semi-hard under his trousers.

“I’m showing you how hard this is,” he whispers menacingly in your ear. “You’re still not playing fair, little miss.”

He stands and walks out of the room, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“If I don’t get to come, you don’t get to come!” he calls.

You give a little, angry shriek and throw a pillow at him, which misses by miles, and you storm out after him.

“I did not sign up for that!” you shout, giving him a shove.

He grins at you and raises his eyebrows.

“What’s mine is yours, baby.”

“No way! No way! You know the second you leave, I can just make myself come.”

“That’s true,” he admits as he checks his watch, “but I’m not leaving again tonight.”

Furious now, you move closer to him, your hands on his hips. You lick your lips and move a hand between you, palming his erection. His eyes flutter closed.

“Two can play at this game, Jeon,” you hiss, sliding your hand between his trousers and his boxers, running your finger up his turgid length.

“Don’t call me Jeon.”

“Isn’t it your name?”

He tips his head back and bites his lip as you finally breach his boxers, wrapping your fingers around him, squeezing lightly.

“You only call me Jeon when you’re pissed,” he chokes out.

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

His head tips forward again and he looks at you as you sink to your knees, pulling his clothes down with him. You see him swallow hard.

“Not sure you thought this through, did you?” you ask, swiping your tongue across his head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum. “Here you are, all hard and ready for me...”

You take a hand through your lips, sweeping up your arousal and spreading it on the head of his dick.

“And me all ready for you...”

You wrap your lips around him and take him until he hits your throat, looking up at him through your lashes, then you come up and pause, just holding him in your mouth, your tongue running back and forth across the underside. Jungkook grunts and his eyelids flutter closed. You can see his fists clenching on either of him.

“Y/n...” he groans, quiet and strangled.

“Mm?” you hum, not taking him from your mouth, and you notice the muscle in his jaw jump as he clenches. “You started this,” you remind him, as you trail sloppy, wet kisses down the length of his hot, smooth cock. “I was going to be nice to you, but you had to go and spoil it.” You run your tongue flat across his balls as your hand continues to pump his shaft and he moans.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he whines, his voice high and tight as you run your tongue back to his head, enveloping him in your mouth once again. “God, fuck.”

You hollow your cheeks and suck, your hand and mouth moving as one. Jungkook’s fist moves to your hair, gripping tight, not directing you, just to have something to hold on to. As you push lower, tipping your head to take him into your throat, he jerks.

“No, no, no, stop! Stop.”

He pushes you back by the shoulders and stands, his breathing ragged, looking up at the ceiling and blinking hard. You let him stand there, recovering; you stay kneeling at his feet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, each more aggressive than the last. He pulls his boxers and his trousers back on and looks at you, eyes wild. “No.”

“Kookie... Please.”

You pout up at him, put your hands on his thighs, and shuffle just an inch closer.

“No. Fuck, no, I can’t. I can’t.” He looks at you, alternately desperate and resolved and then shakes his head. “Baby, god, I want to. You know I want to. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His hand is in your hair again, gently pulling you upwards, pulling you closer. He kisses your cheek and your lips, each little peck lasting a little longer than the last, until he just barely parts his mouth and you grab his bottom lip in your teeth. He moans and pulls away.

“No, no, no, no,” he whispers. “I can’t.” He swallows hard and looks skyward again, praying for strength. Then he repeats his no before stalking off into the spare room, cursing under his breath.

You sigh, more frustrated than ever, and, having spotted your stolen sex toy on the bathroom counter, you go back to finish what you started.

TWO WEEKS TO GO

Jungkook is sleeping in the spare room again. He says it’s because you’re not to be trusted, but what he means is that he isn’t to be trusted. He could barely trust himself around you before, but two weeks into the ban, he can’t risk taking any chances. Especially not with the way you’ve been behaving.

Apparently, so you tell him, there’s very little evidence to suggest that sex before a sporting event has as negative effect on performance.

“I even read,” you say, not for the first time, “that not having sex for a while lowers your testosterone so it’s not just that having sex isn’t bad, it might even be good! Don’t you want that?”

He’s trying to block you out. You’ve already told him this and he’s already told you that he’s doing as he’s told. He focuses on the TV, trying to get invested in the storyline, trying to care about the characters while you pester him relentlessly. He has to grit his teeth together and breathe carefully.

“Don’t ignore me, my little hobnob.”

You always pull out that biscuit when you think he needs to lighten up. He tries not to grin, not very successfully, because it’s such a ridiculous name – who calls a biscuit that, really? Then you slip your hands around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder.

“I miss you,” you say, kissing his shoulder and rubbing his back.

He sighs, dropping his head, carefully trying to revel in your touch without giving in too far.

“I miss you too, love. Just two more weeks.”

You sigh, aggravated, and sit back.

“Yeah, two more weeks; we’re only halfway through. We have to do all of this all over again. Is that really what you want?”

“No, of course it’s not!”

Of course, he doesn’t want it. What he wants is to pin you down and eat you out ’til you’re screaming and then he wants to fuck you like his life depends on it, spend himself on you so hard he literally can’t move. What he wants is the opposite of this. Why can’t you understand that?

He turns to you, shifting his body around and reaches for your hands.

“Of course, it’s not what I want. I want you all the time. Why do you think I’m sleeping in the spare room again? I can barely stand sitting with you like this; every part of me is screaming at me to just take yo-“

“Then do it! Do it! I’m telling you, the science is on our side!”

He has to take a deep breath; he knows you may well be right. And he doesn’t like the thought of doing all this for no reason, for, if the article you read is right, the possibility that he’s actually less strong, less powerful in the ring, but he’s on a path and he has to stick to it.

“I’m doing what Coach says,” he tells you, sounding more resolved than he is. “I hired him for a reason and he’s already said he can notice a difference. This fight is so important and I have to follow him to the letter. I am sorry. I am…”

He is what?

He puffs out his cheeks and sighs. He doesn’t know what to say. There aren’t words for this or, if there are, he doesn’t know them. He leans forward and grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for a kiss. He knows he shouldn’t, knows how dangerous this is, but he misses you so much and he’s so upset and you’re so upset and he has to do something.

You scoot forward and sit yourself in his lap. His heart hammers in his chest, anxiety or desire or a heady mix of both, he’s not sure but his mind is slipping away from him and he’s not sure he cares anymore. He wraps his arms around you as his tongue finds yours. You’ve hardly had this much of each other over the last week and he’s ravenous. You moan into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue and he feels a stirring in his crotch. He can feel you, just above him, and he wants to push you down, roll your hips over his, but he daren’t; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself if you do.

He's breathless with the need of you and it catches in his throat as you grind into him. He moans and bites hard at your bottom lip; you keep going, kissing him hard so that he can’t speak.

Jungkook gathers up his strength and pulls back, holding you tight in place so you can’t chase after him. He’s breathing heavily and his hand trembles as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Y/n…” He doesn’t know if it’s a plea or a warning; he doesn’t have any more words to follow. There isn’t anything he can say or do that will make this situation anything other than torture. Nothing will make you feel better than being fucked by him, fucked hard, nothing more and nothing less. He knows because he feels the same. He’s almost dizzy with desire; he’s giddy but clinging with desperation to the last remnants of his self-control. There’s a tiny voice at the back of his head proud of him for having come this far, but he can’t listen to it because we all know what comes before a fall and he can’t afford a fall like this.

It's the title. It’ll be his first title. This win will put him on the map. This win will establish him as a real, professional boxer, one to beat; this will be, he hopes, the first of many belts, many titles. His coach has real faith in him, he believes he can make it to world champion if he works hard enough. And Jungkook wants it. He wants to work; he wants to win. And now, he has to win. Losing is not an option. And once he has won, once this is over – in two, long, painful weeks – it’ll have all been worth it and he’ll be able to have you six ways from Sunday, every day of the week.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimper and the open, desperate pleading of your glistening eyes goes straight to his dick. “Please, please.”

He’s had to resist your pleading before; he’s even enjoyed resisting your cries and pleas, but that’s when he’s been in control; that’s when he’s been ramping up to wrecking you once, twice, three times, as many times as you can take. This is ramping up to nothing and your pleading only makes him feel broken.

You bring your face to his again and he can’t back away. You kiss him with urgency, running your hands over his body beneath his T-shirt, teasing his nipples until he’s fully hard, straining against his boxers, pressing against your crotch. You strip off your own top and Jungkook’s resolve crumbles. He dips his head, lifting you slightly from his lap to kiss your breasts, to flick his tongue over your nipples and swirl them in his mouth, one at a time, until they’re tight and hard. He bites hungrily and you mewl above him, whining his name. It’s like heaven to him and he can’t believe he hasn’t had this for two weeks; the two weeks stretching out in front of you are paling, forgotten in some faraway corner of his mind.

He's kidding himself that he can last a little longer with you lifted up like this, your hips no longer grinding your core into him. He keeps his mouth occupied at your chest and squeezes your glutes in his hands, then slipping them into the wide legs of your shorts. When he pulls your underwear to the side with one hand, and slips the fingers of his other hand into your warm, waiting slip, he sighs with satisfaction. You’re tight and soft and so, so wet.

You take his face in your hands and pull him back to your mouth. The kiss is all tongue and heavy breathing, messy and far from pretty but you’re each so desperate for the other that nothing else matters. You kiss his cheek and his jaw and bite down on his earlobe, whining breathily as he presses insistently against your front wall, each curl of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. He slips his other hand behind your underwear and spreads your slick over your clit, rubbing insistently, knowing you’re getting close. He can tell by the sounds you’re making, sounds he’d work out of you every day of his life if he could.

“God, Kookie, baby, yes.”

You plant your lips on his neck, muffling your whines and whimpers as the heat builds inside you. Jungkook groans, shivering as you suck on his neck, as your cunt clenches his fingers tight, as your legs shake on either side of him. He doesn’t stop, can’t stop even when you’re tugging his hair, even when you’re squirming, even when you’re screaming his name. He’s far away now, lost in the bliss of your velvet heat. He’s insistent and you’re so sensitive that he pulls another orgasm from you with a cry and a shudder that takes your whole body. He’s so focused on you as a way of distracting himself from his own intense, aching desire. He’s painfully hard; he can feel the spreading circle of pre-cum on his boxers; he’s not entirely sure he won’t come even if you don’t touch him.

Then you flop against him, spent, and your hand grazes his crotch and he jerks violently.

“Fuck!” he gasps and tears prick in his eyes. He can’t look at you; he stares far away, out of the window, trying to stop his dick throbbing, trying to slow his heartrate, trying without success to calm himself.

“Kookie,” you whimper, your voice shaky. “Let me-“

“No,” he whispers, no strength in his voice, no strength anywhere in his body except his stiff, swollen cock. He closes his eyes and he can feel a tear trickle down his cheek, followed by your lips as you kiss it away. He flinches at the contact and whimpers when you stroke his hair.

“I can help you,” you whisper but he doesn’t hear you.

He’s lost, his mind strangled with desperate desire. His brain is whirring, swimming, floating away from him; his fingers tingle and shake and his heart thumps erratically in his chest. He’s never been this excruciatingly turned on before and knowing that he can’t see it through is heart-breaking.

You move your hand towards the waistband of his trousers and he grabs your wrist. He’s gripping so tightly, he’s sure it’ll hurt, but he can’t be gentle now.

“Don’t-,” he starts but his words are swallowed by a sob.

You press your forehead against his and he can’t stop the whimper as you kiss him, so light, so soft. He holds your face in his hands, barely even really touching, trying not to tangle them in your hair and pull you closer. You stay like that, just looking at each other for a minute or more, his eyes never leaving yours. He knows he needs to calm down, knows he should be calming down now that you’re still but his breathing doesn’t settle and he can hear the thump of his heart and the roar of his blood in his ears.

“Baby,” he says eventually, his voice croaky and hoarse. He has to do something and it has to be something drastic. He needs a shock to the system, a full reset. “I need-… I need you to get something for me.” And he needs you to get it because he’s not sure he can walk, not sure he can move at all.

“Anything.”

“Ice. And water.”

“Huh?”

“Ice and water; I need a big, big glass- a jug of iced water please.” His voice wobbles at the end and he’s trying so hard to regulate his breathing, trying so hard not to feel the pulsing in his underwear.

“Ok…”

You shift on his lap but he can’t let you go. His fingers twine in your hair and you have to pry them out to allow you to get up.

With the relief of you off him, the air around him clears and he jumps up, taking off his T-shirt and pushing his trousers to the floor. Once again needing to do something with his hands while he waits for you, he holds them out to the side, not daring to let them anywhere near his erection, fists clenching and unclenching. He feels like he might really be on the edge of a heart attack or an aneurysm. He feels abnormal, like nothing he’s ever felt before. He could keel over.

He can hear you, the ice clinking in the glass and he taps his feet, impatient. When you hand it over, he takes it with both hands and up-ends it all over himself.

“Jungkook!” you cry, as water splashes all over the floor and the sofa and the coffee table, but it sounds distant, the shock of the water temporarily sending him far away. He’s gasping and shivering and blinking hard, then screwing his eyes tight.

“I need you to go,” he tell you, still unable to look at you.

“Go where?”

“Anywhere, baby, literally anywhere,” his voice is still wobbling, his teeth chattering. “If we’re still in the same room in five seconds, I think I’m going to die. Come or die, either way, I don’t know but please, please just go.”

“Ok, I’m going, I’m going.”

He can barely hear you; he scrubs his hands over his face, swearing over and over and over again, begging the universe to let him calm down, to make these next two weeks go as quickly as they possibly can.

ONE WEEK TO GO

Jungkook hasn’t taken any more risks since that night. And he has also told you, almost every day since, to behave yourself, to stop doing that; he’s asked if you’re trying to kill him and the truth is: yes. You’re sick of it now; it takes almost nothing to get you hot: just the thought of him, randomly popping into your head as you’re trying to send emails at work, and you’re getting wet. You can’t sleep anymore. He’s still in the spare room but you lie in your bed, thinking about him lying in the other bed, and you can’t help yourself. You make yourself come again and again but it’s never enough. You can’t believe that he’s not only managed to ruin all other men for you but also your own damn self. You know how to push all your buttons but it’s not the same when it’s you doing it, it's not the same without Jungkook between your thighs.

You know there’s only a week to go, but it’s too long and you’re too frustrated and you’re reaching your boiling point. So, you do what any other sane person would do: naked protest. You stop wearing clothes in the house entirely, getting dressed only to go out and stripping as soon as the front door shuts behind you. When you first walk into the kitchen as Jungkook is eating breakfast, he chokes on his cereal and you have to slap him on the back; you feel his eyes following you as you make yourself a cup of tea and some porridge.

Now he’s just ignoring you. He’s doing his best to stay out of any room you are in, but that’s fine. It’s a small apartment and you’ve hidden his noise-cancelling headphones, so you know he can hear you when you moan and whine, wanton and gratuitous, as you do your best to fix your frustration.

He still hasn’t broken. You’re impressed, honestly. You didn’t think that he would be able to hold out this long and, as aggravated as you are, as deeply, unutterably frustrated as you are, you can’t help but admire his self-control. Unable to be in the same room as you, he texts you and tells you that his trainer is impressed with his performance and is confident about the fight; he believes he can win. He had fucking better win is what you think, but you text back something a little more supportive.

Six days before the fight and Jungkook is in the shower. You’re at a loose end, so you decide to join him. You thank the lord that he didn’t lock the door; he’s got his back to you and doesn’t notice you there until your hands are on his waist. He cries out in surprise and goes to turn around but you hold him still, kissing his shoulder and his back and the nape of his neck. You run your hands up his abs, grab his fulsome pecs, and peeking around his shoulder, you’re delighted to see he’s already hard.

“Were you about to masturbate in this shower?” you ask him, only half-serious.

“No,” he groans. “This is how badly I want you, y/n. Why are you making this so hard?”

You giggle at his choice of words and he growls deep in his throat. He turns around and cages you in against the screen with his hands either side of you.

“In six days,” he tells you, his voice low, face serious, eyes pinning you to the spot. “In six days, I am going to fucking destroy you. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight for a week; I’m going to fill you up so completely, my cum never stops dripping out of you; I’m going to make you scream so loud, our neighbours want to call the police; I’m going to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you again, then I’m going to fuck you some more and I’m still not going to be done. I’m going to take this cock,” he says, grabbing it at the base and hissing hard through his teeth as he does, “and I’m going to wreck your pretty little throat and your pretty little pussy, is that what you want?”

You can only nod, mute with desire, as you can feel arousal drip down your legs and you shiver, despite the warm, steamy atmosphere. Jungkook nudges his nose against yours, eyes still black as pitch, and he whispers in your ear.

“In six days.”

Then he leans back and stands back under the stream of water.

“Now get the fuck out.”

You’re so overwhelmed, you just do as he says and he follows behind you, shutting the door – and locking it – as soon as you’ve crossed the threshold. You blink hard and, as you come to your senses, you feel too many things at once: hot, frustrated, desperate, livid, heartbroken, a little bit intimidated, a lot excited, and over and above everything else, impatient.

Jungkook stands in the shower, turning the water icy again. He’s shaking, trembling all over, and before he can get himself under control, he’s sobbing. Hands against the tiles, shivering with cold and shuddering through ragged breaths, he drops his head and cries. Cries because he’s so frustrated, because he misses you so much, because he’s so tired, because he hates disappointing you, because he’s anxious, because he’s not sleeping well at night without you, because a tiny, paranoid thought niggles at him that this is going to make you leave him, because he can’t live without you and if he didn’t know it before, he knows it now.

He cries under the cold water for so long that it stops feeling cold against his skin and when he finally steps out of the shower, his skin is livid red and icy to the touch.

He goes to stay at a friend’s house that night.

“Look, I love you so much and I miss you so much that I can’t be around you,” reads his text. “Just thinking about you makes me want to die a seriously Little Death. The fight will be over soon; just six more days and I promise, I’ll give you everything you want and more. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, please, please wait for me.”

“I love you, too, my little Bourbon,” you reply. “But I might never forgive you for this.”

“I promise, I’ll make you forgive AND forget, just wait ’til Saturday.”

He stares at his phone, wishing the messages said something different. He knows you’re joking, thinks you’re joking, hopes you’re joking, at least a little bit.

He sends a string of different kiss emojis and you toss your phone down beside you. Considering your small arsenal of sex toys without hope, you pick one at random, knowing even before you’ve started that it’s not even going to touch the sides of your desire. Your need for Jungkook has become a yawning chasm that stretches further than the eye can see; and it is a need for Jungkook specifically. For one mad moment a few days ago, you had considered the possibility of going out and getting fucked by someone else, but the second you thought it, it repulsed you: you don’t need a dick, you need his dick; you need his mouth; you need his hands. You need him, no one and nothing else. Accept no imitations. Which is really rather a pain right now.

You try to focus on your body, on the pleasure building there, the pleasant thrum in your core as you work with the vibrator in your folds and against your clit. You try to think about nothing, removing Jungkook from the equation, just emptying your mind and focusing on the physical sensations of your body.

It doesn’t work and you get so frustrated that you throw the vibrator in the bin and then, that not being enough, scoop up the others and chuck them in there, too. What’s the point of them, you think to yourself bitterly.

These had better be the fastest six days of your life or you aren’t sure you’ll survive.

FIGHT NIGHT

It was finally here. Jungkook had been working towards this for months, years, for his whole life in a way. It was both the pinnacle of his career and the first step of what he hoped would be a very long journey to the top. The final fight in his bid to be The Ring’s Super Middleweight champion: his opponent, Saul ��Canelo’ Alvarez. Jungkook has him on reach and height, and he’s also lighter, which he thinks will be to his advantage. Canelo might be a slugger, but that’s where Jungkook excels. People think that his lightness is a disadvantage, that he doesn’t have the strength to throw hard enough punches, that he’s weak, that he’s Amir Khan. But he’s better than that. He’s agile and yes, slighter than other super middleweights, but he’s also strong and he’s also powerful and there’s nothing like seeing the surprise in his opponent’s face when he got his first punch in and they realised that for themselves. Of course, now he’s getting better known, he’s losing that element of surprise but it’s hardly the only thing he’s got in his keep.

But he’s not thinking about that. Today, just like all the other days this week, he’s thinking about you. His coach keeps telling him that he’s strong, that he seems focused, that he seems strong, but Jungkook isn’t entirely convinced. All he can think about is you; his mind is already beyond the fight and he’s anxious that this is going to be his undoing, that he’s going to have survived these past four weeks only to be so keyed up and desperate in the ring that he loses.

He wishes he could see you, just for five minutes, but you’ve been banned from his presence on fight days. You’re also banned from the gym on training days. Jungkook agrees with Coach that that’s probably for the best but it doesn’t mean he likes it. You are a distraction, there’s no denying it, but today, he really feels like he needs it. He needs you. Even an ounce, even a drop of you will do.

He pulls out his phone and dials your number.

“Kookie! Are you ok?” You sound concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“We never speak on fight days; I thought something might be wrong.”

Jungkook sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

“Something is wrong: I miss you.”

“Jungkook! Don’t scare me like that!”

He laughs and knows he was right to call you; just hearing your voice is like a balm to his fraying nerves. He already feels more relaxed.

“I’m sorry, love,” he replies. “I just wanted to hear your voice; we haven’t spoken this week.”

“I know and whose fault is that?”

“I know, I know, it’s mine, but I can’t wait to see you. Even if I lose this fight, as long as I’ve got you, I’m good, I’m a winner.”

“Hey now, you’re not going to lose, my little oat and raisin cook-”

“You don’t like that flavour cookie, do you?”

“Well, I don’t, no, but I thought I’d go with the least sexy flavour, in respect of how easy it is to get a ‘rise’ out of you at the moment.”

He snorts, appreciative of the weird, little effort.

“I think you’re right: raisins are not sexy but cookies are sexy biscuits, aren’t they? By default? Sexier than normal biscuits, right?”

“So you’re saying we need a raisin biscuit that isn’t a cookie.”

“Yeah.

“Garibaldi?”

Jungkook laughs.

“I don’t even know what that is, love, but sure, it doesn’t sound sexy.”

“Ok, then, I know you’re not going to lose, my little garibaldi.”

He laughs again and tells you that his coach has said the same thing (“… not in the same words”). He wishes he could stay on the phone with you longer; having barely spoken to you this week, he misses your voice, your presence, your conversation, just as much if not more than he misses your body. He sees his coach crossing the room, approaching him and he rings off reluctantly, but relieved he got even a minute with you before tonight.

He’s pacing in the dressing room; it’s almost time. He considered asking you not to come to this one; he’s not sure that he’ll be able to focus knowing you’re so much as in the room. The usual rule is that you’re allowed to attend but you have to sit somewhere in the back, somewhere he won’t be able to see you; he’s not sure if that’ll be enough tonight. Coach is talking to him, trying to hype him up, but he can’t hear a word. He just knows he needs to end this fight as soon as he possibly can and that means not going out there all guns blazing like a reckless thug in a bar fight; it means taking a step back (and he physically does it, takes one step back), taking a deep breath, and remembering the strategy, remembering the training. He’s ready for this (“You’re ready for this, JK,” Coach cries); he’s going to destroy Canelo (“You’re going to smash it, mate; you’re going to destroy him!”); and then he’s going to destroy you and himself in that order.

Canelo seems thrown off by Jungkook at the start: his size, maybe, his strength, his Southpaw stance despite being right-handed, Jungkook can’t be sure, but he wins the first round decisively and it’s exactly how he needs it to go: he likes to be the underdog but he likes an early lead. Spite and competitiveness can get you surprisingly far in life. He was right that Canelo is heavy and Jungkook is able to run rings around him; he thinks he might genuinely be able to get this wrapped up early, if he can just manage to hit him hard enough.

That turns out to be an ambitious goal and, halfway through, he’s slightly down on points. He’s frustrated; he can’t quite work out why his punches aren’t landing. Are they really not connecting? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. Are the judges just not seeing them? He’s not sure what he can do about that. He spits out the water Coach squirted in his mouth and he’s nodding at his advice. As he stands to get ready for the seventh round, his eyes roam the crowd, not looking for anything, just looking. Then his stomach flips. He sees you.

You’re sitting in your seat, anxious and uncomfortable. It always makes you anxious to see him fight, even though you know he’s trained for this and he’s as safe as anyone else would be in the same situation, but you flinch every time Canelo lands a punch. Jungkook hasn’t lost a fight all year and you’re surprised to see him losing – even if not by many points. You hadn’t really considered the possibility of him losing, because he doesn’t. He’s Jungkook. He’s the Baby Assassin of Busan. He doesn’t lose.

But things go from bad to worse. The next rounds see Jungkook falter, making uncharacteristic mistakes and misjudgements that cost him points. As the bell rings at the end of the tenth round, you can see the frustration in Jungkook’s face from here. Your stomach twists; you know how much this fight means to him and how upset he’ll be if he loses. You try to rouse yourself; it’s not over ’til it’s over. There are two rounds to go and he’s not so far behind he can’t make it up. There’s still a chance.

When Jungkook stands for the eleventh round, you see him scanning the crowd in your direction. You panic, should you hide? Duck? Cover your face? Too late; his eyes find yours and the second stretches into eternity, just you and him, before he’s tapped by the ref and he turns away. You shouldn’t have come. You’re a distraction. You’re going to make it worse.

Jungkook is going to lose.

The bell rings and Jungkook feels sprightly, buoyed, suddenly less tired than he had done in the last round. He dances energetically around the ring, keeping Canelo moving, keeping him throwing punches and missing, throwing more punches and missing again and again. You’re on the edge of your seat; this is the Jungkook you know. All at once, he lands three punches on Canelo and leaps back out of his retaliatory reach. Then he settles in a bit closer and lets Canelo land a couple on him; this… isn’t the Jungkook you know. You can’t work out what he’s doing; you’ve not seen him do this before. You turn to the clock, watching the seconds of the round tick by. Thirty seconds left. You check the points. Jungkook still behind.

This is more like it, Jungkook thinks. He can end it. He knows he can. He just has to let Canelo let his guard down a little more, tire him out a little further. Jungkook is not letting this get to twelve rounds. It won’t happen. Not on his watch.

You’re so focused on the screen: the points, the time, that you miss what causes the crowd to suddenly surge and scream. Canelo is standing with the referee in front of him, looking a little dazed. The ref lets them continue and the round commences again. Before Canelo has even blinked, Jungkook has hit him with a left hook that you know he put all his weight into. Canelo falls to the mat and doesn’t get back up. The ref starts counting. The crowd count with him.

“8… 9… 10!”

The ref waves a wide cross in front of him; the commentator declares it a knockout; and the crowd is screaming. Jungkook’s arms are in the air, his coach lumbering into the ring to envelope him in a hug, along with everyone else, it seems, the ring suddenly full of people. You lose sight of Jungkook. You’re on your feet, straining to see over the heads of the people in front of you, who are doing the very same thing. Tiny red fists emerge from the mêlée and it’s him; you exhale a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. You’re desperate to get to him. It’s over. The fight’s finally over. And he won. By knockout after a hard fight. This is absolutely the best outcome, better even than you’d hoped for. You bet he’s on cloud nine and you can’t wait to join him there.

Jungkook is buzzing. He’s done it. It’s finally over. And that means there’s only one thing on his mind. He can’t focus, is barely there as they hand him his belt, as he lifts it above his head to show the screaming crowd. People are congratulating him, slapping his back, rubbing his hair; at some point, someone takes his hands and rips off his gloves – he’s not sure where they end up. The fight was televised and a man with a microphone approaches him. He tries hard to focus on the questions, answering as quickly as he can and then the presenter asks just what he’s going to do now he’s won his first Super Middleweight title.

“Well,” he answers, “I haven’t come in four weeks so I’m going to go find my girl and fuck her in the dressing room ’til neither of us can walk straight!”

He points right at you, flicks a peace sign to the crowd and jogs back the way he entered 45 long minutes ago.

He keeps jogging all the way to the dressing room, stopping for precisely nobody. Coach tries to grab his attention, tries to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs him off. Wild horses can’t keep him from you now.

He swings open the dressing room, for a moment disappointed that you’re not there before him, but, of course you wouldn’t be. He’ll have to wait; it’s been four weeks, he can cope with another four minutes. Probably. He paces back and forth, back and forth; he chugs half a bottle of water; he almost wipes the sweat off his body, dries his hair, but then he remembers how much you like him dirty like this. Just the thought of you has got him hard already. He palms himself through his shorts and immediately has to stop himself; to come before you’ve even got in the door is unthinkable, unforgivable.

The door opens and there you are.

“Fucking finally.”

Jungkook slams his hands either side of your head, leaning down over you, sweat still dripping from his hair. He lowers one hand slowly to lock the door, his dark eyes never leaving yours, and then returns it next to your head.

“Did you have to wear fucking jeans?” he asks, laughing lightly. Of course, she’d wear jeans, he thinks, fucking tease. “Couldn’t find a dress? A skirt?”

“Sorry,” you answer, and you’re already breathless.

Jungkook kisses you, pressing his whole body against you and you sigh; god how you’ve missed this. He turns you around with one knock of his hand on your hip and he unbuttons your jeans impatiently. He shoves them roughly down your legs and you step out of them and your shoes at the same time.

“Oh baby, I don’t care. All I care about is finally getting to fuck you like you deserve. Please tell me you’re wet already. I don’t think I can wait a second longer.”

He’s usually more considerate; he would usually take his time. But this is not a usual situation. You laugh.

“Kookie, I’ve been wet for weeks, just hurry the fuck up, would you?”

He doesn’t need telling twice. He strips off his shorts and boxers and as he presses the head of his cock against your entrance, and it twitches, he gasps.

“Shit.”

He takes a few breaths, tries to steady himself. He kisses your neck, buying himself some time. He’s on a hair trigger and he’s not entirely convinced he won’t blow his load in one thrust.

“Just so you know,” he tells you, figuring there’s nothing else for it. “I’m going to last about ten seconds right now, but I promise, I’ll be ready to go again. I swear this won’t be it.”

“Just fuck me, please, Kookie. I’ll take ten seconds over none.”

Your whole body shudders as he presses into you for the first time in four weeks. You both moan low and Jungkook pauses at the bottom. You can feel him breathing heavily against your skin and he takes your trapezius in his teeth, taking a generous bite and not letting go as he drags himself backwards before thrusting in again. Your walls are spasming already; you’re so tight and he’s stretching you just right, filling you up like you’ve not been filled for 29 long days.

Ten seconds, as it happens, was an over-estimation. The way you grip him, the way he can feel your walls fluttering against him; you’re so hot and wet and tight and it’s been so long and he’s so sensitive. He lasts for all of a handful of thrusts before he’s groaning and shooting hot, white ropes of cum into you.

“Fuck, shit, sorry, baby, fuck!”

You can’t help but laugh as you turn around, keeping your legs tight together. He grins sheepishly at you and runs a hand through his sweaty hair.

“I’m sorry, love, I did tell you.” He rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”

His hands meet across your lower back and he pulls you close for a kiss.

“I’ve missed you, too, Kookie,” you mumble against his lips, half your words eaten up by Jungkook’s mouth. You feel his tongue against your lower lip and you open up for him, sliding your tongue over his as he licks into your mouth. God, even this you’ve missed. You’ve barely even seen him in the last week, let alone got close to him, let alone touched him, let alone kissed him, even chastely. It’s overwhelming now to have him so close to you, all over you. You never want him any further away.

He moves his hands lower and lifts you up under your bum, carrying you to the sofa, where he strips you of your top and bralet – the black, lacy one you know he likes. You almost pout that he takes no notice of it but he catches you eye and grins.

“I notice, I know, I love you, thank you, but god, I don’t want a stitch on you right now. Nothing is better than you like this.” He stretches his hands out over your naked body and climbs over you. He ducks again, swallowing your next moan as he pinches at your nipple.

His mouth is everywhere, burning wherever it touches. You’re sweating and breathless and you think you won’t last much longer than ten seconds either when he finally touches you. Your cunt is quivering in anticipation, your clit throbbing a hard pulse, its echoes shuddering through you. Your back arches as Jungkook moves lower, his mouth on one nipple and then the next and then lower and lower still. He crawls off the sofa onto his knees and pulls you around, legs dangling from the edge. He spreads your thighs wide and takes a moment, looking down at your soaking wet pussy through half-lidded eyes. He licks his lips and clicks his neck from one side to the next before fixing you with a mischievous grin.

“If you even think about teasing me,” you gasp out. “I will fucking murder you.”

He laughs and kisses your inner thigh.

“You over-estimate my self-control, my love. I’m at my fucking limit.”

He is. He isn’t even close to finished with you. His cock is already stirring again as he dives straight in, licking a broad stripe from core to clit and moaning lasciviously as he does. You’re already so sensitive, whining and whimpering as he sucks and slurps at you, his face buried so far into the crux of your thighs, you don’t know if he can breathe. Almost immediately, you’re cresting, arching off the sofa, thighs clamping together on Jungkook’s head as a streak of hot pleasure surges through you and fresh arousal gushes over his face.

He brings his hands to your thighs and forces them apart without breaking contact with your cunt. He doesn’t stop, no matter how you squirm; you can’t catch your breath to tell him you’re over-stimulated, to beg him to stop, to give you a second’s break. A scream breaks in your throat as he pushes three fingers inside you and you’re seeing stars. He finally takes his mouth from you and breathes heavily against you, his breath sending sprinkles of goosebumps across your skin. He curls his fingers inside you and then tips your hips just slightly, suddenly hitting the perfect spot. You’re incoherent, animal, as you moan and whimper, stuttering to another orgasm under his ministrations.

You don’t have to find a way to ask him to remove his fingers as the waves of your orgasm roll through you but just as you are about to breathe a sigh of relief, his mouth is back on you. He’s gentle this time, more patient. He kisses your lips, licks through your folds slowly, moaning, his brows knitting together because it’s been so long since he’s tasted you and there’s nothing he’d ever rather eat. He buries his tongue in your hole, bumping your clit with his nose; if it were anyone else, it might be accidental, but you know Jungkook knows your body perfectly and knows exactly what he's doing. You’re raw, over-wrought, dehydrated. Your vision swims and your voice gets stuck in your throat, able only to gasp and stutter, not even able to scream his name out loud as you scream it in your head. Your hands tremble, one pushing back the hair on your head, the other finding its way to Jungkook’s hair, tangling there as if you could even dream of giving him direction right now.

His eyes flick to yours and they’re black, pupils dilated, lids fluttering quickly to a close again as he moans, vibrating lips sealing around your screamingly sensitive clit. Your hand pulls sharply at his hair, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. You feel like every atom in your body has been electrified, every touch, every movement – yours or his – sending sparks straight to your core, where they’re churned up into a tight ball. Like the death of a star, your body collapses in on itself, contracting and tightening as you are reduced to little more than a silent scream, and then explodes, a supernova of ecstasy exploding within you, scattering bits of you all over the room.

When you open your eyes, you can see stars wherever you look, which isn’t far because you can’t find it within you to move a single muscle.

“You ok, my love?”

Jungkook’s face swims into view, a dopey grin on his sticky, wet face. He looks drunk or high or both. He pushes the hair off your face, your flushed cheeks, fucked-out, dilated pupils staring straight at him; he thinks you look high or drunk or both. He kisses you so you can taste yourself on his lips and you’re suddenly hungry again.

“Kookie.” Your voice is hoarse and low, still strangled with need.

Jungkook hums against your mouth as he lifts you up, pressing your back into the back of the sofa.

“Kookie.”

You manage to grab his face between your palms and hold him still, giving you a chance to focus on him, see him properly.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, as eager to please and energetic as a new puppy and you have no idea how. He should be tired; he knows he’s going to crash hard, but right now, there’s adrenaline surging through him like there’s no tomorrow. He’s wired; he’s excited; he feels almost manic with love and lust and he’s so high, he can’t see the ground. He feels like he could go all night and he’s certainly going to try.

“I need you inside me, right now, right this second. Please, please, please.”

You aren’t exactly unaccustomed to begging but nothing will stop the stream of ‘please’s tumbling from your mouth. Nothing, that is, except the head of Jungkook’s perfect cock in your folds, waiting, teasing at your entrance.

He’s lifted you again, setting you on the arm of the sofa, him kneeling on the cushions; with nothing to rest against, you cling to him tight as your breath catches in your throat. He watches closely as he pushes into the tight, wet slip of your cunt, watching himself disappear into you. You want to make a joke about lasting another ten seconds but you don’t have the energy, the capacity, the mental agility to make it; you just about manage to cry his name as starts to thrust, smooth and slow at first, but soon, quicker, harder, accompanied by quiet growls and grunts as he grips you tight. You really do feel drunk, giddy, hysterical as he’s finally, finally back where he belongs. You feel tears prick in your eyes at the relief of it, the pressure, the pleasure.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispers. “Shit, I can’t wait to fill you up, stuff you fucking full. Can you take it, baby?”

He’s relieved he hasn’t come again already, though he knows he could. He’s holding back because he’s still so close to the edge. If he isn’t careful, he’s going to lose it again.

“I can take it,” you reply, voice high and tight. “Give it to me, Kookie- fuck.”

He grabs the hair at the back of your head and pulls it back, exposing your neck so he can kiss you, lick you, bite you there, moaning against your skin as you whimper and stutter.

“Kookie, shit, please. I need you to fuck me forever. God, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he grunts. “Shit, won’t stop. I’m yours, baby.”

“Only mine.”

“Only yours.”

You press your lips to his clavicle, then lick a bead of sweat travelling down his throat. Jungkook moves faster still, his grip on you painfully tight as he threatens your cervix with every thrust. You’re so sensitive, you’re at an almost constant spasm around him; your limbs still heavy and weak, tingling like they’re both going numb and coming back to life. You simultaneously want this to last forever and feel like you’ll die if a single extra ounce of pleasure is put on you. Then Jungkook sucks at that one spot on your neck that makes you melt and you swear, voice wavering and breaking.

“Give me one more, baby,” he demands, so low you almost don’t hear it.

“I don’t have it,” you whimper.

“Yes, you do, c’mon, y/n.”

And he slips a hand between you, never letting his pace falter.

“Jesus, fuck!”

He touches you gently, but it’s enough to have reality slipping from view, your vision burning white, your blood roaring, screaming in your ears as you cum again. You hold him tight, your nails digging into his back, your teeth hard on the delicate flesh of his neck. It rolls through you, knocking your breath from your lungs, and once it’s passed, you’re trembling, shaking.

Jungkook is holding his breath, straining to last to fuck you through your orgasm; you’re so tight around him it’s like his brain loses signal, just a siren wailing an emergency. No thoughts, no words, when you collapse against him, he exhales, and releases into you with a long, high-pitched sigh.

He lies back onto the sofa, taking you with him.

“That was more than ten seconds, right?” he asks, breathless.

You laugh and pat his shoulder.

“Well done, little jammy dodger; I’m proud of you.”

“For lasting more than ten seconds or winning the title?”

“What title?”

The question leaves your lips before your brain has engaged and Jungkook laughs, first a little and then a lot, so much that you can’t help but laugh with him, can’t help but laugh until you’re crying, your abs hurting, you’re silent in your mirth, breathless and voiceless and hysterical.

When you finally stop, you bring your face level to his. He still has tears of laughter in his eyes and streaking his cheeks. You wipe them away with your thumb and he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“Both, I guess?” you answer.

He grins and shakes his head.

“I almost lost. I thought I was going to fucking lose,” he tells you. “That second half, I-…”

“What happened?”

“I saw you. I saw you in the crowd and I almost fucking came right then and there.” He laughs, though it was anything but funny at the time. “I couldn’t concentrate on the fight; all I could think about was trying not to get a fucking boner. Shit what a stupid fucking idea it was not having sex for four we-”

“I fucking told you!”

“I know, I know. I will never not listen to you ever again for the rest of my life, I swear. God.”

“No more sex bans?”

“No more sex bans. I am never, ever not having sex with you again.”

“Good.”

You lift yourself onto your elbows on his chest and kiss him first on the lips, then the jaw and neck and anywhere within reach.

“Speaking of never not having sex… Are you ready to go again?”

[clrasecretdiary]

Oh no, i love him. Pt. 2 | Spencer Reid x Bestfriend!Fem!Reader

more fluff !!

find part.1 here!

content: Spencer calls reader stuff like "honey" (yes, I am obsessed w pet names), Mutual pining, Reader is an overthinker (just like me fr).

warnings: none

--

The day before, you and the team had finally arrested the unsub that was threatening your best friend. You hoped to get a good night of sleep after one week of horrible nightmares, well that's not what happened. 

Instead, as soon as you lied down, your head now started to remind you of everything that went down the previous day. You and Spencer, what almost happened, the awkwardness during the whole day, how you two basically didn't speak the rest of the day, the way the team were staring at you both… You were scared that your friendship was ruined, scared that everything was a misunderstanding and now Spencer thought you were a creep. 

"Fuck this" You say, accepting that there's no way you would sleep, getting up and heading to your living room to at least watch something to pass time until you had to go to work. 

You turn on the TV, and notice that the channel is playing an episode of doctor who. 

"Very funny universe" You say, it's like Spencer is everywhere around you. The cardigan you stole from him on the coat rack, his favorite book that he annotated for you on the coffee table… You can't escape him, and there's no way you're losing him. 

You watch a couple episodes, a few moments later you look at the time. It's 5:30, you start to get ready, have your breakfast and head out to the office. Besides your attempts, you still arrive early, being the only one already in the office besides… him. 

"Couldn't sleep either? " You say to Spencer taking him out of the focus on his paperwork and setting your things down to your table that was close to his. 

"Yeah, there's a lot on my mind to be honest" He says, looking up at you

"Mine to…" You say, grabbing a chair to sit down next to him. "Spence, we really need to talk. I need to tell you something" 

He does not answer, just maintains eye contact, waiting for you to continue. You take a deep breath, gathering courage It's now or never, you'll never know if you don't ask. 

"Ok, yeah… I love our friendship, I really do, it's like top 5 best things that ever happened to me. I don't know what a would do without you, and if you don't... agree with what I say I really need us to continue the same, I cannot do this job, hell I can't exist without you" 

You take a deep breath, gathering courage It's now or never, you'll never know if you don't ask. "But I don't know if I'm delusional, but there's no way this - You point between you two - is just friendship love. And this felling has been driving me crazy for months now, and I need to know and if you don't feel the same that fine. What do you actually feel for me, Spence?" 

Your heart feels like it's coming out of your chest, the seconds before he answers feel like hours and then he just… Starts laughing

"Fuck you Spencer" You say as you see the man laugh in front of you, you expected that he would not reciprocate your feelings but laugh at them was at another level. 

"No, honey, I'm sorry, it's just… Isn't it obvious?" 

"Not really, Spencer" You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms at your chest 

"Darling…" He says, putting his hands on both sides of your face, looking at your eyes, "I don't think there has been a single day on my life since I met you that I haven't been in love with you" 

As soon as he finishes that sentence, you feel your heart skip a beat and your stomach drop. You lean in and kiss him deeply, and he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. You both stand there, embracing each other. You have never felt so loved.

[etheries1015]

A fearful Realization Pt. 2- Malleus X Reader

A continuation of This

A scenario in which you finally realize your feelings for the fae, however, the feeling doesn't leave you as elated as one may think. Perhaps it's time you came to terms with the fear of falling in love?

You slipped away from the party, excusing yourself with a quick apology to Silver as you found your way to the rooftop of Noble Bell Academy. Leaning over the edge your arms propped up on your elbows, heavy head being held by the palms of your hands. Using one arm you removed the mask to prevent the tears from ruining the fabric, wiping away with precision and avoiding any smearing of makeup you may have applied.

Staring over the beautiful stretch of the city, your eyes gazed upon the hundreds of people beneath the sun-kissed horizon as the sun slowly made its way to rest for the day. A gentle breeze blew through your hair and chilled the tears dry against your frosted cheeks. You had heard Silver run after you, clearly ignoring your desire to be left by your lonesome. So once the door to the roof opened you hadn't bothered to look back at the silver-haired boy, instead letting out a shaky and feeble chuckle through trembling lips. You didn't want anyone to see you in such a state, but as much as you wished to avoid it, there are things we as humans cannot control. Matters of the heart, for example.

"I...thought I told myself to give up on love a long time ago," You began to say, "I..." You looked down at the people walking around the city, some who were holding hands others laughing and coming together in joyous endeavors. You felt a tinge of jealousy as your heart stung with pins sticking deep within.

"I don't know why I bother, Silver," you choked out forcing a sob down your throat, "Because without fail- every single time- you somehow manage to convince yourself "His must be the personal in which I finally learn to love!" Your hands fell heavy to your side, turning away from the bustling of the city to stare in anguish at the mask in your grip. "This MUST be the right one."

"But it never is."

You sigh, finally deciding to place the mask on your face once more before looking up at the cloudless sky dusted in pink and orange.

"That's why I'm terrified. Our worlds are so different, there's no way he could possibly love me back. And even if he does, there's just...so much that can go wrong. I might still go home, and I don't want to do that to him-"

"Who, if I may ask, are you referring to?"

Your eyes widened with your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach, whipping your head around to find the source of the deep honey voice was not Silver; yet the very man you were desperately trying to avoid.

Malleus.

Your words were caught in your throat, the tears that had just stopped flowing threatened to return. In a panic you turned back around and shut your eyes tightly, hoping it was all some sort of bad dream and the Fae would magically disappear. It was inevitable though, this encounter. You would have to come to terms with your feelings to him one way or another, and this was the universes way of saying it was time.

"It's too soon," You whisper, "I can't-"

"You can," A reassuring hand placed itself upon your shoulder, urging you to look his way. When you turned to face the ethereal Fae, you had difficulty catching yourself to catch his gaze with your own. Malleus brought a gloved hand underneath your chin, using his agile fingers to tilt your gaze forcefully yet ever so gently to look into his entrancing emerald orbs.

"Am I right to assume you may be referring to...me?" You could sense a sort of hesitance in his voice, the confident man you saw singing up on stage was now standing vulnerable in front of you- and you were certain your resolve was no longer existent seeing him there under the glare of sunset. You gave a feeble nod in response to his inquiry, body trembling in terror for something you knew all to well about; rejection.

However it seemed to be the exact opposite of those deep-rooted expectations...instead, you found Malleus wrapping his arms around you, mostly to avoid showing you the un-princely blush that rested upon his pale cheeks and flustered appearance at the confirmation of your feelings. A moment of silence seemed to stretch into an infinity of uncertainty, yet was short-lived by Malleus making a rather...bold statement.

"Then I shall consider this day forward you to be my mate since I too reciprocate your feelings of affection." You shook your head in absolute bewilderment, pulling away from his chest to look him in the eyes, your mouth agape. Ah...there it was. The normal Malleus you knew- the one who was just slightly awkward and easily flustered- the one you knew not for his stoic nature and princely aura, yet his sensitive soul and animal-like silliness.

"Did you think that through?" You asked with an astonished chuckle at the rapid response the fae had given you, "I mean- first of all, I'm not from this world. Second of all, I'm a human-"

"None of that," He interrupted with a sly smile, "This is a time to rejoice, is it not? I believe we should celebrate by sharing a dance together," He smiled down at you, moving himself to grasp your hands into his.

You hesitate before deciding to drop your counterarguments, for now, the insecurities and questions can wait, you decide. Besides, everything was moving so quickly, you weren't even sure how to feel anymore. The emotions that seemed to take over your consciousness mere minutes ago were easily replaced with confusion and bewilderment, a far cry from what you had thought you would be going through when your confession came out. Malleus somehow had that effect about him, always swaying your emotions far left or far right- always knowing how to distract your mind from its own darkness, instead replacing it with something you weren't sure how to describe other than reckless abandon.

"Right now?" You responded with a breathy chuckle and raised eyebrows, "But there's no music up here...."

"I do not need music to enjoy a dance with you," He smiled, placing your hands where they needed to be for a classic ballroom-style dance, "so let's set aside your worries and simply enjoy the song of the wind and people laughing below, hmm?" With pursed lips and a deep breath, you allowed Malleus to lead the dance as you took your first step toward your new resolve.

-----

Masterlist

[pinecipitation]

STARDEW VALLEY SAM X GN!READER HCS

word count: 800+

authors note: I’m not rereading this if there’s a mistake or something doesn’t make sense, IGNORE it 😭😭

warnings: none I think!! mentions of drinking, but only for Sam

- uses so much hairspray that you like to pretend that it got you, dramatically clutching your heart and falling to your knees whenever he accidentally sprays it over his shoulder onto you. lucky for you he plays along and drops it, immediately falling to your side and yelling for paramedics

- cannot survive a single day without your touch, whenever both of you are home he immediately comes to rest his chin on your shoulder or place his hands around your torso for a back hug. most days he will just pick you up without a word, your complaints and giggles on deaf ears as he silently carries you to the couch or bedroom

- that being said, LOVES to lay on top of you even when you complain and kick him off. he’ll go limp

- overheats so easily, call him “my man” or “pretty boy” or anything relating to that and he’ll turn red

- when he kisses you, a small quirk he does is audibly go ‘mwAH’

- wherever you work or whenever he’s over to pick up some produce at your place, will NEVER let the same joke go. He’d lean over any table or counter and try to brush his hair back with the same stupid “Do I get a discount if I flirt with the cute farmer/cashier?” and unfortunately you fall for it every time

- the first few times you jokingly said no or didn’t answer, he’d pout and begrudgingly take out a tiny note pad and make a small pretend tally on it, the whole time sadly and longingly looking over at you and pretend to write in a sad diary entry

- he’s a big fan of reoccurring bits

- we all know I’m a huge fan of multiple piercings, grown out brown roots, crop top at gigs version Sam

- but I also love summer Sam, where he’s running around in the water and splashing his friends and little brother at the beach

- I love messy hair Sam where it gets wet and it’s down, and how he looks completely different from his usual hairstyle but he’s still the same man

- I love out-of-breath Sam when he’s sneaking up behind you on your beach chair, jumping on you and immediately picking you up while you’re screaming about his salty wet body on your dry clothes, him giggling as he threatens to walk you two closer to the shoreline

- I love affectionate Sam who will come sit on the sand next to you if you’re more of a under-the-umbrella person, collecting little shells and rocks and balancing them on your left leg as you read or lay back and watch him. He just wants to be near you

- Y’all know that trend where it’s a guy with the caption “Waiting for my wife to finish putting on my sunscreen so I can go play” and when she’s done, the man sprints towards the beach/pool? That’s him, that’s him your honor

- I love somewhat athletic Sam who would eat up everyone in a game of volleyball or a swim competition at a swimming pool, feeling the need to express to everyone that even though he sucks at video games or pool, he does overshadow it by being better at ball games

- I love sunburn prone Sam where he almost always accidentally tires himself out and falls asleep on a beach towel, waking up a few hours later with a very visible red tint to him, or he falls asleep under an umbrella but one of his arms or legs were out and now he’s part red

- I love sunburnt Sam where he’s shakingly laid out on his stomach on his bed, hissing every time your cold hand spreads aloe vera on his unfortunate back. But once you’re done he gets up, coming over to envelop you in a hug and thanking you for taking care of him

- I love restaurant dinners on the beach Sam, who didn’t realize he was on his fourth or fifth glass and is slightly drunk

- I love clingy drunk Sam, who Sebastian and Abigail left under your care as he leans and drapes over you on your walk back home, talking to seemingly no one as he lists out things about you that he adores

- I love Sam, the way every time he gets drunk or tipsy he looks at you like he’s amazed you’re near him, not fully clocking that you two are together and he’s acting like he’s shy on a crush

- he likes you to be in the room when he gets ready for shows or dresses up, him always making a point to huff and get frustrated at his eyeliner just so you notice and offer to help. you miss his sly smile before he turns around and agrees, calling you his hero and drenching you in thanks until the next time he pretends to need help

- despite the soundproof garage, you always seem to hear a muffled agitated groan whenever he can’t get a riff or a certain note to sound right, always going over to check and he’s laid on his back on the floor like a bear rug in frustration. he does bounce back up when he sees you, complaining about the instrument briefly before asking you to stay with him. “good luck charm,” he calls you

- it’s without mention that you go to every show and gig, Sam always subtly looking for you in the crowd when he’s up there. you do think it’s funny to switch where you are from show to show, just so you notice him immediately look to the right and scan for you until he lights up and sees you on the left

- Sam with kids, he’d treat them like a baby sibling instead of a child

- literally any pinterest redraw meme where it’s a grown adult and a child, that’s them

- once the child is a little bigger and starts playing video games, he gets a little offended that the kid keeps coming to you for help instead of him

[peachesofteal]

Cupcakes

Maybe this will be a thing. Or maybe not. Either way, I've got the Pedro brain rot.

Joel Miller/female reader One shot - 1.1k words - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, mentions of blood, violence, gore. Joel is bad at feelings. Descriptions of explicit sex. Joel doesn't understand you.

He doesn’t understand you. You smile. With your mouth, your pink lips curling above a deep scar on your chin. 

“It’s my trophy.” You told him one night. “I got it from a crazy fucker who had a barn fulla clickers.” He’s not sure why any person would be penning up a bunch of those things, but you did say he was crazy. “Killed him though. Was one of my first ones.” He watches your face go dark with the memory, and he tries to imagine what you were like before all this. Soft, sweet. Probably someone’s wife. Maybe you stayed at home. Made dinner, made breakfast. Maybe you were the type that made cupcakes, real ones from scratch, with sweet spun sugar icing. Maybe you took care of someone. 

He doesn’t understand the way you think. You’re always telling him to take it slow, take it easy, take his time. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. He has to move fast, quick, easy on his feet. He cannot slow down. You have no problem making pace, but it doesn’t keep you from voicing your opinion. 

“You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack. Don’t the doctors usually start old men on baby aspirin at your age?” He’s not that old, for christ’s sake. He’s not even forty-five yet, he thinks. When you laugh at your own jab, it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. 

He doesn’t understand the way you fight. You creep around like a god damn cat, brandishing a knife in your hand, another two slipped in your boots. You liked surprise, and you hated guns. The first time he had watched you put a blade in someone’s clavicle, he thought he was going to be sick. He didn’t like you having to get so close, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were fine. And he hates how his head spins when he watches you put that same knife in the side of a clicker’s head, twisting it for good measure, before you’re shoving off of them and bashing their skull in. 

“Can’t aim worth a shit.” You complained the day he took you out for practice. You couldn’t hit a single bottle, and he couldn’t fight the grimace that graced his face. When you saw it, your cheeks turned a different color, and guilt burned inside him. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so fucking stubborn. Why you don’t listen when he tells you to do something, when you blatantly ignore him when he tells you not to follow the crying little kid that’s begging for help. 

“It’s not like it was life or death.” He turned on you so fast he watched your eyes go wide, his arms pulling your shoulders towards his chest. “It is life or death!” He had yelled. You had run into that building without a care after that kid, and he could hardly keep up. Turns out, the kid’s mom was already infected, and he didn’t understand. He was only five. You covered his eyes while Joel put her down. You had carried him all the way back to camp, even after Joel had offered to take him, arms wrapped tight around his back as he cried. So stubborn. But you let Joel hold you that night, for the first time. In the dark, your hand running up and down his spine, your whispered words repeating over and over. “I’m fine. I’m fine, Joel.”

He doesn’t understand your feelings. The way they shift from one day to the next. He doesn’t like how it feels when he catches you crying, drop of tears webbed in your pillowy lashes. 

“What is it?” the words are gruff, and he wishes he was softer for a split second. You sniffle and shake your head. “It’s my dad’s birthday. Or would’ve been.” He gets it, he does. But he doesn’t know how to show you, so he just sits down on the step, his shoulder against yours. You wrap your hand around his knee after you’ve dried your tears, and he holds his breath while you turn your tear-stained face up towards him. “Thanks, Joel.” His name on your lips makes his blood sing. 

He doesn’t understand the way you talk to people either. The way you make everyone feel like they’re some ray of sunshine in your life. Like they matter to you. You give everyone your smile, and your eyes, and your touch. You rub Rita on her back when she throws up every second week of the month, like clockwork. You braid the Marshall girl’s hair when her mom isn’t around to do it. You try to arm wrestle John when you both get a free moment, and he can hear your laugh clear across the yard when he lets you win. 

“He gets a kick out of it.” You tell him one night. “Makes him feel good. Shitty world we live in, you know?” 

He knows. 

He wants to make you feel good.

He hasn’t had a woman under him in years. He’s all rough sandpaper, and he can’t imagine that scraping against your porcelain skin. But, that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. He dreams about bending you back on one of those shitty mattresses, your skin rippling in goosebumps under the tips of his fingers. He imagines the way your mouth tastes, how your hand would feel wrapped around his cock. He thinks about how you’d sound, with his mouth on your cunt, his tongue licking up inside you, pulling an orgasm through your gritted teeth. He’d hold your hip in one hand and fuck his fingers into you with the other, feeling the way the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. He thinks about how he’d push your hips down onto his cock, your back arched in his arms, your mouth pressing into his shoulder as you moan. “Joel.” you’d whine, tongue darting out to lick your lips, hand gripping his forearm. “Fuck, Joel. Please.” He’d bite the skin of your neck, bringing it between his teeth, pulling the blood to the surface to brand you. You’d be his. 

These things he wants, they’re just a fantasy. A gentle dream, like the memory of the world before. He knows that, he does. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting. From watching you when you’re on guard, hips swaying with every step you take. Doesn’t stop him from taking himself in his hand when he thinks about the curve of your waist, the prominent dips in your hips, the soft crease where your thigh bends when you sit, legs folded against each other. He wants to pin you beneath him until you’re shaking, wants to hold you to his chest while you sleep. He wants the sweet, soft spun sugar that melts in his mouth, the feeling of you in his arms. He wants the cupcakes, the real ones. 

He wants it all. But it’s only a fantasy. 

[prettyboykatsuki]

Lately, Al-Haitham cannot tell the sky from the sea.

Sumeru is a land of jungles and dessert alike - but there is no ocean except for on the coastal line. A place Haitham has never been and never plans on going.

The quickest way to travel to Mondstat is to travel across the sea. You could go by land - but it would take you five days and five nights before you made it half way. With a ship, you can make it there in three days. If the Anemo Archon is merciful, the wind will guide you in two.

Sumeru does indeed have a sky. It's a vast one, clear of stain. You can see every single star in it from the highest point of the city. Specks of bright light glittering against obsidian, it's quite something.

Al-Haitham is familiar with the sky. He's bore witness to it more times than he can count, propped against the edge of his desk - deep into research and searching for some indomitable truth. Haitham learns to quell the curiosity that lurks in his stomach. It's easiest to describe it like a hunger pain. Dull yet gnawing.

Despite his demeanor, Al-Haitham is not dispassionate. He speaks clearly and concisely, and values reason over emotion. Progress over virtue. Al-Haitham had never been a very virtuous man and his research had never existed for that sake.

High on the list of things of traits he values within himself is his ability to be reasonable. To be pragmatic in the face of uncertainty.

Haitham can't find it in himself to be pragmatic in the face of this uncertainty. And the indomitable truth for now is that his heart is laying in the palms of your hands.

You hail from Mondstat, but your mother and father were from Sumeru. You visited on and off, and then settled in Sumeru after some years of traveling. An adventurer, you call yourself. The type that feeble academics hardly associate with.

You crossed paths because of a friend. At first, he didn't feel particularly bothered by your presence. He figured you were type to think with your heart not your head.

But eventually your presence stuck. Tangled in his fingers like a web. You always inquired about his research when you dropped in unattended. Opened his eyes to the vast world, stars littered in your gaze as you spoke of the unknown lands far from home.

Al-Haitham has never been especially compelled by life stories, but in the evenings - he would listen to yours and feel his eyelids get heavy with sleep.

Lately, there's not enough noise to drown all the silence out and he finds he can't rest without it.

There's many things that Haitham can longer seem to do without you. Without you around, the deep dark of the Sumeru sky fills with him a sense of longing for the ocean. When the wind catches and he smells salt, he wonders when you'll invade his quarters again. What you'll wear this time - a flower or a necktie or something else ornate.

Love is unreasonable. Knowing it is different it from feeling it.

Al-Haitham knows he's being unreasonable by wishing to possesses you. He knows that his yearning and subsequent frustration are all unreasonable without a sliver of doubt.

He knows deeply that in this moment, there's real danger in watching the curve of your neck as you lean your head back. Tracing the silhouette of your shoulders as you stretch on the bed in his room.

"Haitham," You hum, voice coarse like salt-water and sweet like morning breeze "Your bed smells like you."

"I sleep in it," He replies, deadpan. Instead of angering you laugh, soft like how bubbles pop. A smile cracks his face before he can hold i back.

"You should show me. How you sleep in your bed, I mean."

"Are you asking to bed me in such a crude fashion? Even for you-"

"You're so stiff. I don't mean it like that, Haitham. I want to hold you for a bit."

"Isn't it the other way around?"

"I know you're a scholar but stop worrying about semantics and hurry here already."

If anyone else would impose upon his life and his research so openly, he's certain he'd condemn them. Instead, Haitham shuts his book closed and collapses in his bed above you. He rests his palm on his cheek as he turns to lay on his side and feels satisfaction when you learn forward to meet his lips.

Al-Haitham cannot tell the difference between the sky and the sea. He can't remember where he stops and you begin.

[lychniis]

⚘ — I PINE FOR YOUR LAUGHTER.

i. SYNOPSIS : there were moments of warmth and softness. you might be crazy saying this, but you might be more than a little in love with them. ( submission for the genshin impact white day event ). ( cyno / wanderer x gn ! reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : no warnings, just plain fluff save for wanderer being a slight douche ( it's wanderer ) and some swearing ( it's wanderer ). sharing one bed trope, modern ! au for cyno, scara cannot braid ( he's so bad ), hair pulling because scara cannot braid ( this is the life of bougie kids ). my submission for the genshin impact white day event and gift for @asoftspotforangels. i hope you like it!!!. NOT PROOFREAD.

# masterlist

&& . cyno · ( the light flickers off ; but the tent is warm )

THERE IS LITTLE ERROR IN Cyno’s methods when it comes to camping, you learn. His judgment was reliable and his process was safe enough with a novice at his side ( he had done this countless times before, with and without you, and you try to comfort yourself with that ) and he was one of the better camping partners amongst your friends. He hardly made much of a mess or threw much of a fuss, and his presence was amicable if not distant.

“He’s alright.” you had told Kaveh when he voiced his concerns. “Cyno’s not going to leave me in the middle of the woods to fend for myself. He’s not like that. I trust him.”

You trust him.

But your hands still shake when you help him straighten out the tent ( and it feels like someone unleashed a flurry of butterflies in your stomach ), and they shake harder when a single sleeping bag is unrolled and his impassive stare trains upon it. You half assume something was wrong, that this night was a bust and an hour long trip back to Sumeru City was due.

“I forgot another one.” he states, and his brow furrows, dispelling any creeping inklings of doubt that threaten the corner of your mind. Cyno wasn’t so forgetful, so petty. He certainly wouldn’t deceive you ( right…? ).

"What?"

"I forgot another sleeping bag."

Oh...

Oh...

This was...unlike him...

“Okay…” you swallow. “I could use a blanket instead.” It's a polite offer from a friend ( because that’s what you are, you remind yourself over and over and over like a record on loop when you look at him ).In truth, the thought of sharing his heat, of his arms resting around you cocooned in a space so small — you hardly think your brain could function.

Cyno mulls over it for a moment, then another, his head tilting to the side as it always does when his thoughts fill his mind with different ideas and opinions. It was his thinking face, people state. Or his 'secretly planning a murder' face.

Finally his hands drop to his side. “Absolutely not.” he decides and there is an edge of finality in the way he speaks. The warm shade of his eyes pierce you in the spot, quietly scrutinizing you for any weak attempts of protesting. “Besides, the night is cold. I don’t want you to freeze over.”

I won’t freeze over; you’re just making excuses dammit —

He was a stubborn man, Cyno and his words were law under the ground rules of camping. It was one of his constants, something to stir up against his reliability and the safety he exudes, and after eating some canned soup and some food he brought in for dinner, you slip into the sleeping bag, with him following after.

His hair tickles the back of your neck and his breath was a warm prickle upon your chilled skin — you felt everything and nothing at the same time — from the slowly fading numbness of your fingertips, to the arm that snakes around you.

Yep, you were going to die — any second now.

“I know you feel like we’re in a tight spot right now…but I won’t do anything that would case you any distress.'' Despite the situation, the terrible joke makes you smile a bit. “Tight spot?” he tests with the driest tone in existence. “Oh wait, I think you’re smiling…you’re doing fine?”

“I'm okay.” you know you’re lying and you know Cyno can catch on to it. “I just need a moment to adapt…” 

“Are you sure — ”

Your hand moves a bit and you squirm in place till your fingers lace against Cyno’s and you let out a shaky breath. At least you could find some sense of control now and the thought makes you feel better.

Cyno lets out a strained sound as his words still and whatever sentence he was about to stutter was lost to the abyss. “You alright?” you echo his question and you feel a little bad for teasing him. But you're smiling now. You're trying not to laugh ( he'd hardly be bothered by it anyway ).

“Yeah.”

If you’d turned, you’d have seen the shy droop to his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. The flashlight lighting up the tent flickers off when your eyes grow heavy and sleep tugs at your consciousness. Cyno’s forehead pressing up against your shoulder was the last you feel when you drift off.

This is fine, you tell yourself. This is fine.

Morning is another story to deal with.

&& . wanderer · ( these hands of his ; has much to learn )

HE CURSES ONCE, twice, thrice as he combs away a few more knots, fingers bent and his brow creased. The man behind you went by the moniker ‘the wanderer’ and he refuses to peel away any more layers save for the callous courtesy and snide comments on top and that, you realize, was why you find this situation strange.

Was he a friend? Perhaps. There was an ache when you’d see him, an instinctive mix of anxiety and admiration that stems from the pit of your stomach and a place so old you doubt you remember. It was persistent, like the patter of rain and the falling of dew in the Avidya Forest, it was like grasping in the dark for a face of a voice that whispered into your ear as a babe, or the lingering warmth of a hug. 

Sometimes, he looks at you with the air of someone tired, of someone meeting an old friend . It flickers through the cracks, then it’s gone — covered up as quick as it came.

He first came to you as a stranger, his inexperienced hands teaching himself how to sew a doll and you gently guided him through. Now he teaches himself how to braid your hair, his lack of skill shining through with every absent tug and uncomfortable poke. You wince every time he swears till you pull your head away.

“Stay still!” he snaps, his frustrated grimace deepening as he steadies your shoulders and holds you in place. “Give me a moment, let me figure this out — FUCK!” he pulls on your hair again and the braid falls undone, the meager progress he made now unwinding into a mess. “Dammit.”

He leans back, indigo eyes holding back an unbridled storm as the hair tie slips onto the ground and he glowers at you. “You’re the one pulling my hair.” you snap in turn, massaging the ache in your scalp. The Wanderer wrinkles his nose.

“You’re the one who asked me to braid your hair in the first place.” 

“You could have just said ‘no’. I wasn’t forcing you!” 

He looks unimpressed, tossing the hair tie your way with a huff while the few looking over the bickering seem to bend their heads down and hide their faces. An old lady does not bother, her amusement lining her face and wrinkles as she makes for the two of you, the Wanderer glancing up with a stiff set to his jaw when he notices.

( You knew the softer parts of him, where his crassness never met the ears of the children or the elderly. You wonder why he would never treat you the same way. )

“If you two need any help, I wouldn't mind lending some advice.” she supplies and the smile she wears is brilliant and it is kind. Some of your anger eases away.

“We wouldn’t want to be a bother…but thank you.” “Nonsense.” she laughs, her eyes seeming to peer at an unspoken joke she caught on to. You do not see what she sees, with your youthful gaze. “Now you there, young man?”

The Wanderer straightens his back.

“You’re too impatient. Take your time bridging their hair. It’s no wonder you keep tangling it up. Should it get too messy, comb through the ends a few times.” you listen to her instruct him, and apart from the absent pulls, he was far gentler now, careful, almost. The elder departs and the Wanderer continues on.

His touch was soft. And it was hesitant.

“How come you’ve never learned how to braid hair before…?” you finally ask.

“How come you haven’t?”

“I always kept mine short…or my parents would do it for me. I suppose I let it grow out before I even noticed…” you let out a sheepish laugh, at how stupid you sounded, at how stupid the answer even was. The Wanderer hums, seemingly taking it in.

You catch a flash of color from the corner of your eye and you smell something sweet. He lets your hair go, now braided, its messiness and inexperienced winding covered up by flowers pinned on alongside the tie. 

You fall silent. He looks at you, his indigo eyes shadowed beneath his hat.

“It’s beautiful.” you mutter, feeling your cheeks war,.

“...Right.” he lets out a soft exhale. “Well then, since you’ve just admitted to being absolutely pathetic at basic hair care…” he pauses. “I suppose you could call me again.”

“Again…? You repeat and you smile.

His ears turn pink and you think you see a flash of sadness and of longing.

“Don’t get used to it.”

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

*lies down* i hope you enjoyed this! this is the first time i wrote either of these two characters so there was so much for me to get a grasp on kjnbvbnjk. but it was still fun writing all of this down and i hope i could dip my fingers into thinking up more wanderer and cyno content some time.

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist —@x-zho @dustofthedailylife @silentmoths @ofoceansandtombsanew @meimeimeirin @the-travelling-witch @blinkofink @thesparklingwriter, @niverine @hleb-chan-sky @genshinboys

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Take and Give

Hey, more gore and horror for you, inspired by my recurring nightmares :) This isn't quite as bad as Grass, but there is implied rape, so tw for that and body horror? (Btw ppl on my taglist, if you want to not be tagged for my horror, drop me a DM or ask and I'll remember to take you off for those)

They came and took it again. My skin is bare and cold to the touch. I can feel the shivers down my spine, my thighs quivering with the memory. It is a bad dream, these days, more a nightmare than my fitful sleep.

I remember the past, sometimes. I remember the moments under the sun, when I had hopes and aspirations. I remember, though it is nothing more than a lie now. 

They do not scar me, do not sully the facade of my beautiful body. But they wound me all the same, with their words and starvings and the things they do to my insides, the things I cannot mention. It hurts and I bleed and I throb.

The bleeding is good. It means they do not have me yet. While I bleed, while my stomach is flat and my ribs show, I am safe. I fear for the moment I swell, fear it like I do their taking. It will come, I know that. I can only escape for so long.

So I do what anyone must, in that situation. They take me again, and again, and I struggle, even with the drugs, even with my malnutritioned weakness, even with the hopeless knowledge that I will fail. I scream and claw and bite, flailing helplessly.

They grow frustrated with me, and in a single blow, silence me. I feel the sharp sting of their rage, the blood leaking down my cheek. It is glory, relief, safety in the knowledge that the bleeding is good. So when they throw me in the cell once more, and the cold stone floor sinks into my bones, I pick myself up.

My legs tremble with weakness, my heart pounding with the futility of my actions. I stand on the cusp of a metaphorical cliff, poised to dive into the abyss below. I take a deep breath, and dive. My forehead slams against the concrete. My nose screams with agony. My blood splatters like the blossoms of hope. So I do it again, so my nose shatters. And again, so there are shards of teeth scattered amidst the red. And again, until my face is a bloody mess.

They want a pristine whole of a meatbag, and I will not let them have it.

When they come in, I laugh at the horror on their soulless faces. It is as though they have seen the world from my view, for once. This time, when they take me, it is while I wear a mask. I mock them for that weakness.

They guard me more closely now, having lined my cage with mattresses. I play dumb and innocent while they watch, biding my time. I do not have another chance at this, I know. I have to act, and swiftly.

So when they leave at long last, I dig my fingers into the mattress, clawing until my nails come loose and the metal of the springs appear. I straighten it best as I can, remembering the old tales about coat hangers.

It goes right into me, the same way they take me, brushing against the hateful places they try their best to reach. Blood leaks out, a good sign. I scrape and scratch and claw with the spring, ripping free the cushioning they so adore. I pray the wounds go septic, both the ones within and without. 

They come back from their lunch to find me cackling at their foolishness. Their disgust turns to rage, rage at my disobedience, at my rebellion. They bring out the bit, meaning to silence me once more, but I know better now. With my broken, fractured teeth, I sever my tongue, spitting the flesh at their feet, and widening my foul mouth at them.

No, I am no longer their precious temple to defile. I am ruins, haunting and hateful and horrible, unwanted by them.

They tie me up, keep the bit on, force feed me when I try to refuse food. They think they can torture me, bring me back under their thumb. But the scars of my face, the tongueless nub in my mouth, and the blood that flows constantly from within tell me otherwise. When they take me, which is getting rarer and rarer, it is with an air of distance, of hatred for me and what I have done to their property.

One day, as they take me, I shift my weight just right. My knees are hyperextended, my elbows locked and beneath me. When they bring their weight crashing down, I hear four simultaneous cracks. No, no more willowy limbs for them. No more pretty snub nose for them. No more pretty body for them to use and abuse.

That is when they realise they have lost. It drives them into a frenzy, knowing that even my death would be a victory for me. Any wound upon my person would be a wound to themselves. 

So I am thrown out unceremoniously, in a bloody bag of chopped up limbs, deep out in the ocean, where I can be at peace at last. I get the last laugh, even tongueless and voiceless.

For all that they took me, they can never have me.

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[f33der]

The hike

Christian gets into his old ford pickup and exits the gates of the military base where he works. “Shit that was a long day” he says. “I CANNOT believe my leave finally starts, 2 whole weeks off!”

The year is 1993 and Christian is an officer in the Army stationed in Virginia. He’s been in ever since his family disowned him after he revealed he is attracted to men. Hoping to find a partner in the military, he applies to be an officer and possibly meet someone. After 3 years with the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, he can’t help but feel a bit hopeless as he can’t really meet anyone openly. With no family and no prospects of finding love he is just going through the motions, day by day.

It wasn’t just the lack of options that prevented Christian from getting him a date, in the last year or so his trim physique had started to soften up into a little beer belly. Late nights drowning his sorrows with beer and binge eating until he passed out started to take its toll on Christians waist line. Luckily the strict weight standards and forced exercise his job required kept him from plumping up too big.

Standing at 5’11”, Christian had an adorably cute face. Quick growing dark thick beard a military style hair cut with bright blue eyes. Very much an ex jock when he looked in the mirror with strong arms and a thick chest but still not body builder buff accompanied by a little patch of chest hair that ran down over his recently rounded out belly to his crotch. Thicker hairy legs and calves and an olive skin tone. Not ugly to say the least but definitely needed to get some cardio in to be “attractive.”

“Fuck, I have got to start getting in shape or my commands gonna have my ass.” “ I wonder if I can still fit into my combat uniform?” He says, as he slaps his gut and watches it bounce back to its round shape. “Maybe I should check out some of these nearby hiking trails and get some exercise.” Not having really any friends he decides to go it alone. The following day he maps out a moderate trail, gets his gear ready and his uniform on and drives about an hour into the country to meet the trail head. Without a parking lot he decides to drop the truck off at a nearby shopping center where he knows no one will bother towing it and walks the rest of the way to the trail.

He starts off eager to sweat and see some nature as the dirt path winds him deeper and deeper into the wooded Forrest. “Damn it is hot today” he says as he reaches for his canteen to replenish the trail map slips out if his backpack and lands on the ground. Christian hasn’t passed a single person which he actually loves and is about an hour into hiking. He reaches a fork and decides to go left noting he’ll be able to find his way back. Another hour goes by and a few more random turns on the trail later Christian decides to trace out where he’s been on the map. “Oh no, oh no, dammit” he says as he frantically searches for the lost map. “ dammit I knew I should have brought a spare or even a satellite phone.” He starts to panic and decides to try and retrace his steps.

Hours go by and the sun is setting, Christian is lost and is getting really worried. Luckily he can start a fire and find some cover for the night in an open area by some fallen trees. He sets up camp and hears his stomach growl, “ ugh I only have a few snacks, first thing in the morning I’m headed dead East to find someone to help me outa hear.”

Morning comes and his hunger deepens. After packing up his campsite he heads toward the sun and bushwacks his way for what seems like miles. “ I’m so so stupid, how could I let this happen, I should ha...” He hears something in the distance, all he can see are trees and sky. “ are those gunshots??” He says, worried. As he gets closer to the sounds he confirms someone is definitely shooting off a rifle, “maybe they’re hunters and they can help me out” he says. He gets his brighter article if clothing out, his red boxers, and waves it in the air to signal he’s no deer or squirrel as he heads closer to the sound. “ HELP, I’ve been lost out here for awhile can you help??” He screams toward the gunfire and it stops. He continues forward to find a small parcel of land, maybe a quarter acre cleared out in the forest and a vintage cabin. “ maybe it’s a vacation cabin for hunting” he says out loud and walks his way up to the front yard, red boxer briefs in hand. “ anyone around?? I’m lost and I could use some help!” From the back of the house comes a deep voice that barks out “ Who’s on my Fuckin property?” Christian screams out in a panic as he eased his way around the corner of the cabin “ please, I’m sorry to trespass but I got lost in the woods and I need to maybe use your phone?”

From around an older shed in the backside of the yard comes a shirtless beef cake of a man. Christians jaw drops as he gawks at the man before his eyes, wielding the rifle he heard earlier. His gawk turns to terror as the business end of the rifle turns its way to Christian and the question is repeated to him, “ I said, who the fuck is on my property?” The man screams in a thick country accent. “My name is Christian and I’m in the Army that’s why I’m dressed like this. Please I got lost hiking and I really need some help. I’m so sorry for trespassing. Please don’t hurt me.” He pleads. “Christian, my name is Billy and I really don’t like company on my land” the big country hunk says as he lowers his weapon. Standing at easily 6’4” and probably 250 pounds of pure manly beef, Christian can hardly believe his eyes. Billy is dirty blonde with a thick beard that’s trimmed up nicely on the neck. Wearing a pair of aged ripped up tight Levi’s and work boots he stares unknowingly at Christian. Under his handsome face sits a big beefy upper body with a dark farmers tan. His not so hairy chest leads down to a big plump beer gut that seems to suspend itself in mid air. The brown leather belt and buckle around his waist seem to stretch as they bow under his proper gut. Standing about 30 feet apart, Christian can’t stop staring at this big meaty man until he hears “ what the hell are you fixing your eyes on me like that for boy?” Christian’s responds, “I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see someone like you living here, or.. never mind I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to startle you.” Billy smirks and starts to walk forward as Christian finishes his sentence, fearing he’s about to be killed by this country boy. Billy gets right up to Christian, looking him up and down to examine his new “guest” and says “you look like you been rollin in mud boy. How the hell did you find me and my land all the way out here in these woods? Never mind, I guess I can fix you up with some water and comfort to talk more about what we goin do with you now.”

Christians eyes go wide as he hears those words. Billy puts his arm around Christians shoulder and slightly forces him toward the front entrance of the older cabin. It looks as though it’s been well maintained considering there’s no driveway or telephone poles in site and all Christian can see as he enters is a large field adjacent to the back yard with several different kinds of crop and a large barn in the distance beyond that. The inside if the home smells like timber and baked bread and is definitely lacking in electronics. Wood burning stove and what looks like vintage furniture all around. As Christian takes in his surroundings he hears billy say“ why don’t you strip down outa those clothes so I can give um a wash and you can refreshen in the washroom toward the back of the house?” With a big menacing smile on his handsome face. “ umm.. I ugh.. I just really need to find my way back home man I-“ Christian is interrupted as billy screams “ ITS SIR IN MY HOUSE, you got me boy?” “ yes sir, I’m so sorry I’m a little uncomfortable I’m just going to go ple-“ as Christian gets up while speaking billy pounces to the door and deadbolts it with a key. Christian gulps hard and they lock eyes as billy says “ well you must be a city boy cause you got no manners now do you? Ya won’t let me wash you up, you won’t call me sir and now you wanna leave before I fill you u- I mean get you a meal? That is just a shame” billy laughs as finishes his rant. Christian is visibly shaken as sweat drips down his neck, he slowly back up and tries to make space between himself and billy but knows that if a fight erupts, he’s not winning. He chooses to stand down and continue pleading with billy to just point him in the right direction but billy, with his fingers rubbing his broad chin just paces the kitchen/ dining room area and seems to think about his next move. Christian finally stops pleading to be released and they lock eyes. Billy’s pale blue eyes look him up and down and he blurts out “ take off that jacket shirt thing covering your mid section.”

Ughhh.. o.. okay?” Christian blurts out as he uncomfortably removes his military cover jacket to reveal his normal uniform. “ now take off the other one too dammit!” Billy demands as he jumps forward at Christian. Christian quickly unbuttons the blouse to reveal his undershirt tucked into his pants. His slightly toned chest and nipples show their outlines through the shirt and as he fully removes his arms, Christians little beer gut spills out for billy to immediately glance at. Christian just stands awkwardly with his head down contemplating the idea of making a run for it. Billy breaks the silence, still shirtless and walk over to billy once again. Almost halfway across the room he orders “ well it looks like you’ve been eating well, Christian.” Billy says in a seductive voice as he closes the gap between the two. Billy reaches out his big weathered hand and pokes Christians gut then pinches it with his thumb in Christians belly button and his index finder under his fat roll directing Christian down onto the seat nearest the stove. Christian, sits reluctantly and cant help but stare into Billy’s round tanned gut which is directly in his face. Billy grabs Christians chin and forces his eyes toward his own. Billy takes a step back and grabs ahold of the belt buckle under his beer gut and unfastens it. Slowly pulling it out through the loops of his skin tight Levi’s. Christian notices the top two buttons are undone already and stares back at billy. “ in this house, we like to eat until we’re full and we ALWAYS finish what’s given to us.” Billy says as he starts to unbutton the rest of his fly buttons one by one. Reaching the last button revealing a thick bush surrounding a throbbing meaty cock, not too big but thick and dripping with pre cum. He pulls his pants half way down, grabs his cock with one hand and slaps his stomach with the other as he arches his back. Christian is aroused but worried and blurts out “ sir, that’s a bit to big for me to swall-“ Billy grabs the back of his head and shoves the cock down his throat. Christian gags but takes it as best as he can. Billy thrusts a few times and is so worked up that after a minute or two he clenches Christians hair with his hands and cums down his throat. “ omg I’m going to drown” Christian thinks has billy won’t let up. He swallows and swallows as fast as he can and finally is able to breathe only to feel half full from what felt like half a gallon of cum being forced into his gut. Billy pulls back, smiles and pulls his pants back up. Billy says calmly “ here’s the thing little guy, I like myself and my men with a healthy appetite and a round pot belly to show it. Now what I plan on doing to you is seeing how quickly I can get you to bust outa that uniform you seem to want to keep on so badly.” As he steps closer to the fearful Christian and places a gentle hand over his plump little gut “ now, I hope you’re hungry, strip down and wash up cause I got supper in the oven and I’ll cook up some extra sides just for you.”

Christian nods agreeably and strips naked to reveal his untrimmed ex jock body to billy. Billy licks his lips and says “ throw the clothes next to the wash room, I’ll take care of them tomorrow. Sit down after you wash up.” “ with what clothes?” Christian responds angrily. “ “none fat boy, I wanna see that belly get nice and plump while you eat.” Christian walks away to wash up thinking “ holy shit, how the fuck did I get into this situation? How do I get out? Why does he want to watch me fatten up? Why did that turn me on?”

“Suppers ready, get ya ass back out here boy.” Billy screams. Christian comes back cleaner than he was and sees a full ham, mashed potatoes, collard greens and gravy along with heaps of baked muffins. “ a-all this for me?” Christian asks nervously. Billy chuckles and says “ I gotta eat too, don’t be selfish.” They sit down and and Christian reluctantly starts to eat realizing he’s actually starving.

It’s pretty much dark again and billy, still with his pants unbuttoned leans back to rub his distended stomach for Christian to see. “ damn, I’m lookin like a pig these days wouldn’t you say Christian?” Christian, still working on his mound of food nods in agreement and feels his dick start to throb at the sight of this hunky man in front of him. Billy notices his stares, gets up and approaches the back of Christian as he eats noticing his boner. He pulls Christians chair out and gets down on his knees. Christian is in awe at the moment. Billy looks at Christian and says “ ya better keeping stuffing that food in as I do this aright?” Christian responds “ yessir” and continues to stuff himself with the country feast. Billy starts at the pecs and puffy nipples, sucking and licking them. Then goes to the small crease under them to tease Christian. He moves to Christians puffy love handles to lightly bite on them and pinch the other side with his fingers. Billy moves down to Christians now distended stomach and starts to tease him. All the while Christians cock is throbbing for attention. Billy continues to tongue his way down as Christian continues to stuff himself. Billy pushes his face into Christians crotch, smelling the musk from the mans loins and wraps his lips around Christians dick eventually deep throating him. Christian exhales in ecstasy as billy works him while pinching and massaging his bloated stomach. Christians finally finishes and cums but is only half way through dinner. Christian sits there amazed and a bit confused as billy gets up, picks up a handful of mashed potatoes and shoves it into Christians mouth. Christians eyes grow wide as he realizes he’s being force fed. He tries to fight billy off and another handful enters his mouth only to feel Billy’s gigantic hands wrap around his wrists and hold them down to continue fattening Christian up. He pleads as handful after handful are forced down his throat and his belly tightens with each swallow. “Fuck, sir I can’t eat much more I’m gonna pop.” Christians belts out inbetween handfuls as the plate in front of him empties. Billy smirks and starts to laugh, “ don’t worry boy, I guarantee you’ll finish all this under my watch, unharmed.” Christians braces for another handful as food scraps tumble down his softened belly, getting stuck in his chest hair and pubes as he is forced to eat and eat until the last bite finally makes its way down into his gorged stomach and his arms are released. “Fuuu-burp, I can bar- ely breathe, I’m so tired.” Billy pats Christians taught belly, lifts him up and carry’s him to a separate room in the house with an old cot and some spare old clothes on the floor. Billy places Christian down on the cot and leaves him to rest. He locks the door behind him and Christian quickly nods off from exhaustion.

The next morning Christians wakes up and finds billy leaning in the doorway. “slept in little guy, we still eat three meals a day no matter when you wake up.” Billy says. “Your uniform is washed. Breakfast is almost ready so get ya ass dressed.” He barks. Christian washes up and arrives at the table to find another massive spread. His military uniform is actually clean considering it was hand washed but he’s FAR from hungry. “ billy, sir, I’m sorry but I’m just so confused and kind of scared. The police and military are gonna come looking for me. I won’t say a word if you just let me go I promise.” Billy turns around, smiles and says “I don’t think they’re gonna recognize you after I’m done with you fat boy. Those pants are looking tighter already.” Cristian responds “sir, I don’t understand why you’re holding me hostage to fatten me up like this?” “ like I said I like my men with some extra meat on their bones, you just happened to have a head start.” Billy says as he walks over to Christian, forces him to sit and puts a heaping plate of food in front of him. “now eat up piggie.” Christian works on the hearty breakfast of mostly carbs and meats until he drops his arms in defeat. Billy sighs and approaches the back of Christians chair again. “I guess I’ll just have to make you eat then.” Billy says as he reaches into a kitchen drawer to retrieve a long rope. Christian panics and tries to get up only to be forcefully seated by Billy’s strong arms. Billy hog toes Christian to the back of the chair, picks up a thick slab of pork and shoves it into Christians mouth. “Ain’t gonna plump you up if you can’t even finish a meal properly.” Billy announces as he continues to bring food to Christians mouth. The rope wrapped around Christians mid section between his chest and stomach grows tighter as he is forced to eat what seems like a pound or two of breakfast food. When he’s done, billy unties his captive and sends him to the small room to rest.

The same routine continues for each meal, it seems Billy enjoys the feeding part so Christian is restrained for every meal and made to eat and eat until billy is satisfied. Sometimes its with clothes on but mostly without. Sometimes if its a lighter meal billy will play around and make Christian suck him off or the opposite. Christians room is small and he is only allowed to use the wash room to bathe and use the restroom when Billy is around so his physical movement is non existent. He tries to do pushups and pass the time with some small exercises but there’s no way to counter act the calories he’s being forced to consume daily. Day in and day out christian is force fed massive amounts of food with little physical activity and the weight is starting to pile on. His stomach is always being stretched bigger and bigger with every meal and it always looks packed full. He doesn’t know his weight anymore but he estimates a good 20 pounds has been added to him if not more. He can feel himself growing fatter by the day. Dinner is Christians favorite because after the stuffing he knows he will get a long break before breakfast and he can read and relax in bed with the stash of books he found in his room. As fucked up as the situation is, Christian starts to form a routine around his captivity. He asks billy if he has any more reading materials so pass the time and billy brings him a plethora of novels and readings from somewhere in the house. Christian knows his only chance of escape is if someone stumbles upon the cabin in search of him. “I should have told someone where I was going,” Christian says to himself as he wonders what will become of him. Christian sits alone most nights and the one thing he really misses is social interaction. “I need to start forming a bond with billy to win him over and maybe I can escape. He wants me to eat big and get fatter so ill just give in, I won’t fight back, ill win him over!” Christian thinks to himself.

The next morning Billy wakes unlocks the door to the small room and finds Christian awake already. He is half naked with his camo pants pulled up over his meatier thighs and looks at billy. “ You’ve really turned me into a hog sir, I’ve been wrestling with these buttons on my pants for a few minutes and I can’t seem to fasten them. My gut is too fat.” Christian says as he slaps both sides of his distended but less full stomach. His Belly giggles slightly in front of billy who’s awe stricken by the sight. “ Damn right, I have fattened you up nice” billy says. Christian can see he’s turning billy on instantly and he milks the occasion. “ so what’s for breakfast big guy?” Christian says as he rubs his belly in circles, enticing Billy. “ I like to see you so eager for a feeding pig, I cooked up a bunch of eggs and a fat slab of ham from the farm. Also got some of those muffins you seem to like so much.” Billy spits out with his southern draw. “Mhmm, well I’m ready to dig in” responds Christian slapping his belly once more for dramatic effect. The two men walk over to the table and Christian sits down with his pants still unfastened, his hairy stomach fills into his lap as he leans over to smell the food in front of him. “ smells delicious sir” Christian says. Before billy can even get the rope, Christian digs in and with force. He alternates between the eggs and the ham, taking a break every now again for milk and a bite of the muffins. “Guess you don’t need to be hog tied if your gonna eat like this, fat boy. If you keep this up your gonna be a porker in no time.” Billy says as he watches Christian devour the meal in front of him and starts to eat his own breakfast as well. Christian finishes quickly but he’s stuffed, his face is red and he’s flushed as all hell. His stomach has expanded a good few inches since he’s started and he leans back in his chair to stretch.

He slaps his round belly for Billy to see and says “ why do you want to fatten me up like this? Are you ever going to let me go?” Christians says as he continues to play with his protruding gut trying to break the ice and get some dialogue going with his captor. Billy looks at him for a moment and continues to eat. A few minutes go by and he says “ Listen fat boy, I’ve spent a lot of years here building this place for this kind of thing. You just happened to walk right on up to me. Seems like fate huh? As soon as I saw you undress me with your eyes I knew your cute ass was the one I wanted. Also I can’t have you runnin off telling anyone important that I’m back here.” Billy explains. “I’m sure you’re curious how long this is gonna go on for but I got BIG plans for you if you know what I mean.” Christian gulps hard and sits quietly. It’s not what Christian wanted to hear but now he knows this might be permanent. Maybe a case of Stockholm’s syndrome will kick in and make it more bearable he thinks. Billy finishes his own breakfast and allows Christian to wash up and use the bathroom. He is locked back in his room as billy goes back to tending the farm.

The days start to blend together as Christian is made to simply eat and get bigger. It has felt like weeks or maybe even a month or two have gone by but Christian has no idea. His once small beer belly has grown into a proper gut that pours into his lap whenever he sits upright almost covering up his cock. It’s round and firm rather then flabby because of the highly caloric, dense meals. His plump love handles wrap around his torso form a perfect ball of a gut that seems to grow wider by the day. The outline of a once relatively fit, athletic body can be seen where his hips are as the V shape is still present but now there is a big ball shaped stomach protruding outward just above. Stretch marks are forming around his armpits and waistline and even his thighs. Christians pecs have softened even more but his constant pushups and pull-ups in his small room along with his ridiculous diet have actually beefed him up around the chest and arms which billy encouraged.

Christian is allowed to shave his face with Billy’s straight razor under supervision and his now trimmed face shows off his fattened features surrounding his already handsome mug. His thighs and ass have gotten larger too as he sits around most of the day. Christian sometimes forgets what he even used to look like as he is stuffed like a pig day in and day out but his relationship with billy has started to turn into an oddly forced romantic affair. Billy refuses to get too close but he is affectionate and loving. “After all, he’s never tried to actually harm harm me” Christian says to himself.

One day as Christian is nearing the end of his room workout he hears the door slam harder than usual. Billy scrambled around outside Christians room and finally opens Christians door. “Just heard a radio message in the barn that they’re looking for a guy that matches your description.” Billy says somewhat frantically. “ I can’t have the law snooping around here and finding you all bound up in the kitchen getting stuffed so I’m going to start filling you up somewhere more secret.” He said with a dirty smirk across his face. “gonna have to fatten you up a little faster too so they don’t recognize ya if they find ya around here, huh?” Christians eyes grow wide as he hears those words. “ sir, I’ve done everything youve said. I’ve been eating on my own and obeying you. I can barely handle the food you serve me now though.” Christian pleads. Billy grabs Christian by the wrist and drags him into a room he’s never been in before. It’s the master of the house that has a huge bed in the center of the room with four big posts on each corner of the bedframe that extend to the ceiling. Billy forces Christian into the room. He goes to retrieve Christians old uniform and throws it at him. “ put it on and button it up fat boy.” Billy demands. “I want to see to it that you burst right out of that thing before I burn the evidence.” Christian stares at the uniform wondering how he’s even going to get the pants halfway up his legs and past his fattened ass. The buttons on the shirt might not even touch with how fat he’s become. “DID I STUTTER PIG? I said PUT THE DAMN UNIFORM ON!” “Ok ok I’ll try sir.” Christian responds.

He waddles his way into the pants and they look painted on. His thick backside and thighs are so much larger then they used to be that there is almost no room left in the pants. The outline of his cock can be seen clearly they’re so tight. He pulls the light green army issued undershirt over his head and yanks it down past his chest and over his round stomach. The fabric around his gut it so tight you can see Christians belly button indent perfectly. He tucks the undershirt into his unbuttoned pants and pulls the button end of the pants toward the button hole on the other end of the waistband. The gap between the two is about 2 inches from each other. Christian breaks a sweat to button the camo army trousers. “What happened to the soldier I met? Seems you put on some weight fat boy?” Billy says as he chuckles watching Christian struggle. After a few minutes Christian fastens the pants button. A sweat stain on his chest and under his pecs let’s billy know it was a endeavor. The pants look like they’re about to rip at the seams and the button is about to burst. Christian puts the button down matching army blouse over his head and wiggles his thickened arms into the holes. He tugs enough to get the shirt around him. Christians arms look beefy as they fill out the sleeves well. He looks down to start at the chest and works his way down, button by button. The first few arnt so bad but the chest is too small now. He reaches the button above the curve of belly and sucks in as hard as he can. He quickly fastens all the buttons, struggling with that second to last one but finishes the job. As Christian exhales he feels like a sausage in a casing. Billy stares in amazement has he takes in the sight. Billy’s force feedings have fattened Christian up, probably adding a good 40-50 pounds to his once ex jock frame at this point. His buttons all look like they’re about to take an eye out.

Christian feels defeated knowing this all started because he wanted to lose weight and got lost hiking in the woods only to find a man that would force feed him to look like he does now. Almost ironic. Billy exits the room sporting a massive hard on, pre cum dripping through his jeans. He returns with a few strands of rope and orders Christian face up on the bed. Christian slowly mounts the bed, trying not to tear through his skin tight uniform. Billy ties his victim up to the posts, limb by limb. He stares down at Christian who helplessly stares back wondering what will happen next. Billy smiles and says “ let’s see how much food we can fit in ya.” Christian knew there would be a feeding but as billy started to bring in plate after plate of carbs and meats and cheeses, Christians eyes grew wider. “He can’t possibly expect me to finish all of this, can he?” Christian thinks to himself. Billy finally brings in a big jug of milk and what looks like massive pumpkin pie. “Aright fat boy, where do you wanna start?” Billy says joyfully. Billy cuts some homemade bread in half and fills it with some homemade meat from the farm and cheeses. Christian gulps hard as he prepares to take the first bite of a sandwich that could feed 3 people. Billy holds the sandwich in front of Christians concerned face and forces his jaw open. “Eat up!” Billy teases as he forces Christian to chomp off a heaping first bite.

Christian swallows and another bite is waiting. Chew by chew, swallow by swallow, billy pushes the massive sandwich down Christians throat. Another sandwich follows and then another, each one getting harder to eat as the stuffing continues. Fresh rolls are shoved into Christians mouth every so often as he struggles to keep up. Billy is amped up by this feeding and Christians stomach starts to stretch but it doesn’t have much room to grow. His military blouse is stretching thin over his growing mid section as he’s forced to swallow more and more food. The holes grow wider between the buttons in the shirt revealing the undershirt he’s wearing as the last sandwich is presented to Christian. As Christians hands and feet are tied to the bed he starts to thrash around and turn his head to deny the food. Billy grabs his jaw and forces a bite into Christians mouth. He swallows a few bites and finally the 2 buttons burst off of the shirt and fly across the room. Christians distended belly surges forward as a sigh of relief escapes his mouth. “Fuckin finally, I thought I was never gonna get to see you undress for me” billy says in a teasing manner. The center or his belly is now bulging from the shirt and billy demands that Christian finish the sandwich. A few more reluctant bites go down and another 2 buttons, burst but with less dramatic effect, resting on his crotch area. “that’s a good pig, keep growing for me fat boy. I want to watch you shred these clothes.” Billy says as he slaps Christians belly and forces the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Christian moans as he swallows the last bite. “Please sir, I can’t ... eat.. anymore. I’m gonna explode” he pleads.

Billy laughs and brings the jug of milk up to Christians lips. “Couldn’t catch what you said there piggy, drink up.” Billy demands as forces the spout of the milk jug into Christians mouth. The force of Billy pushing the container into his mouth creates a seal. Billy looks devilishly at his captive and slowing squeezes the jug, forcing the rich creamer into Christians mouth and down his throat. Christians arms reach for his face to instinctively shove the man off but again, he is bound like a hog. He thinks to himself “ fuck I’m going to drown, I need to breathe.” Billy lets off but keeps the container in place in Christians mouth. He breathes heavily out of his nostrils for a minute or two and as his breathe returns to normal, Billy slowly starts compressing the jug again. . Gulp by gulp, Christian feels his gut pushing its limits as the last bottom button bursts, revealing Christians round and fattened stomach covered by a painted on undershirt. Billy, sprouting a hard cock through his work jeans, gives Christians belly a soft rub as he examines his work. Christians gorged stomach heaves as he catches his breathe. Billy pokes and slaps his victims belly. “We’ve made some good progress I’d say” Billy says as he leans over and inspects the pants button that should give way any minute now. Christians expanding gut is nearly hanging all the way over his waistband now and the button can barely be seen. “Now we just gotta pop this last button and I think we will be alright. Ready for desert?” Billy says as he reaches for the pie. Christians wiggles and his belly does the same as he trys to free himself with no result. Billy pulls the undershirt over Christians chest to untuck it from his tight pants and waistband revealing a packed balloon. His hairy stomach is stretched tight and it’s glowing with taught skin. Christians belly button is even stretched out and less deep. Shiny red marks appear at the roundest part of his stomach showing just how wide he’s become during this stuffing. His love handles have the formations of stretch marks just from this feeding.

The waistbband of Christians pants folds under his gut as his fat mound spills over into his lap, love handle to love handle, forming a perfectly symmetrical fat boy. From above, Christian is sprawled out with a desperate look in his eyes as he feels himself expanding with no way to stop it. He wonders to himself how much more he can eat before he bursts or throws up. Billy kisses Christians soft pecs and licks the sweat thats dripping down his chest. “Fuck you taste good.” He says as he scoops a big spoonful of pie and holds it up to Christians mouth. Christian whimpers as billy forces the spoon past his lips and into his mouth. Billy puts his hand over Christians mouth and forces him to swallow with each new bite of pie. Christian holds the sweet dessert in his mouth for minutes trying to avoid a blow up. “Don’t worry fat boy, I’m patient. One way or another I’m going to pop that button of your pants,” Billy chuckles out. Christian looks down at his stretched belly and he can barely see his crotch anymore and swallows. Billy places a gentle hand on Christians stomach as he alternates between stuffing Christian with pie and forcing him to drink the fattening creamy milk. Billy feels Christians stomach gurgle and slightly expanding with each gulp or bite that he’s forcing into the helpless man.

A few minutes of this continue and the pie is not finished, a big fat spoon of pie is again presented to Christians lips as he pleads “no more, I’m gonna puke”, as his mouth opens billy shoves the spoonful in and “POP” goes the pants button holding together the two sides of his waistband. Christians belly accommodates the new space and pushes an inch or two forward. He let’s out a large moan and leans his head back. Billy, finally satisfied, stands up and takes in the full view as he chuckles. “God damn fat boy, I never thought I’d get to force feed such a handsome pig enough to burst outa their clothes!” Christian slowly chews the piece of pie as milk and sweat drip onto his meaty chest and he can’t even respond. His head lays back on the bed frame as his arms and legs are still bound. His undershirt is pulled over his pecs and his Blouse is missing every button besides the top one. His pants lay defeated as Christians big round hairy gut rises and falls with each labored breathe. Billy is impressed by his work and slowly approaches Christian’s feet to make his way onto the bed. “Now that those pants are undone I can get to your cock, I guess I’ll finish you off.” Billy whispers as he pulls Christians buttonless pants and underwear down to his thighs and start to kiss Christians hairy legs. Billy works his way up to Christians now rising cock and admires the incredible amount of food he’s forced Christian to eat. He smells Christians musk and sweat as he plays with his manhood. Billy starts off slowly, reaching his hands up to feel Christians gorged stomach and caress his body. He kisses the indent that the tight waistband of the pants has left on Christians underbelly. Billy teases Christians cock and slowly starts to insert it further down his throat until his nose is at the base of his Christians groin. Billy’s forehead rests on Christians bloated gut as he moves up and down, faster and faster. The extreme pain Christian feels in his stomach is now overshadowed by the affection Billy’s showing to his cock. He’s never had someone make him feel so good when they are sucking him off. It’s the best head he’s every felt.

Christian jolts as he climaxes and cums for what seems like an eternity. He looks down at his distended ball gut and see Billy rise, wiping his mouth with a giant smile on his face. “Fucking fat pig likes to get his dick sucked, consider that a treat for destroying your clothes.” Billy says as he gives Christians belly one last slap and walks out of the room. Christians eyes grow so heavy he immediately falls asleep and the day ends for him.

[bubble-popping]

day 19 and omg it's the cupid au i talked abt literally months lmaooo

Dream pulled back the already taught string just a smidge further. His aim was perfect, sight locked on, bow deathly still; contact inevitable. He would hit his target this time, and he was determined to make sure it stuck. He let go with a decisive huff, watching the arrow soar to its destination. This was it. After weeks of failure after failure, he'd finally-

Miss. The target moved at the last possible second.

The fingers that held the arrow's nock trembled. His jaw hung open, eyes wide.

"He dodged it. Again. He fucking dodged it again!!"

"Geez, some Cupid you are, Dream," a british accent quipped behind him.

"I thought you were supposed to drop this case, dude," another complained.

"No, you guys don't understand!" Dream whirled around, facing his two dearest friends that, recently, were really getting on his nerves. Last he checked, friends were supposed to be supportive. "I have a perfect fucking record. Every case I'm assigned, they fall in love by the end of the week. I don't miss shots, I don't make mistakes, and I don't drop a case just because it's hard!"

"Look, Dream, we get it, man. We've had our share of Unlovables too." Sapnap shrugged.

"But I've even made Unlovables fall in love! And I feel it, Sap. This one is absolutely loveable! I bet my wings on it!"

"I really don't see the big deal. You getting so wrapped up on this one case is only gonna affect your other cases."

"Ya know, George," Sapnap murmured in his ear as he leaned against his shoulder, "maybe if you were this passionate about the job, you wouldn't have so many cold cases."

"Oh, yeah, like you're any better. You just got your wings a few months ago. I've solved more cases than you've ever worked!"

"Sorry I didn't have a hundred-year head start, old man!"

"Would you two shut up!? Don't you both have your own cases to deal with?"

"I finished mine earlier, but Boss said he wanted to talk to you. Sapnap just kinda followed me."

"Boss wants to talk...?"

For some reason, Dream got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

~~~

"Your actions have shown clear disobedience. Such behavior is unbecoming of a Cupid, of an angel at all! For the crime of insubordination, you shall have your wings stripped."

Dream's face fell. A haunted expression took over. He felt like crying.

Before he knew it, angelic guards had grabbed him and began strapping him down to a wooden board, back exposed. He heard a third approach, a flaming holy sword in hand: the only weapon capable of completely removing an angel's wings.

The heat got closer, like a guillotine descending toward his neck.

"No!" He struggled, fighting against the shackles but they didn't budge. "I'm sorry! I'll drop the case, I swear! I won't disobey again!"

The high angel showed no sympathy. Neither did the hundreds of others that watched him, a spectacle, an example of what happened when rules were broken.

"You've already had your chance, Dream. Sever his wings!"

Dream fought harder to no avail. He sobbed, pleading for mercy that never came. With a single sweep of the fiery blade, his wings were sliced clean off. Bloody feathers flew up. He screamed. Dream felt the thud of his wings hitting the floor reverberate from his feet up to to his chest.

The crowd cheered. He liked to think he heard a few wails of agony too, but it was hard to tell over the sounds of his own.

Finally, the guards undid the restraints, pushing the board out of the way, and he promptly collapsed to his knees. Pain swept in waves over his back like flowing lava. He rested his forehead on the floor, vision blurry with tears, whole body shaking.

"Without wings, you cannot remain in the heavens. Guards, cast him out."

A fear like no other struck him in his very core. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Questions of how this all happened, how it got this bad swirled in his mind. They didn't last for long. Not when once again hands grabbed at his limbs, dragging him out of the large room, causing panic to course through his veins.

Though it had no effect, he still begged for forgiveness, tears rolling down his cheeks. The faces of his best friends came into view, held back by more guards. They looked angry, confused, terrified. They called for him, apologizing as if this was at all their faults. Dream hated that this would be the last look he ever got of them, the people he cared about so, so much. He forced a watery smile, mouthing his love and goodbyes.

The gates arrived sooner than he expected. Without a second thought, the guards tossed him out. The soft, pillowy clouds didn't catch him like they used to. He went right past them.

Then, he was falling, wind rushing by, whipping at his exposed skin. A chill tore through his body. He hadn't felt temperature before. His body instinctively adjusted for flight, but, of course, that didn't happen. Never again.

He just kept falling. The ground rapidly got closer. This was it.

This was where he died.

[shamixlour]

The Newsreader - 1x06 _ The Looks

I was rewatching the show and could not help myself notice these looks, so I decided to make a small analysis of them and what they supposedly mean. Grab something to drink, a snack because despite my attempts to keep this relatively short, I just know it is going to be long.

Anyways, let’s get into it!

There is something about the art of looking in this scene that makes me absolutely devastated for each single one of those characters: Dale, Helen but also Tim. It is so interesting to me how through the gazes they are able to instantly paint the very specific and unique emotional turmoils they each are going through at that moment. It is so vivid, almost palpable the way their emotions get carried via their glances. They look and we watch and we directly know. 

But yeah, I just love how they used the looks to expand and highlight a certain aspect of each relationship. I adore how the gazes are a witness of that specific instant. I don’t know, it is such a human thing to look at people, it is instinctive, we do it even without thinking of it most of the time and yet I found the use of eyes in this scene quite genius. Like, imho, it is genuinely clever to employ something as inherent as eyes, as looking to human beings to express feelings that cannot be perceived, because they are there, the emotions, the feelings, we can see them in the actions of/their eyes. 

First, we have Tim and for some context, we learn in that scene that this is Tim’s last day at work and that he is leaving his job, partially, imho, because Helen discovered what had happened between him and Dale and because the whole situation had become too much for him to handle. The news drops like a bomb, and they all seem awkward, but then we catch Tim spare a quick glance in Dale’s direction after it is known that he has quit his job. It’s barely a look, so furtive and somewhat almost innocent. He wants to look at Dale so badly, he wants to look at his reaction upon the sudden news, he wants to see something but he refrains himself even before he has the chance to see it and averts his gaze which is a pity because we, the audience, see the something, because it is there, on Dale’s face but Tim misses it out. It feels like Tim believes that he does not have the right to look at Dale anymore, which makes this look even more morose. 

Then we have beautiful Helen. She is obviously distraught and emotionally overwhelmed by the revelations regarding her relationship with Dale but also the events in general, with the news they are trying to broadcast. She glances toward Dale at some point, and I read that look as a quiet cry for help, for peace. Dale is the one bringing peace to her. She is used to looking at him and falling under a serene calm wave, but it is not the case anymore. Her eyes are watering, her traits carry so much emotional turmoil and she looks at the man she loves, the man that betrayed her and Helen is stuck in the room with the source of what makes everything crumble down and she can’t find her peace anymore as she looks at Dale. It is all gone. She looks at him, and the anguish is still there. It torments her, and we know, with her eyes that something is broken. 

Speaking of broken. Dale. His look is horrendous. It is so painful for me to watch. It reeks longing. It is longing in its purest form. Longing for Tim, for who he is, for this man that embodies SO fucking much for Dale. It is yearning for something, a love, a life Dale refuses to let himself have. It is pining for a love story that could have been beautiful. Essentially, it is burning for Tim who is leaving Dale behind and looking at it again, it makes my stomach knot itself into a billion horrible ties. With just this look alone, Dale is able to show us, the viewers, how meaningful Tim is for him and not only as a love interest but merely as a human being entangled in his life. With this look, with these eyes on the verge of sharing tears, Dale silently paints his pain, his sorrow, his utmost surrender for us all to see. He is not going to fight for Tim regardless of the longing and oddly vicious eagerness for more. He has given up and Tim is leaving and it makes Dale sad but he is mostly defeated. His eyes yearn but he has given up. Dale’s gaze slides away and with it vanishes everything. 

I believe it is interesting to note that it echoes with Helen looking at Dale because Dale used to look at Tim for peace, too. Whenever they worked together, whenever he felt the anxiety crawl up his insides as he faced the camera, Tim was there, behind it, bringing peace to him, telling to relax but he can’t do that anymore. Dale can’t look at Tim and find comfort there. 

I just love what they did here, resting upon the looks for storytelling instead of actual dialogue. It is a charged scene but in a very subtle way which, again, I find genius and so in harmony with the show’s sensibility, AND it reminded me of a quote I like :

A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of the poet by Orson Welles. 

And here, not only the camera is an eye in the heart/head of our characters but we quite have this inception kinda silly theme where the camera on the eyes is literally the eye in the head of our stunning Helen, Tim and Dale.

Thank you so much if you read until here <3  

[ventii-lous]

POV: You get into an argument and decide to leave PT I

Featuring: Venti, Albedo, Diluc, Kaeya

PT 2 : Zhongli, Xiao, Thoma and Ayato

A/N: Okay so this is the first time I'm doing something like this so sorry if anything is OOC. Reblogs, and likes are appreciated <33 Also note that Kaeya's part was kinda rushed cause I absolutely cannot seeing him ever hurt us...

[UNEDITED]

Venti

Venti had been recalling your argument the hour before and guilt was all he felt. He hadn't meant to say he was better off without you but he had and he knew it had hurt you.

As he approached your house he had made up his mind to apologise and make it up to you somehow. He however, hadn't expected to see your bags outside the front door with you tossing the keys through the mailbox.

"Y/N? Where are you going?" He said, confusion flooding his thoughts.

"I'm leaving..for a while." Y/N said, looking down.

Venti's heart dropped to his stomach as he tried to bring the words to his mouth but they were forced down as Y/N pulled her luggage past him.

Knees weak, he collapsed to the ground, grabbing onto the wall. He saw something glimmer on the road and he reached his hand out, fingers trembling slightly by the mere idea if what it was.

A gold ring. Their matching gold ring. With the sight of it, Venti allowed a single tear flow down his cheek. He knew he would always remind himself of the day his first and only love left him. The day he realised he was too naive despite his age.

Albedo

Whilst watching the reaction of his fifth experiment, he left the solutions to fizz up to the top of the glass beaker once again. He cursed himself for being clouded by the thoughts of you, your mouth, the way it closed abruptly, as if you had avoided saying something. He hated it sourly, He wanted you to feel safe to say what you pleased, despite knowing it would hurt him. He wanted to know the words that you wanted to say.

He slammed his fist down onto the work bench, ignoring the rolling pencils and flying paper. Sucrose watched from afar, concerned for both him, her family, and you, her closest friend. She knew there was a closer connection between the two of you.

"Sucrose, I'm..going out for a while, you'll be okay by yourself?" Albedo asked, already putting on his jacket and walking towards the door.

Sucrose hesitated as she thought of the package in her pocket. An envelope given from you. "Actually, Mr.Albedo, Y/N gave me something to give to you."

Sucrose pulled out an envelope and handed it to Albedo, watching him immediately rip it open. A letter fell into his hand and a metal object fell to the floor.

Sucrose gasped a little and she focused on Albedo whose eyes were wide open.

He didn't have to read the letter to know what it said but he opened it anyways.

I'm Sorry, Albedo

His world crashed and thunder struck in his heart, he lost the very thing that brought him meaning to what humans called living and now he had to pay the price.

Diluc

"I'm really busy right now, I don't have time for you or your bullshit Y/N, Get lost already.!"

Oh how he wished he could burn his words. He said the words without thinking. He raised his fist without meaning to. He knew as soon as the words had left his mouth and his hand had been raised that he had torn their relationship apart.

He watched silently as you packed your stuff from the door frame for your room. Now his.

He had already tried, begging, crying and apologising too many times to change your mind. Diluc's fists were closed and his arms were close to his body.

Despite all you said, he thought of trying one more time. "Look Y/N, I didn't mean to say it-"

"But you did, the damage is done Diluc, I..need some time, Okay?"

Diluc's eyes fell to your bag, "How long is some? Are you leaving forever? I can't..I can't live without you.."

Y/N stopped moving and turned to Diluc. "I..can't either..But if I had to choose between loving you and loving myself, We both know what I'll choose."

It wasn't a surprise to Diluc, he had always told her, Choose herself before others and now those words had become bittersweet to his ears.

Infact, he was kind of glad she was leaving him, he was about to hit her. About to. He would have never been able to deal with himself if he had. But he almost did and even that truth started storms in his head.

Y/N zipped her bag and walked past him. Diluc couldn't help but say one more thing before he let her go. "If you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me, that would be enough for me."

Y/N turned back before saying, "It would be a long time before I think I can."

Diluc felt tears brim but he kept a stoic face as Y/N left the house keys on the table and left the house for what may be the last time. It felt too quick.

He was glad; in a way. At least now she wouldn't have seen him fall into a chair and sob his pain away into the night. At least she couldn't see how much he hated himself for that moment.

Kaeya

Kaeya was devastated. Drunk and devastated. He hadn't seen you all day since your argument, and somehow he ended up in the Tavern.

"My my, why is such a young fella looking upset tonight?" Said a man, sitting a seat down from Kaeya.

He turned to face him and noticed he was a lot older than he was, perhaps in his late 60's.

"Just something with me and my wife..I know I'm in the wrong but I'm not sure if she would want to see me.."

The man sat quietly deep in thought than lit up his eyes, as if stumbling across a fond memory.

"Ahh, I remember being your age my lad, I was in a similar situation with my fiance. She was feisty and brave and definitely someone who would have lived to be a wonderful woman."

Kaeya sat up a little to hear what the man said, "I forgot our engagement ring in the park and she thought I had fallen out of love, oh how she was so wrong. Anyways, what I'm saying son is, these things happen but it can always be resolved, Instead of drinking here, return home and apologise, she may say no like my dear Phenelope but it may be the last time you talk to her."

The old man shrinked a little in his seat, as if the memory of his Fiance was a hard one to remember but it still lit a flame of hope in Kaeya.

He left his glass unfinished and dropped a few mora onto the counter for Diluc to collect later. Kaeya rehearsed several times in his head what he was gonna say to you on his journey home and each time gave him hope that you would forgive him and he could continue loving you.

The house lights were off. They were never off unless you both were out. 'Bizarre' he thought. The front door creaked open and immediately an aura flew out. Kaeya held his breathe as he switched the lights on and looked around the living room that came first. Everything if Y/N's was gone. Her socks, favourite books, even mug. It was all gone. Photos that hung on the window sill were all piled together on the coffee table.

Eyes widening, Kaeya found it harder to breathe. Had he come too late? He immediately ran to your bedroom and threw open your wardrobe, nothing of yours was left.

Kaeya fell onto the bed and stared at the ground. The realisation hit him like a brick and it only left an empty cold feeling in his heart.

Perhaps one day he would tell stories like the old man. About the one that left before he could even say goodbye. The next Phenelope..

[trickstarbrave]

something sad and something cute

i still dont have a name for this au but its the one with reincarnated voryn in modern day morrowind

pardon the first part being clunky to write i went back to fix what i wrote while half awake and it. was extremely hard to fix LMAOOOO the second portion flows a lot better bc i was actually fully awake writing it

Voryn woke up with his arms empty, a feeling of loss instantly rocking through his chest. He felt around in the sheets helplessly, groaning in disappointment when they came up empty. 

“Nerevar…?” He mumbled, slowly sitting up, careful not to hurt the lashes on his back or the injury on his thigh. The wounds seemed to have closed up much more than they would have naturally. Had Nerevar used healing magic on him? Healing magic was expensive as far as he learned, as were healing potions. At least more expensive than Voryn could afford.

The door was slightly cracked, forcing Voryn to overhear the conversation just outside the door whether he wanted to or not.

“You cannot neglect your duties any further, Lord Nerevar.” It was an older mer’s voice, condescending and harsh. 

“I am not neglecting my duties in the slightest.” Nerevar’s tone was cold and stern, completely different from how he spoke to Voryn. 

“You haven’t attended a council meeting in five days!” The other man shouted back, enraged.

“Can the lot of you honestly not go one meeting without ripping each other to shreds?” Nerevar scoffed, malice in his voice. “I have something important I’m tending to.” 

“There are rumors swirling around Mournhold that I hope are not true, Lord Nerevar.” Voryn felt his stomach drop at that, the hushed, angry tone falling out of the other man’s mouth. “There are rumors you were carrying back the Sharm--”

“Enough.” Nerevar’s voice was terrifyingly cold at that. “I will hear not a single word of those rumors repeated, do you understand me, councilman?” There was bloodlust practically radiated through the door, overwhelming and oppressive. The councilman's voice trembled in response. 

“F-for your sake they had best not be true, Hortator.” And with that, the councilman was scurry off down the hall. 

Hearing that word had fear coursing through Voryn. 

Hortator. Nerevar was the hortator. The champion of Azura, ally of the false gods, the undying enemy of the Sharmat, Dagoth Ur. 

Voryn reached up, feeling his forehead to realize the bandana he used to cover his birthmark was gone. Nerevar had seen it. If so many dunmer knew what Voryn was, there was no doubt Nerevar knew as well. 

Voryn scrambled, attempting to flee, only to collapse onto the floor. His legs were weak, unable to support his weight, but he still crawled towards the window in hopes it would hold freedom for him. 

The commotion didn’t go unnoticed by Nerevar though, who quickly ran in, gasping and kneeling down in front of Voryn. 

“Are you alright?” Nerevar asked, his voice warm and soft again. “You should have called for me, I would have helped you out of bed--” As he reached out to take Voryn’s arms, Voryn shoved him back with all the limited strength he had. 

“S-stay back!” He shouted, shaking and sweating in fear. Nerevar’s face was twisted in shock and pain.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, still trying to soothe Voryn. “It’s alright, let me help you back into bed--”

“You’re the hortator.” Voryn tried to will his voice to stop trembling, only partially succeeding. “You’re going to--” He knew what the hortator would do, if he ever found Voryn. Whether it be from the Sixth House Cult, from the talk of ordinators, and from dunmer on the street, Voryn knew the hortator would kill him for being the sharmat. “You’re going to kill me!” 

“Why would I kill you?” Nerevar still kept his voice soft and gentle, his hands hovering and nervous about hurting Voryn.

“Y-you know what I am. Who I am.” He heard it with the councilman talking to Nerevar outside. Nerevar would be stupid to not know it was him. “You’re going to kill me because I’m the Sharmat.” 

Nerevar’s blue eyes went dark at that, his face twisting in pain as though he had been stabbed. 

“Voryn,” Nerevar put a hand on Voryn’s, the taller elf jumping from the brush of skin. “You are not the Sharmat.”

“You’ve seen the mark on my face!” Voryn was crying now. Why had the hortator brought him back? Why had Nerevar gingerly wrapped his injuries and held his hand all night? Was it to lull him into a false sense of security? Manipulate him before he killed him, just like the cruel figure the cult painted him as? 

“The Sharmat is dead, Voryn.” Nerevar reassured him, slowly inching closer. “You are not Daogth Ur.” 

“Yes I am.” He knew he was. He had the ability to take corprus disease, and the cult had been trying to train him to give it as well. He could command the lumbering corprus zombies and dreamers, and he could shake the earth under their feet. “I even have his abilities… I’ve been raised to be him.”

“Voryn, look at me.” Nerevar reached out to hold his cheeks. “Just because you might look like him, might bear the mark on your forehead, and even share his abilities, that doesn’t make you Dagoth Ur.” Voryn opened his mouth to shout back that Nerevar was being ridiculous, that of course that made the two of them the same, but he cut Voryn off as he continued. “Even if you were, that doesn’t mean I would hate you.”

“It’s the hortator’s duty to slay the Sharmat…” Voryn whispered, wanting to find comfort in the warm, calloused hands cupping his face, but too afraid to relax and lean into them. 

“And I already did, Voryn.” Nerevar’s thumb gently stroked the tears from his face. “I didn’t fight him out of hatred, Voryn. I did what I had to, for both his sake and mine.” Voryn looked at him with confusion. At his inquisitive look, Nerevar sighed. 

“Come here,” Nerevar began. “Let me bring you back to bed and I’ll explain everything, alright?” Voryn looked at him for a long while, carefully judging his words and actions. 

In truth, if the hortator wanted to kill him at a moment’s notice, there was no reason for Voryn to be alive right now. The hortator had plenty of opportunities to kill him in his sleep, after all. And if it was manipulation, Voryn would be safer playing along and waiting for a chance to escape. 

Voryn nodded slowly once he came to the conclusion, Nerevar carefully scooping his frail body up off the floor, settling him back in the bed. The hortator even tucked the blankets around him, stroking his hair gently, as he sat in the chair beside the bed once more. 

“... I never hated Dagoth Ur.” Nerevar began, his voice heavy with a mixture of emotions Voryn could only scratch the surface of understanding. “Dagoth Ur was a twisted reflection of my former friend. My closest friend, in fact.” Nerevar looked to the ground as he explained, and Voryn could see how the thoughts were haunting him written across the hortator’s face. “In our past lives, millenia ago, I tasked Voryn Dagoth with guarding the tools of Kagrenac and the Heart of Lorkhan. I trusted him the most out of everyone I knew--I trusted him with my own life, in fact.” Nerevar brushed some of his messy hair out of his own face, his mohawk having fallen into a mess of waves from sleep. “But… Being in close proximity to the heart isn’t good for anyone. Something I only learned after I returned, seeing him twisted and corrupted.” 

There was a long pause, as Nerevar’s mouth formed words but no sound came out, struggling to find a way to speak. 

“I had to kill Voryn Dagoth.” Nerevar explained. “I didn’t want to. Never did I ever think I would have to raise my blade against him.” There was real pain in the tremble of his voice that sent a jolt of pain through Voryn’s heart briefly. “But that wasn’t the end. Death only twisted him more, and the corrupt, madened form of him lived again as Dagoth Ur.” Nerevar took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled, before exhaling. “When I was reborn again, I did have to fight him again. It was a destiny I couldn’t escape, no matter how much it pained me to strike him down. But I knew I had to, if not for Morrowind then to save someone I cared deeply about and to free him from the cruel fate he was trapped in himself.” 

“You are not Dagoth Ur, Voryn.” Nerevar finally looked up at him, cupping his cheek again. “You don’t have to be Voryn Dagoth either.” Voryn couldn’t help but lean into the hortator’s touch now, the aching in his chest soothed by the warmth of his hand and gentle touch. 

“Why did you save me then?” Voryn asked, his voice quiet. He looked at the hortator expectantly, desperate to hear the answer and judge the honesty of it. Nerevar’s lower lip trembled, before he sighed. 

“You look a lot like Voryn Dagoth.” Nerevar admitted. “The moment I saw you, I couldn’t help myself. I knew if I didn’t help you, no one would, and it was my fault you were being treated with such disdain. But more than that…” Nerevar looked away with another sigh, guilt written across his face but clear honesty there as well. “I… I selfishly just wanted to help you because I was protecting my thoughts of the past onto you. But that’s not fair to you, Voryn.” Blue eyes met his again, as Nerevar gave him a soft, tender smile. “You deserve the chance to be whoever you want to be, Voryn. You can be so much more than Voryn Dagoth.” 

It was a strange thing to hear. For most of Voryn’s life he was held up to the standard of Voryn Dagoth and Dagoth Ur, but now the hortator of all people was telling him he was free to do whatever he wanted, be whoever he wanted. 

“If you want to, you can pick out a new name if you’d like.” Nerevar offered. “It might help separate you from him.” 

Voryn felt his stomach drop at that. He didn’t enjoy the thought of Nerevar fondly calling any name except ‘Voryn’, even if the hortator was still referring to him. He knew it only made sense to consider building a new identity for himself; he had escaped the Six House cult after all, and they were the ones who named him. He could be free of them entirely. And yet… 

“... Voryn is fine for now.” 

—

The next part of his recovery was underway. 

“Come on, slow and steady.” Nerevar held Voryn’s arms as Voryn began taking shaky steps forward, his hands braced on the shorter mer’s shoulders.

“This is ridiculous,” Voryn scoffed, cheeks red. “How did my legs get this weak?” “It’s what happens when you spend too many days in bed.” Nerevar answered him, still shuffling backwards toward the table in the room and helping Voryn along. 

“I was only out for a few days.” Voryn didn’t expect to be as helpless as a newborn nix hound just because he spent several days in bed. 

“You’d be surprised what a few days of not moving can do.” Finally they were at the table and Nerevar gingerly helped Voryn sit down. “There we go.” The firm pat on the shoulder Voryn got only made his cheeks burn redder. “Now then, next thing you need to do is eat.” Voryn looked down at the bland porridge in front of him. “Yeah, I know, not the most appetizing…” Nerevar continued, before sighing. “I was going to have them make a bunch of different food for you to try but the healers reamed me to Oblivion and back.” Voryn raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if the rest of the temple staff didn’t think he deserved a proper meal. “They said if I had you eating too much you’d get horribly sick, so they made this.” Nerevar went to pick up the spoon for him. “Saltrice porridge is actually pretty good, and a few days of this and you should be good to have something proper.” 

“... I can feed myself, Nerevar.” Voryn looked away, cheeks still red. Nerevar blinked at him, before laughing softly and awkwardly. 

“Right. Apologies.” Nerevar placed the spoon back in the bowl. “Eat at your own pace.” 

Voryn took the spoon quickly, his nerves acting up. 

In all honesty he wasn’t against Nerevar feeding him. He was about to let him even, before the fluttering feeling came back in his stomach and he remembered all the dreams he had been having about Nerevar. Nerevar’s soft hair sliding through his fingers, his blue eyes, his strong arms and toned back, the way it felt like he fit perfectly in Voryn’s arms when he slept, and not to mention the way his lips felt in his dream--

The spoon fell out of his hand, knocking against the table. His ears went red now too, as he glared down at the tableware and his hands betraying his nerves. Beside him, Nerevar covered his mouth, shoulders visibly shaking in the corner of Voryn’s eye.

“You can laugh, Nerevar.” Voryn sighed. At that Nerevar gave a loud bark of laughter before desperately trying to hold more down. 

“I-I’m so…” Nerevar bit his lip too. “I’m so sorry--it’s not--it’s not funny--” Voryn couldn’t help but smile at the familiar laughter.

“No, but you look quite ridiculous, unable to control your laughter.” That only made Nerevar laugh harder, his head falling onto Voryn’s shoulders, tears in the corner of his eyes. Voryn chuckled softly as well, waiting for Nerevar’s giggling to subside. 

“Are you going to help me eat now?” Voryn asked. “I don’t want a repeat of that, so…” He handed Nerevar the spoon. Nerevar wiped a tear from his eye as he took it, before smiling brightly up at Voryn. 

“Of course.” Nerevar picked up a modest bite, “Here, allow me.”

[rainbowwing251]

Fuck it, Edd/Double D Tickle Headcanons

Yeah, I couldn’t resist anymore, I had to post these headcanons I came up with for Double D. Going to put this under Read More because this shit is going to be long as hell.

The most ticklish of the Eds. Like holy FUCK is this guy ticklish.

His entire torso and waist is ticklish along with his armpits and ears, but his ribs are his death spot. Tickle him there and he’ll instantly be hysterical and fall to the floor.

Everyone in the cul-de-sac has tickled him for some reason or another.

Is he rambling on and on about an invention he made? Eddy tickles him to shut him up. Is he rambling out of anxiety? Ed immediately drops everything to tickle him until he calms down. Has he been snarky/sassy all day? Eddy wrecks his shit. Is he doubtful of a scam? Eddy wrecks his shit. Is he refusing to go along with a scam? Ed and Eddy tickle him until he gives in. Want to find out what he’s hiding under his hat? …well he’s not going to tell you, but tickle him anyway!

There are a million reasons to tickle Double D, that’s all I’m saying.

A single touch will cause him to fold up like paper. Probably literally given the physics seen in this show, but he’ll try to curl up regardless.

If not curling up, sneaking up behind him to poke him in the side will cause him to fly into space.

Pinning him down is not even a challenge. He’s the weakest of the Eds in terms of physical strength, so much so that even Jimmy could pin him down and he wouldn’t be able to get away. Tickles aren’t even necessary in order to pin him down without a struggle, but the kids do it anyway because torturing him with tickles is funny to them.

He’s so fucking squirmy that it’s hilarious. He’s essentially a ticklish little worm when he’s not pinned down.

He’s twitchy too. If you were to put your hands on his stomach or ribs and not move an itch, you’d feel his body twitch and tremble every second due to the anticipation he’s feeling.

His laugh is the cutest laugh anyone in the cul-de-sac has ever heard in their lives. It’s mostly little giggles and titters with a few full belly laughs in between.

He’s incredibly squeaky too. He tries so hard to not let out squeaks when he feels someone’s hands on his ribs or tummy, but he succeeds only 25% of the time.

If he lets out a particularly loud squeal, he hides his face in his hat out of embarrassment.

Speaking of his hat, when he’s in a lee mood or someone tries to tickle his ears, he tends to hide away in his hat. While it does protect his ears from tickles, it does not protect him from the laughter of all the other kids when they figure out why he’s hiding in the first place, nor does it protect him from Ed randomly deciding to throw him over his shoulder and carry him away to a secluded space to tickle him.

He occasionally snorts when he laughs, which is even more embarrassing to him than squealing. Kevin and Eddy have laughed at him for this at least once.

He actually makes a lot of funny noises in general while he’s being tickled. He can’t help it, it’s like his brain is short-circuiting!

He shakes like a leaf when he’s in a lee mood. He has no idea how to deal with this without flustering himself until he melts into a puddle on the ground, but God damn it, he wants to be tickled so badly!

He’ll be super blushy too. Ed always believes that Double D has a fever whenever he’s like this, but Eddy knows better.

Cannot hear the word tickle when he’s in a lee mood. If anyone says it, regardless of who it is, he’ll fall over like a plank of wood. Eddy loves to abuse the shit out of this.

Double D as a ler through? Terrifying.

His intelligence means that he’s memorized all of the cul-de-sac kids’ worst spots, all of the teases that make them crack, and all of the tools that make them scream with laughter if applicable.

Because of his lack of physical strength, he depends on attacking his lee’s worst spots to keep them trapped under him.

He loves to conduct tickly experiments using all different kinds of tickle tools to see which ones make his lee laugh the hardest or the loudest.

He experiments with teases too to see which ones are the most effective.

When the experiments are done, he writes down everything he learned and hides it somewhere where someone like Ed or Eddy can’t find them. He may be an evil ler, but he doesn’t want this information to fall into the wrong hands.

Of course, while he’s tickling someone, he’ll tell them about tickling. The terminology, the reasons why certain spots are more ticklish than others, how tickling can help friends or family members bond with one another, all of it. It’s like he’s having a completely normal conversation while the lee is dying of laughter.

It gets worse for the lee if he decides to target specific spots while he talks about them.

Teases and the word tickle do not phase him when he’s in a ler mood. Needless to say that pisses Eddy off and scares the crap out of him at the same time.

If he wants revenge, he will come up with a legitimate strategy to get a satisfying amount of payback. He’ll draw entire diagrams, make entire lists of teases and/or tools, and write step-by-step produces on how he’ll get back at his target.

He can’t help but laugh along with anyone he tickles, even when he’s getting revenge. Normally he wouldn’t be entertained by anything he considers to be silly, but tickling is the one exception.

That being said, for him, entertainment doesn’t come from tormenting anyone with tickling, but with trying to forge a closer bond with someone if that’s possible for him to do.

Overall, ler Double D can be scary but friendly. There is one problem however… can he run away before his lee recovers and gets revenge on him?

…no. Most of the time the answer is no.