#and also for something more vigorous i like. i lie on my back on my bed and lift my legs up to kick them in kind of a bicycle motion

[muckmagister]

I’ve had only a bowl of noodles today and I’m not starving. What’s wrong with me? Maybe I should go for a walk to get hungry but it’s dark outside and there might be Bad Guys

you should consume fluids i think 👍 between all the states of matter fluids are my favourite to put in my body, and sometimes when i'm not feeling hungry it's cause i haven't drank enough fluids first

[b0r3dtod3ath]

Hello hi!

Can you do a challengers fic?

Art x reader, where he and reader had a flirty relationship but he started to experiment with tashi and patrick and she was like "well, it happens" but the trio didnt work out so he tried to recandle that dinamic between him and reader but she lost all the atraction to him.

(lots of groveling)

Thank you!

Thank you for the request!

Warnings: Mention of an injury, curse words. 

You and Art have been friends since middle school and since then he was always by your side. Your shared interest in tennis and joint decision about applying to Stanford resulted in you two being inseparable best friends. Well, maybe not really. Your relationship was quite hard to describe. People constantly mistook you for a couple but in reality you were just really close. Sure, there were a lot of flirtatious moments, some may even say romantic, but you never thought about it too deeply, thinking that it’s just the way Art is. 

Each morning he knocked vigorously on your dorm room door. “You need to wake up! We need to go.” The sight that he sees when you open the door always makes his heart skip a beat. Messy hair and a toothbrush in your mouth give him a glimpse of what it would be like if he was living with you. “Good morning!” He gives you a beautiful smile as he hands you a coffee in your favorite thermos. He insists on doing it because “it saves time in the morning as he’s up anyways”. Oh and also when you finish he takes the cup back to clean it so he doesn't bother you in the morning. His friend Patrick has always made fun of him for those small gestures but he recently got a girlfriend so he’s busy. Actually, you have heard of Tashi. She attends your school and you were supposed to play against her in a local tournament. You have heard that she’s really good but people also always point out your skills.

You head to the canteen, sipping your coffee as Art tells you about Patrick’s new girlfriend. It’s not like you are jealous but hearing your male best friend ramble about another girl is weird. You keep quiet, after all there was nothing romantic between you two. You eat your breakfast without saying much which goes unnoticed to your friend. He stops eating, looking at your face for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going on in your mind “I saw they had watermelon in the fruit section. I can bring it for you if you want. Did something happen? You know you can always talk to me. I will always be there for you.” The gentle tone in his voice almost feels like he is talking to a lost child, scared to make you withdraw. “No, no. It’s fine. I’m just a bit less confident about the next match. You know, after what happened a few days ago, my leg still sometimes cramps up a bit.” you halfy make up a lie. You were stressed about the match but it had nothing to do with your calf. “You should have told me earlier. I will massage it before we train today. You are going to do amazing".

He didn’t listen to your begging not to knead your muscle so you ended up with him rubbing it firmly enough to “help you” but gently enough not to hurt you. As you trained he could sense your frustration. Sure, it made you more confident on the court as you transferred your anger into each fore and backhand. Then suddenly you stop. Your opponent gives you a confused look as you out of the blue ignore the ball. “I don’t feel well. I’m gonna call it quits. I have a test tomorrow anyway that I should study for. I can’t be hitting a ball with a racket my whole life.” you look at him, his expression as shocked as a moment ago. “See you in the evening?” You two usually had some evening tennis sessions or just went for some walks as there were not many people around that time and you could freely chat about anything. “Well. I can’t actually make it today. I’m really sorry. Patrick invited me for some drinks. He wants me to meet Tashi”. His eyes looked like they belonged to a puppy. “Oh, yea. I mean. That’s fine. See you tomorrow then.” you say without giving him the usual light hug as a goodbye.

The following morning Art didn’t knock on your door. You assumed he must have been tired from the day before but it still felt unusual. You decided to push it aside and focus on yourself and your preparations to play against Tashi. The match started at 2 pm so you still had some time to get ready. You followed your usual routine with only one exception - your regular companion. 

The tennis court simmered under the midday sun, a gentle breeze whispered through the air, carrying a promise of an intense match. It was one of the most anticipated matches of the season on the Stanford campus. It was the end of a debate of who is the best tennis player among students but most importantly it was evidence of passion for sports and competition. You looked at Tashi coming on the court, getting a bigger applause than you did. You didn’t let it bother you, it didn’t matter who was the fan favorite, it mattered who was better. You were first to serve. Silence established itself on the court, a neon yellow ball bounced a few times between your hand and the ground. You looked deeply into your opponent’s eyes. It wasn’t a game of tennis, it was a battle for dominance. 

A thunderous serve from you, the ball sliced through the air with precision. Tashi returned it with equal force, the ball skimming just inches above the net. Back and forth you played, each stroke a testament to your skill and determination. The crowd watched in silence, fully immersed in the spectacle unfolding before them. As the match wore on, the intensity only seemed to grow. Tashi unleashed a powerful forehand, sending the ball to the other side of the net. But you were quick to react, sprinting across the court with lightning speed to return it with a perfectly executed backhand. The crowd erupted into applause, recognizing the sheer athleticism on display.  The game continued in this fashion, each player refusing to give an inch. Your muscles burned like they were on fire as you chased down every shot, your mind focused solely on victory. On letting her know who Art belongs to. 

Then, in a heartbeat, disaster struck. As Tashi ran to return a particularly fierce shot, her foot slipped. Time seemed to slow as she stumbled forward, her knee buckling beneath her weight. With a sharp cry of pain, she collapsed to the ground, clutching her injured leg. She started crying like a hurt animal, unable to think what people thought of her. You stood there in pure shock, unsure of what to do. In the corner of your eye you saw Art running up to her and trying to calm her down. 

You felt really bad for her. Not liking her didn’t mean you were happy for her injury. After asking the medical team about her, you got to know that she’s waiting for an ambulance. When you found her, your heart immediately dropped at the sight of Art holding her hand. “I just wanted to say, I’m so sorry it happened, I-” you started to apologize, “Out! Out! Out!” she screamed at you “But-” you tried to say something but Art stood up “Get the fuck out!”. He had never raised his voice towards you. He was always your gentle, soft, good boy. You silently walked away as hot tears rolled on your cheeks. The echo of your sobs filled your room for the whole night. 

For the next few weeks you didn’t see Art. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him, you did actually, but he was always accompanied by Tashi or Patrick. It did make you feel a bit lonely but you focused on training and improving. You actually started to do really well and moved up the rank. Despite an opportunity to get an apartment you stayed at Stanford. You told everyone that you would feel lonely living alone, but the truth was you just didn’t want to leave Art. He would still sometimes catch your glimpse across the canteen or the training hall but no words were exchanged. 

He found you one evening, your silhouette illuminated by the artificial glow of the light. You were alone, your movements fluid yet tense as you practiced your strokes with precision. Taking a deep breath, Art approached you cautiously, unsure of how you would react to his presence. "Hey" he said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. You turned to face him, your expression stone cold. You said nothing. A hint of bitterness in your eyes. "I-I just wanted to see how you were doing," he said, his words stumbling over each other in his nervousness. "What do you want?" you snapped, you tone sharp and cutting. Determination glinting in his eyes. "I saw you playing alone, and I thought... maybe you could use a partner," he offered hesitantly. You scoffed, your grip on the racquet tightening as you glared at him. "And why would I want to play with you?". Art took a step closer, his gaze unwavering as he met your overwhelming stare. "Because I miss playing with you, I miss you" he admitted softly. "And because I'm sorry. Truly sorry for what I did." You hesitated for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you considered his offer. “Don’t you have to take care of your little Tashi’s leg?” you said under your nose. "Fine. But don't expect too much" you warned.  

As you began to play, your movements were sharp and precise, your shots landing with deadly accuracy. Art did his best to keep up, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. You had always been better than him but he could sense something else. After all, tennis was the most intimate out of all sports. Suddenly, you unleashed a powerful forehand that sailed towards Art with an alarming speed. Instinctively, he raised his racket to block the shot, but it ricocheted off the strings with a resounding thud, leaving him staggering backwards. "Are you trying to kill me or something?" he exclaimed, his heart racing as he moved closer to the net. You turned around -  a little habit you gained, you never looked at your opponent after scoring a point. "Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, your tone betraying a hint of amusement. Art chuckled nervously, rubbing his sore arm where the ball had made contact, as he got closer and closer to you. "Well, you can kill me if you want," he offered, making you chuckle. He reached to touch your hand, his expression pleading, as you turned. "Please. I know I messed up, but I can't stand not having you in my life. I... I have feelings for you. And I need you to know that. I don’t see you as just a friend." You felt your heart skip a beat at his confession, your breath catching in your throat. You had suspected as much, but hearing him say the words out loud sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. "I... I don't know, Art” you responded, torn between the anger still simmering inside you and the warmth of his words. "You ditched me for her. "Art nodded, his eyes brimming with regret. "I know. And I'm so sorry. I was weak and I thought you would never look at me the same way I look at you. I'll do anything to make it right, I swear." he got on his knees, both hands holding yours. “I will never leave your side, I will show you how much I love you and I will buy you this diamond bracelet you always wanted.” You chuckled “Art, get up. I don’t need a bracelet from you. I will give this a chance.” A smile broke across Art’s face, relief flooding his features as he reached out to wrap you in a tight embrace. "Thank you, I promise, you won't regret this." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and eyes wet with tears. You returned the hug. The two of you swayed for a moment before you broke the silence with your dead serious tone. “Never raise your voice at me again, understand?” He looked deeply in your eyes. “Understood, maam. I’m incredibly sorry”.

April 29, 2024

[daddyricsdoll]

Could you please write something with “Fuck, I’ll make it fit.” For Oscar ? And can it be smut?

1k ✭ Celebration 

📜⋆.ೃ🕯️࿔*: 🕰 ˚⊹

“Such a fucking good girl.” Oscar stands up from between my thighs, keeping my feeble body pinned to the wall. His pupils blown out and my arousal coating his lips. “So good I think you can take my cock.” Oscar’s hands now doing the work of his pants, before he stops and looks at me. “Can you take my cock?”

“Y-yes.” I stutter out, heart pounding in my ears and pussy throbbing. He smiles to himself before finally sliding his pants off. Revealing his large cock, from girth and length. And to think that just an hour ago we were strangers. 

It was no lie that he was big, but I’m also tight, bringing me to awe at how Oscar will force himself inside of me– because from the short time of knowing him, I’ve learnt that this isn’t a battle he’ll lose. 

Using his foot to spread my feet apart even wider, Oscar lifts one of my legs up to linger beside his hip. Teasing my folds with his tip that already drips with a bead of precum. Tantalising my clit and making each second feel like hours. 

My eyes hooded as I tried my best to look up at Oscar, a sheen of sweat coating his light skin and hair fallen to cover his forehead. He pushes against my stubborn entrance, his groan intoxicating. Pushing again, and forcing my hips closer to his. 

“Fuck, I’ll make it fit.” Obliging himself to it. Making short vigorous thrusts, Oscar manages to slowly get his dick deeper inside of me. A sharp searing pain between my legs, being coated with rapture and turning the pain into ecstasy. I held onto his broad shoulders for stability. 

My legs shaking once Oscar finally fits his whole shaft in me. 

“It’s so hard to not just cum in you right now.” He groans, head coming to rest in the hollow of my neck to bite my skin. Pulling out and then thrusting back in. Replacing his mouth with his hand to choke me. Oscar's other arm grabbing the bottom half of my body, ravenous to reach spots no one ever has before. 

He holds dominance over my whole body. The brunette’s lips are so alluring that I try to close the gap between us. But his hand against my throat, denying me of any action I try to make on my own. 

Any normal day there would be a fight for control, but with Oscar I’d let him ruin me and then come back to do it again. Cock already stretching me out, turning everything surreal, stars appearing in my eyesight. Every part of me on fire and Oscar just pours more gasoline. Making me helpless.

My desire for him grows even as he forces each breath out of my lungs. Every detail of his dick being ingrained into my memory as he rams in and out. Hot tears crawling down my face. 

“Being such a good dumb slut for me. Gonna let me cum deep inside of your tight cunt.”

Words became foreign to me, so I hummed in response, being interrupted by a moan that involuntarily left my swollen lips. “That’s it.” Oscar grunts, hands gripping my ass and throat tighter. 

Skin colliding becomes the loudest noise in the room, overpowering our pornographic moans and whines. 

“ ‘m gonna cum Osc.” Squeezing against his throbbing dick and wailing when Oscar starts attacking my neck with his mouth, other hand playing with my breasts. 

“Release, my slut.” The name would usually bring disgust to me, but Oscar saying it has a different effect. Being the last thing to tip me off. Finally letting go and coming. Still on a high as Oscar reaches his climax. Shooting his cum deep inside of me, and covering my walls in him. 

“Fuck, you feel too good to pull out of.”

“Then don’t.”

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Choose Your True Love: Part 4

Part 3

♡———♡

Gilbert: ...That's a very tempting offer, but...

Gilbert: But... I'm sorry.

Gilbert: When I leave the castle, people die.

Gilbert looks "worn out" with dark circles under his eyes and a pale complexion, but he dismisses the idea of rest with the same refreshing smile as always.

I couldn't say anything.

I was frustrated by my own powerlessness.

I gripped his black mantle tightly, as if to vent my swirling emotions.

Gilbert: It would be fine if the rotten ones were dying, but he kills indiscriminately.

Gilbert: If someone doesn't keep him in check, Obsidian will eventually run out of people.

Gilbert: I wish he'd be a little smarter. Ah, I want to kill him.

Roderich: ...Prince Gilbert.

Gilbert: Heh, eventually, right?

(...When I met him, Gilbert said he didn't love anyone.)

(But maybe it wasn't that he "didn't love," but that he "couldn't love.")

(If he loved someone, he couldn't stay sane. This is that kind of country.)

(...And Gilbert loves people.)

How much did Gilbert suffer until his heart became numb to death?

He must have experienced the feelings I'm having now dozens, if not hundreds, of times.

(After all...)

(After all, it's not right that Gilbert isn't rewarded.)

Gilbert: Why are you crying?

Emma: ...I'm not crying...

I try to deny it, but my cheeks are wet.

My vision is blurred before I know it, and I can't even see Gilbert's face properly.

Gilbert: I'm sorry, did I scare you? This is difficult...

I shake my head vigorously and wipe my tears with my sleeve.

Emma: No, it's not that.

Emma: I just... I just want to be someone who can protect you.

Gilbert: Hmm? Who?

Emma: ...You, Gilbert.

Gilbert: That's a strange thing to say.

Gilbert: Ah, but we're close in the future, right?

(When I was explaining my situation to Gilbert, I didn't mention it because I thought it might confuse him, but...)

Emma: ...We're engaged.

Gilbert: To me?

Emma: Yes. I'm your fiancée.

Gilbert: ...Oh.

Emma: That's why I want to be someone you can rely on when you're in pain or suffering.

Emma: Even if it's not possible right now, someday...

(Obsidian will be reborn by Gilbert's hands in the future.)

(But the Emperor's wicked policies are still leaving their mark everywhere.)

(It seems like Gilbert is still fighting in the shadows in the future.)

(And I know he's trying to keep the dirty things away from me as much as possible.)

I'm still not mature enough for Gilbert to rely on me.

I've always been aware that my knowledge and skills are immature, but seeing the past has made it even clearer.

(I can't stay the way I am.)

(...I want to change.)

(To someone who can be relied upon like Roderich and Walter.)

(To someone who can face that hellish scene alongside him...)

Emma: I want to be someone who can protect you, Gilbert.

I declared it clearly once again.

Gilbert's eyes widened slightly, and his smile disappeared.

Gilbert: You should stop. What I'm doing is the same as what he's doing.

Gilbert: In terms of the number of people I've killed, I'm second only to the Emperor.

Gilbert: There's nothing about me that you could love--

Emma: I know.

Emma: ...I know everything.

Gilbert: ...

Gilbert: I see.

Gilbert: Ah, as I thought... I want to kill my future self.

Gilbert gently shook off my hand and finally left the hideout.

He never looked back.

That was a sign of the trampling beast's resolve.

(...Ah...)

My vision blurred, and my body swayed.

Roderich, who was standing nearby, noticed something was wrong and immediately supported me.

Roderich: ...Please lie down. The medicine must be taking effect.

Emma: Medicine...?

Roderich: It's a sleeping pill. ...Just in case you try to follow Gilbert.

(Gilbert... lied to me.)

(Come to think of it, he also lied to the Emperor... saying I was his "pet"...)

(He hates lies... but he lied to protect me.)

(Both Gilbert in the past and Gilbert now...)

(He loves people more than anyone else, even though...)

-

I must have been dreaming.

(...It was a terrible dream.)

I woke up in Gilbert's room, where he was absent, with a book as my pillow.

It was a nightmare that made me sweat so much that my clothes became cold, and cry so much that my eyes swelled up.

Fragments of the dream still remain in my mind.

When I come to the square of Obsidian Castle, I remember that cruel scene.

Obsidian Soldier 1: Hey, did you hear about tonight's dinner? There's one healthy dish designed by Professor Walter.

Obsidian Soldier 2: What?! No way... We're going to die.

Obsidian Soldier 1: Should we run away?

Obsidian Soldier 2: No... Gilbert gets angry when it's a healthy meal. If we get caught running away, we'll be killed.

(...It's peaceful.)

The soldiers, noticing me, hurriedly saluted and walked away quickly.

There were no traces of red blood in the square.

Since I started living here, there hasn't been a single execution.

The soldiers are relaxed enough to wander around chatting, a completely different scene from the one in my dream.

(I used to think this was a normal sight.)

Even so, this peace is a testament to the victory that Gilbert won after a harsh battle.

???: ... You little cheater.

Emma: !?

Suddenly, I was embraced from behind, and when I turned around, my lips were bitten hard.

Emma: Gi, Gilbert... When did you...?

Gilbert: You were exchanging glances with a passing soldier just now, weren't you?

(It seems like he's been watching me for a while.)

Emma: I looked away the moment our eyes met and ran away at full speed...

Gilbert: That's too rude to you, isn't it? I can't forgive that.

(This is a difficult question to answer...!)

I kiss Gilbert, who looks sulky.

When I look closely at his handsome face, there are no dark circles under his eyes and his complexion is good.

The air around him is not tense, but calm.

Gilbert: Did something happen?

Emma: Why do you ask?

Gilbert: You were staring at the square with a troubled look on your face, weren't you?

Emma: ...You were watching me the whole time?

Gilbert: That's mean of you not to notice me.

(This is fun.)

(...Just this much is enough to fill my chest right now.)

I turn my whole body around and put my arms around Gilbert's back.

Emma: It's not that anything happened. I was just savoring the peace, so to speak...

Gilbert: ...Hmm?

Emma: That's right! Gil, I was studying until a while ago, but there's something I don't understand.

Emma: Would you mind helping me with it?

Gilbert: Oh, I'd love to cuddle up with the cheating little rabbit right now.

Emma: I'm not cheating. ...Is this not good enough?

I quickly check that there's no one around and stand on tiptoe to kiss him again.

As his cold lips warm up, the dream fades from my mind.

Gilbert: It can't be helped.

Gilbert: I'll teach you while we cuddle.

Emma: I don't think that will help me study...

Gilbert: What was that?

Emma: ...No, thank you. I'll do my best!

Gilbert laughs amusedly and starts walking, holding my hand.

The dependability of this hand hasn't changed, past or present.

(All I can do now is acquire weapons to protect Gilbert, one by one.)

(...Study hard, learn more about Obsidian...)

(I want to be a support for Gilbert, who became a villain for the sake of others.)

(I want him to be able to live peacefully from now on, instead of carrying everything on his shoulders alone.)

I squeeze his hand back.

Strongly, tightly, so that we'll never be apart again.

(I will create a world where the Conquering Beast can be at peace as a human.)

(There's no more need for blood in Gilbert's future.)

FIN

.

.

.

. Thank you for reading! | YouTube SE in JP

If you have all 4 Parts for another Prince and would like to have them translated, or help everyone out by letting me translate them here, please feel free to message me and send the videos to me!

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[bugs1nmybrain]

L. Lawliet licking honey off female readers tummy and breasts then eating whipped cream off of their pussy- please 🙏

tasty ~ l lawliet x self insert: foodplay

It has taken me a while to get to this, but I've been excited to write about it. L and food play is something I've thought about before, but honestly, I was a little embarrassed to.

Notes about the reader: she/her pronouns, female anatomy, she is blatantly based off of me and is named "Lydia". Her physical features aren't described a lot, though, aside from female sex characteristics

I decided to make the reader me this time because, honestly, writing an ambiguous love interest all the time makes it hard for me to be creative. I hope that's not a bother, but if it is, I apologize and no one is obligated to read this.

Warnings: NSFW (18+ MDNI), self insert, dom L at first but he becomes sub later in the fic, food play (honey and whipped cream), breast sucking, oral (fem and male receiving), nervous reader and L, TEASING, panties fetish, bad POV grammar, established relationship, fatass Beetlejuice reference, no penetration, not proofread yet

"So, what do you think?"

Lydia sat in front of L, dumbstruck by his request. It really wasn't surprising, it was actually pretty L of him. It was rare to find him not downing sweets like no one's business, so this was bound to come. She felt embarrassed, yet not surprised by any means.

Once she could get past how flustered L's question made her, she nodded with a bashful smile.

"I'd be okay with trying that out," Lydia flashed a gentle smile of approval.

"Truly? You seem hesitant."

"I'm not..or-I mean, I guess I am hesitant. It's just because I'm embarrassed."

"If you're feeling self-conscious, I'll assure you that you'd look nothing than gorgeous covered in sweets." While what he said was very flattering, L's deadpan voice made it hard for Lydia not to laugh a little in response.

"It's not all that. I'm just not used to being so exposed."

Taking her anxiety into consideration is something he had already prioritized in this case. However, L had recently paid close attention to her...fantasies. Or at least the ones he was able to find out about. Lydia was a woman with a high sex drive, whether she came to him about it or not was a different story. He had a new side quest to test what aroused her, going as far as to try things they both felt sheepish towards.

The two's sexual relationship was great, however very fresh. Trying more "kinky" sexual activities was new to both of them. Sure, Lydia (and possibly L) had watched a variety of pornography to get a sense of what was erotic to them.

They were currently at a point where the couple would have sex frequently, but it was somewhat predictable. L and Lydia felt great sexual attraction to one another, so chemistry and arousal weren't an issue. But the suspense was starting to lose its pace, something both of them yearned for in times of sexual pleasure.

"We could go completely at your pace and comfortability, love. I don't want to embarrass you (kind of a lie). I just think that this could possibly enhance trust between us. It's also...something that I've, uhm..fantasized about. A couple of times (absolute truth)."

There were already a few ideas in Lydia's head about fetishes L may have had but hadn't been confirmed yet. Seeing him admit to one, though, made her blush and tingle.

"Is that so? Hehe, I thought that you may have."

"Observant as always. That's why you're my dearest."

Lydia didn't respond but instead became flustered to herself and avoided eye contact. Her cheeks were already looking warm, heightening L's arousal when he noticed.

"Would you want to try now?" L asked, scanning her face for any discomfort from his question, or even arousal.

To his satisfaction, her cheeks lit up more, accompanied by an eager smile. She nodded vigorously, with a beam of excitement in her eyes.

"Alright, then. I'm going to go grab a couple of things for us, but I'll be back very soon."

L stood up, about to turn to walk out of the room, but redirected himself back to Lydia. He quickly placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, but turned back around and left the room without any acknowledgment afterwards.

.....

Lydia sat pretty on the bed, unsure if she should be undressing or not. She decided to play it safe and just stay put for now. Not very long after, L opened the door. He only had two things with him, surprisingly. She almost expected him to bring the whole nine yards with him. All he had with him was a jar of extra-sweetened honey and a can of whipped cream.

L made his way over to the bed, placing the containers down as he sat in front of her, sitting in his traditional position.

"You look very pretty today," L compliments. Lydia looked up at him, to see what she thought was a flustered look (it was hard to tell with L). He reached his hand to gently brush her hair with his fingers.

She blushed which made L smile, making no effort to hide his expression. Making Lydia flustered was one of his favorite things. The fact that he, someone so weird and off-putting, could make her feel this way struck a bit of pride in him. Though, perhaps it only made sense, given she was rather strange and unusual herself. Her unhinged demeanor was one of the reasons L found her so adorable.

"Thank you."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes.."

As always, his lips were incredibly soft and inviting. He was also excellent with his tongue.

The kiss became heated not so shortly after, and L's hands had begun to roam. His delicate, long fingers found their way up Lydia's stomach, pulling her shirt along with them. He kissed her neck up to her jawline as he pulled the shirt off. Soon after came her pants.

"Mmm..." L adores. His fingers immediately rub themselves gently on her clothed clitoris. They caressed her gently, causing Lydia to whimper in pleasure.

"I love you," he continues. His affirmation was much appreciated by the butterflies in Lydia's stomach, fueling her arousal.

"I love you too."

L reached for the honey. He had brought a spoon with him to help put it on her easier. He dipped his spoon in the jar after opening it, causing Lydia to tense up anxiously. L recognizes her timid body language and stops.

"Are you alright? Are you comfortable?"

You smile at his consideration and nod your head.

"Nervous, but I'm comfortable and trust you."

"I appreciate that. "

He made sure to lean down and give her a gentle kiss for reassurance. Right after that, he dipped his spoon in the jar, swirled the spoon around to help with the consistency, and held it above her. When the honey fell on her stomach, she cringed at the cold sensation. L realized that perhaps he should've warmed up the honey.

"Sorry.."

"It's ok, love," Lydia assured him.

The honey began drizzling on her breasts. The sticky substance fell over her skin, causing Lydia's clit to twitch. L smirks in response, though he tries to hide his face.

L puts the spoon back in the jar and screws the lid back on. He looks back at Lydia as she is exposed on the bed, only covered by her panties. She was absolutely gorgeous to him, and the sight made him clam up. He swallowed as discreetly as he could and redirected his attention to what the goal was.

"May I?" He asks, catching her eyes in his, holding out the contact for approval.

"Yes."

He oogles her for a moment before kneeling on top of her. Seeing her full breasts covered in honey was making him very embarrassed, especially because all he wanted to do was put his mouth all over her right now.

"You look incredible..."

Lydia buried her face in her hands and giggled in embarrassment. L started by running his hands over places that weren't covered in honey, trailing his soft fingertips along her sides up to her shoulders. With hesitation, he leans forward to attach his mouth onto her breast. The honey tasted great, and her tit was supple and soft. Lydia felt a shameful arousal build up and her thighs started squeezing together in response. L gave both of them equal attention and then began making his way down her tummy.

The flavor of the honey made this much more comfortable for L. Thid made him a bit nervous admittedly, as the act was so vulnerable for the both of you. It made it easier to lick and suck at your skin with something sweet to distract himself with. He could feel himself growing hard already.

He finally made it to her panties. He looks up at Lydia with neutral but lustful eyes before asking her, "Are you ready for the next part?"

"Y-yes."

"You sure?"

"It's okay," she giggles in response, appreciative of his consideration. Though it wasn't like he hadn't already seen her nude many times before. "You can go ahead."

Lydia's hearts throbbed in her chest while L pulled her panties off. He looked at the mess inside of them with amusement. Her secretion of wetness was always fascinating to him, and her scent was a turn on her him if he was honest.

"Can I keep these for a day or so?"

Lydia laughed at his request, but not offended by any means. "Yes, love."

He gave them a brief whiff, trying to define every detail of her scent. He could tell she had showered recently by the lack of musk, aside from her wetness. His attention returned to her pussy, which was visibly drenched in arousal. The sight made L lightly bite down on his lip.

"You fold so easily for me," he remarks with a cocky tone.

"I do not!"

"Mhm, sure," his fingers return to her clit, stroking lightly for a little bit, actually forgetting for a moment that they were supposed to be incorporating food.

L took the can of whipped cream and shook it to make sure it came out consistently. Remembering the incident with the honey before, he directed his attention to Lydia.

"This might be cold."

"Okay," she smiled at him bashfully, keeping her gaze up at the ceiling as he sprayed the whipped cream on her cunt. He was very generous with the amount he put on her.

"Alright.." L moved Lydia's thighs further apart and dipped his head in between. He latched his mouth on her pussy, licking and sucking all over, actively avoiding her clitoris on purpose. L was known for being a tease like that.

He focused on the taste of the sweets, diving to wherever he could find more of the substance. His mouth sucked along her lips and the sides of her cunt.

"L.."

"Hm? What is it, love?"

"Mmmrrhh," her desperate whines were clearly trying to tell him to put his mouth in the right spot, but he feigned ignorance like always.

"I'm afraid I don't understand gibberish, Lydia." He looked up at her with a face covered in the white cream and sticky consistency.

"Please...?"

"Use your words."

"My clit.."

"What about it?"

She scrunched up her face in annoyance. Not that she didn't love his playful banter with her, but she was aching to be pleasured.

"Please, it's sensitive."

"I can imagine, love. Let me help with that, hm?"

"Mhm~"

To her bliss, he gave her exactly what she needed, wrapping his mouth on her clit. He couldn't see what it looked like due to the whipped cream, but he could tell by the feeling of it on his mouth that she was swollen and yearning.

He placed a little more cream on her cunt, and continued praising her pussy with his skilled tongue. He sucked on her nub as he enjoyed the sweet taste of the whipped cream and flicked his tongue accordingly. He was attentive to how it would pulse against his tongue and how Lydia's hips would jerk when she liked a particular motion. It got to the point where L had to hold her hips down to keep her still.

Her moans caused his cock to strain, making him muffle and grunt against her cunt.

"Fuck, you taste so good."

"It's really just the cr-"

"Shhh.." he continued lapping at her sensitive cunt to silence her, though she only wailed in pleasure. He buried his face closer into her cunt, reaching over her thighs to fondle her tummy while he did.

"Mm~ I'm.."

"Mhm. I know, sweetheart. Go on.."

He didn't stop his attack afterwards, repeating her favorite motion of his tongue as much as he could until her muscles began contracting and her legs and hips squirmed.

"Aaahh~!.☆.☆.♡♡♡~"

As she came all over his face, he sucked at her cunt more, extending her orgasm as much as he could. When her body finally gave out and went limp, he gave a couple more kisses to her cunt before coming up for some much needed air.

"How are you feeling, my love?" He asked as he rubbed gentle circles onto her inner thigh.

"G-good.." she was a little shakey from her orgasm but had a very blissful smile to accompany her. Seeing her surrender to him like this made him horny beyond belief.

"I'll go get some things to clean you up and then we can cuddle, alright?"

"Wait.."

"Hm?"

"Um..what about you?"

"What about me?"

Lydia laughed softly, amused that he didn't ask himself. "Couldn't I do the same to you?"

"Wha-oh! Uh--I.."

L hardly stammered like this, it was a treat to Lydia to get to see him obviously flustered like this.

"Do you want that?"

She looked at him intently, watching him trying to hold back a blushy smile.

"I'd-uh-y-yes. Yes. I'd love that, Lydia."

Lydia sat upwards, waiting for L to situate himself. Despite his awkward and blunt composure, L was gentlemanly in the sense that he typically didn't ask for things like a blowjob often, usually leaving that decision up to Lydia. He saw it as extremely vulnerable not only for him but for Lydia as well. He wasn't big necessarily, but his cock was longer in length and so he didn't want her to feel pressured about her performance. Though tonight, he was definitely grateful she had initiated this.

L sat awkwardly on the bed with his thighs spread as he sat like he always did. Lydia approached him, still nude and not fully cleaned up yet. She rested in between his legs and placed her hands in his chest, motivating to get him to lay down. She unzipped his pants and took them off. His cock sprung out, flushed at his tip and looking painfully hard.

Lydia reached for the whipped cream and doused his cock in it. It made him embarrassed underneath his deadpanned pink-faced stare, but as soon as she began sucking the consistency off his glans, he couldn't have cared less about his embarrassment.

The way she tended to his cock made it seem as if she was trying to tell him how much she loved him through every suck, lick, and stroke. She moaned and breathed through her nose, occasionally wincing as she attempted to take as much of him as she could. She made his heart flutter ever so slightly as she did so. He noticed how when she couldn't take him as far as she wanted, she'd try to compensate by sucking at spots she knew he was most sensitive at.

She pulled back his foreskin to make sure she got all of the whipped cream, dragging her tongue up to suck his tip after. He could feel himself get close to cumming, she usually was able to get him with very simple displays of adoration for him.

At this point, all the whipped cream was gone and his cock was sticky. She bobbed her head and coated L's cock with her saliva. His hand rested at his face, pulling at his lips while he let out whimpers.

"Mmm.."she hummed on his cock, almost making him cum then and there. L reached down to run his fingers through her scalp, which made her react by pushing her mouth further on his cock. He could hear Lydia choke and wanted to stop her from hurting herself, but she didn't seem to mind as she kept going. Her watery eyes and flushed face drove his cock crazy, as it started to twitch and his balls clenched.

"Lydia.."

"Mhm," she nodded with his cock in her mouth, a strange feeling for him but even so, his arousal only got worse and he ended up cumming down her throat abruptly.

"Hrnnn...." L sighed out, trying to regulate his breathing again. He pet Lydia's head while she released his cock from her mouth, swallowing his cum in the process.

"You didn't have to swallow, I know it's not tasty."

"It's ok. Yours isn't bad. I also have whipped cream residue in my mouth so it diluted the flavor."

"Thank you."

She smiled at him and came back up to huddle up next to him. She looked up at him like she had something to say.

"What is it?" L asked.

"Can I kiss you? I know my mouth was just uh.."

L scoffs. "Don't worry about that. Mine hasn't been anywhere better."

Lydia kissed L softly, and rested her face on his shoulder. He rested his hand on her hip and allowed her to embrace him.

"I think it would be appropriate to go take a shower and brush our teeth, don't you think so?" L questioned her teasingly.

"Yea. I'm sticky."

"Me too. I had a good time doing this, did you?"

"Hehe, yes. It felt very good."

"I thought so, too. I'm grateful you agreed to do this with me."

"I enjoyed it very much. I'd be okay with doing it again in the future."

"Oh we definitely will. Maybe we'll experiment with other scenarios too, hm?"

"Like what?"

"Oh darling, I have quite a few ideas in mind for us..."

[liyawritesss]

ᴅʏɪɴɢ ɢᴇᴋᴋᴏ'ꜱ ʜᴀɪʀ

-> synopsis: gekko's first holiday from being a Valorant Agent has come!upon debriefing with the others, it's accidentally revealed that his favorite hairdresser may be something more...

-> a/n: it is unhealthy how rampant this boy has been on my mind. like, genuinely, he's such a beautiful person and so so sweet, someone help me find where I can buy one !! also i know this isn't really in demand or wtv, but mateo is still my husband and I'll write for him until I physically can't anymore.

-> pairing: mateo armendariz de la fuente // gekko + black!gn!reader

-> join my taglist!

-> contains: pure fluff, like one or two curse words, 2nd person ('you', 'your', 'yours')

-> tags: @badass-dora-milaje @uranometrias @lees-chaotic-brain @jacuzziwaters

• Whenever a holiday is granted in the Protocol, not one person dares to pass it up. It's very rare that they team gets the opportunity to return home and enjoy themselves as human beings. Phoenix heads back to his flat in London for the time being, Raze takes Killjoy to her home in Brazil, Jett and Yoru take a trip to Japan for some well deserved restaurant hopping. While Gekko may not be buddying up with anyone on his holiday home, the agents all know that he's got a particular someone he's going home to.

• Gekko often mentions the hairdresser that does his hair whenever he's back home. He started mentioning them so often, and with so much vigor, admiration and excitement, it didn't take long for some agents catch on that this wasnt just a simple hairdresser (namely Yoru, who could read people like a book, and Sage, who was the first to verbally note the way his eyes lit up when looking on his phone for a text with the person in question, which was often brushed off by the you get as a simple exchange of inspo ideas for his next hairdye job).

• So, safe to say that second he gets the OK, Gekko is speedballing his way back to Cali to see you and catch up on the months apart. He does tell you about his newfound occupation, although he keeps it vague for privacy and protection reasons - despite him not supposed to tell anyone about it in general. He just can't lie to you. You've been with him from the start of this journey after all, and it wouldn't feel right to him to not share this double life he now has with you.

• He lets you know when he touches down, but prepares a bit of a surprise for you for when he pops up on you. Alongside a bag of the necessary gair dying products he's also got a basket of snacks and other little knick knacks he knows you like. It acts as an apology for both being away for so long and that he hasn't kept up with his hair maintenance. He just likes it better when you do it!

• Definitely falls asleep the second your hands get in his head. You could just be raking through the buzzcut or washing him or blow drying him, he knocks out like a light from your touch. You definitely have to wake him up a couple of times throughout the session, because he can and will sleep until the end of it when he doesn't feel your hands anymore.

• Gekko usually let's you do anything you want to do in his head unless he has a specific color request he's been dying to try out. Which leads to a lot of fun designs - including red hearts, varying colored flowers, stars, a variety of prints, and more. He's always amazed at the creativity you have when it comes to trying new things in his hair and he's always down for whatever. He wears them proudly and takes so many pictures of his new dye any chance it seems photogenic.

• Speaking of pictures, Gekko is the type to like those "private but not secret" pictures - he thinks the aesthetic of it is cute and often wants to take them with you. His favorite pose is with a close up on the back of his head with your hands combing through his short hair. Not only does it feel good, but it assures that possessive itch in his brain that whispers "this is mine, but you'll never know c;". Wingman or Dizzy may photobomb a couple of them in good fun - all of Gekko's lil' homies love to see you two happy together!

• Departing back to base is always hard on the both of you. Though you know that ultimately he's safe and with people who will protect him, the miles between you two makes the longing more difficult and seeing him off never gets any easier. He tries to reassure you despite he himself hating having to leave you, giving you promises of a longer visit next time and more stories about his wildest adventures.

• It's usual for the agents - especially the younger ones - to debrief about their holidays when they all return to base. Wild stories and loud laughter echoes throught the common hall as everyone recounts the good times they had. When it's Gekko's turn, he's all too eager to show the pictures of the different styles he's gotten in his time away. Neon's got heart-eyes at all the crazy and intricate designs and Phoenix is trying to bribe the poor boy to give him the number to his stylist, and in the midst of it all, Gekko accidentally swipes too far and what the rest of the agents see makes them go absolutely ballistic.

• Gekko, the cool, suave young agent who can sling a gun with more swagger than an action movie actor, always hyping up his friends and encouraging team work all while being so effortlessly carefree and a total vibe, has a partner! And of course, it shouldn't be that shocking - he's the whole package and the freebies that come with! - but to have it confirmed by the man himself, even if it was on accident, has the other agents on another plane of excitement and intrigue.

• He's bombarded with questions - who are you? Are you the mysterious hairdresser they've heard so much about? How'd you meet? How long have you been together? The list goes on and on and he's just standing there like "shit, how do I get out of this?" He's so flustered at the prospect of talking about you to his friends he can't even get a word out. The commotion brings in the older agents because they're like 'why is it so loud and of course the person to speak loud as hell is Phoenix as he says "My man Gekko's got a secrer little girlfriend back home!" (It's definitely not a secret anymore Phoenix-)

• So safe to say that when he calls you that night, he's got a lot to tell you about how his fellow agents found out about his life outside of the Protocol, and how a bunch of them now want to meet the pretty lady that does the fancy designs on his hair <3

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[danieyells]

OMG JUST SAW YOUR POST ABOUT PULLING EDWARD’S SSR CARD. UR SOOO LUCKY 😿. Anyways, since you love him so much here’s a little food for thought especially with NSFW for Ed. I have this feeling where he’d be into very lazy sex, especially knowing how lethargic he is usually in the game. But for some reason I simply can’t get it out of my head , this idea of Ed and Mc 69. Like it’s a little difficult ofc, and there’s some faults to the logic but that can be ignored for the fantasy of it. Mc somehow persuaded Ed into trying it, Mc on top doing most of the work while Ed Lazily tries to please. However, I think MC would be too far gone to even realize that they’re “suffocating” or more-so squeezing his head between their thighs. They’re that hungry and sex drunk to notice. That’s where I think the biting comes in, bc ik damn well you can’t have a vampire without having some blood spilt in sex. Just a little something i thought should be shared to an Edward Hart lover 😋

THANK YOU SO MUCH i love him lol this time it only took a single ten pull. . .if only all of my gacha luck were so good lol ON THE OTHER HAND I NOW HAVE ANOTHER SSR TO LEVEL UP IN THE FUTURE. I PULLED JIN LIKE LAST WEEK TOO. I'M STILL WORKING ON TAIGA. THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH RESOURCES--this is unrelated to the topic at hand.

I love everyone but admittedly some characters are easier to think about than others lolol Ed. . .kind of writes himself haha.

I CAN ABSOLUTELY SEE THAT I think he could be vigorous after. . .a good meal, y'know? He also says on the home screen that his physical condition is worse in the summer and better in the autumn and winter, so if it's a nice cold day--or a really cloudy or foggy one--he'd probably have plenty of energy to warm PC up. . . .

But he definitely prefers lazier sex. He likes to lie back and be attended to or maybe have his face sat on. . .the good thing about 69ing(or any sort of oral play from Ed) is that Ed doesn't need to breathe at all. By all means dear, squeeze his head between your thighs. He didn't need air anyway. Their natural instincts as a human will prompt them to pull away and breathe when it's time, he will just be swallowing the warm, sweet fluids coming out of them with no need to stop. Since he drinks tears surely other bodily fluids will feed him as well. They can be as absorbed in the sex as they want--he is, at worst, out of practice but muscle memory will kick in once his mouth is busy.

Muscle memory will also sink his teeth into their thighs a few orgasms in, when they're so blissed out from the orgasms they wouldn't even notice it. Just a little tilt of his head to press his hungry mouth into the softest part of their flesh, their thighs tense even tighter around his head in some small acknowledgement of the pain of his teeth breaking through(or maybe in protest of that he isn't pleasuring them anymore) and he just has a little. Just a little. They might feel a touch dizzy at worst. But they might feel dizzy from all the orgasms anyway.

And once he's got some blood in him they may feel even dizzier because he's so, so much more enthused after a good meal. He doesn't even mind if they stop because they can't focus on blowing him the way he's playing with them. He'll have plenty of energy to take care of that later--

hehe thank you for sharing your thoughts with me anon 'u'

[flowersforjude]

𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Elvis x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | The show comes to a close, and the curtain drops. Elvis drops along with it as usual. But this time he doesn’t get back up.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2,805

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Mentions of drug use, Needles, Blood, Sickness(Vomiting, Ect), The Colonel(Yeah, he gets a warning)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This is probably my favorite thing I've written, but its also the saddest.

masterlist | read on ao3

You watch from your place just offstage as the glittering gold curtain slowly lowers to the ground. As the heavy fabric reaches the floor, shielding your husband from the view of the crowd, you wait for him to rise from his knees. But he doesn’t; instead, he stays down. His shoulders heaving and his head bowed. He looks like he’s in some faraway place.

Your legs itch to walk over to him. To see if he was alright, but you give him another minute. Tonight’s show was big, and Elvis had given it everything he had, like always. So maybe he just needed a bit more time to collect himself.

After several long seconds, Jerry finally speaks up from beside you, “You all good, E.P.?”

Maybe it was the obvious worry in Jerry’s voice. Maybe it was the fact that Elvis didn’t answer or even move an inch, save for the shaking of his shoulders. Maybe it was the way you noticed him slightly swaying in place. But something in you chilled with fear.

A towel was placed around Elvis’ neck, and at last he moved to stand. Except he ends up falling. The sound of his head cracking against the hard floor of the stage makes your stomach drop. Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion in strong contrast to the rapid beat of your heart. You’re by his side in a flash, trying to move his limp body to somewhat lie in your lap. His head rests heavily on your thighs, and you try to calm your growing concern.

“Elvis? Wake up, honey. I need you to open your eyes!” You’re yelling, and you know there are people around. Not only backstage but also the audience. You can’t find the strength to give a shit about that right now though.

Your hand finds his clammy cheek, rubbing it to maybe rouse him even a little. It doesn’t do a thing. You get no response from him, and the dread building in your chest threatens to topple over.

And it nearly does when your husband begins to jerk uncontrollably in your grasp. You let out a frightened yelp as he shakes rapidly in front of you. His eyes move vigorously behind his eyelids.

At this point, a crowd had formed around you and Elvis. You look up and find Jerry in front of them all.

“Jerry?” You call in a panic. Your eyes pleading with him for help.

“He’s having a seizure!” Jerry yells. “Back the hell up and give him some space. Someone get a damn doctor!” The onlookers disperse, and he drops to the ground beside you.

“What can we do?” You ask, hoping he has some idea of how to help Elvis right now.

“Help me turn him on his side,” Jerry directs. “And give me your jacket. We need to put it under his head.”

You do as he orders and ease Elvis onto his side. You quickly shrug off your jacket, folding it before handing it to Jerry. He slides the fabric under Elvis’ head and sits back, breathing a little faster than before.

“That’s all we can do until he comes out of it,” he sighs.

It’s torture just sitting there and watching the love of your life in this state. You wanted to cry and quite possibly throw something, but you kept that anger under lock and key for when you saw the Colonel.

“How’d you know to do all that?” You softly question Jerry.

He shifts his legs. “My little sister has a seizure disorder, so growing up, I learned how to handle ‘em pretty fast.”

You open your mouth to reply, but at the same moment, Elvis finally stills.

“Y/N?” His voice is barely there, but you know you heard it.

His eyes remain closed, but his hand moves out like it’s searching for something. You slip yours into his, and he grips it with surprising force.

“I’m here, baby.” You assure him. “Can you open your eyes for me, please?”

His eyelashes flutter, and his blue eyes meet yours. They’re hazy, and you can tell he’s having a hard time focusing. But you’re just glad he can open them and that he’s talking.

You think he’s opening his mouth to say something, but whatever he had planned was cut off by a harsh gag. He abruptly pulls away from you and coughs up a mixture of vomit and blood. He heaves for a moment, and when nothing else will come up, he plops down onto his back.

“Ah! He’s awake!” The Colonel waddles onto the stage. He makes his way over to the three of you quickly. “Dr. Nick will be here shortly to give him something to boost his energy.” He leers over your husband. “We should get him up to his room.” He doesn’t look the least bit concerned. He looks at Elvis as though he weren’t really there. The borderline amused grin he has on his face is downright disgusting.

The Colonel reaches down just slightly to touch Elvis, and you immediately pull him away. You tug him closer so he’s half laying in your lap and half on the floor. The mere thought of that man being anywhere near your husband, touching him with those hands that shove endless pills down his throat, fills you with murderous rage.

You don’t want Elvis anywhere near the Colonel while he was in this incredibly vulnerable state. You want to take him as far away from that man and this place as you can. He should be at Graceland, where you could take care of him. Not here, where he’d be forced back on that stage to put on a show for people who didn’t know all it was costing him.

“That poor excuse for a doctor isn’t coming anywhere near him,” you sneer.

The Colonel glares at you disgustedly. He moves his eyes from you to Elvis in your arms. “He has another show in an hour. He must get up. We need him for sound check and wardrobe in thirty minutes.” The Colonel said, his voice void of any sympathy or human emotion.

You want to get up and punch the man across the face. That would require you to leave Elvis, though, and you don’t want to be even a few feet from him right now. “Does he look like he can perform again tonight?” You snap. “He isn’t going on the damn stage until he’s better.”

“This is not a negotiation.” The older man hissed, hitting his cane against the floor.

Before you can argue with him further, a stagehand runs up, panting. “Doctors here!”

You look over the boy's shoulder to thankfully see a doctor that isn’t Dr. Nick.

“This entire thing is unnecessary. These ridiculous dramatics are a waste of time.” The Colonel grumbles while you reluctantly ease Elvis onto his back so the doctor can do his job.

Finally able to stand, you march over to the Colonel. “You need to shut your damn mouth!” You spit. “He had a fucking seizure for, Christ sake. What kind of monster-”

Someone places their hand on your shoulder, and you almost shrug it off before you realize it’s Jerry. “Forget him, Y/N. I’ll get him out of here. You just worry about E.P.”

You look over to your husband. His eyes watch you from where he lies, even as the doctor is poking at him. He’s watching you because you're really the thing he needs right now. He needs your hands on him. He needs your warmth to comfort him.

You sigh. “You’re right. Thank you, Jer.”

You slide back down to the floor beside Elvis, and take his hand laying out, into yours. You rubbed your thumb across the back of his weak hand. Your eyes meet his with tears, blurring your view slightly. But you could still see that his eyes, normally bright blue and full of life, were now glossy with sickness. The bags that had been subtly making an appearance here lately were deep purple now. His hair was wet with sweat that dripped down his forehead. He gazes at you with the most pitiful look you’ve ever seen from him.

“Oh, baby,” you fretted.

“Don’t feel good, doll.” He groans, shuddering with pain or something else you can’t tell.

“I know, honey.” You choke out around the tears. You were so sure he was going to die while he was having that seizure. You’d never seen something like that up close, and it scared you to death. Especially since it was Elvis, the love of your life, you were having to watch like that. You thought he was gone for a long moment there. That the very thing he loved almost as much as he loved you and his father and his Memphis Mafia would be the thing that killed him. The relief you felt seeing his eyes open and hearing him talk was practically numbing.

“He seems stable for now,” the doctor announced. “The seizure was most likely caused by exhaustion, and the overload of drugs in his system surely didn’t help matters. I recommend hospitalization so he can be monitored for at least forty-eight hours.”

The pills. The damn needles. Dr. Nick swore up and down that it was all safe, but you knew better. The Colonel convinced Elvis that it would help him keep performing once he got tired. Elvis, ever the trusting man, defended his manager and the pills when you would express your concern. You two had gotten into countless arguments on the subject. It always ended up with you crying and Elvis softly assuring you he was fine.

“You don’t gotta worry your pretty lil head about me.”

“No hospital,” Elvis slurred.

“You need to go, baby,” you insisted.

“Just wanna sleep, darlin,” he murmured. His grip tightens on your hand.

“I know. Soon, baby. Okay?” You tried to soothe him. “You can sleep at the hospital.” You comb your fingers through his hair to both calm him and yourself.

“Wanna go home—Graceland. Not—no hospital, baby.” He tries to sit up, but he isn’t strong enough to get very far.

“You’re sick, E.” You say as he starts to shake his head.

“Don’t leave-leave me. I’m-I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t leave me,” Elvis cries.

You immediately shush him and press your forehead to his. “I’m not going anywhere, E. I’m right here, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart, baby,” you assure him.

—

Waking up in a hospital chair with your head laid on the bed beside Elvis wasn’t the best way to start your morning. The fact that you were exhausted didn’t help either. The night had been long, with convincing Elvis to actually stay once you got him here and then him not being able to sleep for anything. He’d wake up almost every hour shivering and close to tears from delirium.

You were there every time to run your hands through his hair and soothe him back to sleep. Eventually, around five in the morning, he fell asleep and stayed that way. You drifted off not long after that.

You sat up and stretched your tense body. A glance at the clock on the wall nearby told you it was well after noon. You didn’t want to leave Elvis, but you were still in your clothes from last night, and you were in desperate need of a shower. Elvis should sleep for a good long while still, so you ventured you’d have enough time to run to the hotel and clean up a bit before he woke up.

You let the nurse know to tell Elvis where you’d gone on your way out, just in case he did wake up while you weren’t there.

When you arrived at the International, you swallowed your disgust and went up to your and Elvis’ suite. You showered in record time and threw on a simple outfit. On your way out the door, you decided to grab one of Elvis’ robes for him. Knowing he’d want something to wear besides the damn hospital gown, as he’d say.

Feeling refreshed and more awake, you practically skip down the hospital hallway. Anxious to be back with Elvis and just wanting to be there before he woke up. As you near the door to his room, you frown. It’s slightly open, and light pours out into the hall. Maybe the doctors are checking up on him?

Anger claws at you when you hear his voice, though. “Think of how disappointed your fans will be, my boy.” You can hear the Colonel reprimanding Elvis.

“Colonel, I’m sure the fans will understand why the show is being rescheduled.” Elvis responded in a tired groan.

Before the conversation can go any further, you push the door open. The Colonel turns from his position facing Elvis when he hears you enter the room. His aggravated expression quickly slips off and turns to one of pure contempt upon seeing you.

“Look who it is!” The Colonel expresses in fake enthusiasm. “Y/N is here. Maybe you can talk some sense into my boy. Convince him he needs to perform tonight.”

You cross your arms and scoff. “Like hell, I’m doing that.” You walk farther into the room. Pushing past the Colonel to be by Elvis’ side. His hand instantly found yours and tangled your fingers together.

The Colonel’s face draws into a grimace. “My boy must be on that stage tonight.”

You laugh unbelievably. “My boy is staying in this bed and resting. He’s exhausted, and he’s very sick. Probably thanks to you overworking him and those fucking drugs you keep pumping him full of. Forcing him to perform tonight is only going to make his condition worse.”

The Colonel stared you down like you were nothing but a piece of gum he’d scrape off the sole of his shoe. “You listen here—”

“No, you listen.” You interrupt him. “Elvis is not going with you. He’s not leaving this bed until he’s better.” You held your ground even though you were honestly scared of how this would turn out. The only thing that made you swallow your apprehension was the fact that Elvis needed you. He needed someone to fight for him right now. “He’s not a puppet on some stupid string for you to move whichever way pleases you. He’s a human being, and you’ve worked him half to death. He needs rest right now, so that’s what you’re going to give him.”

You could tell the Colonel was getting angrier by the second. His face was turning red, and his grip on his cane tightened ever so slightly. “You need to learn to stop sticking your nose into men's business, little girl. And that boy needs to get up and-”

Once again, you cut him off. “You need to leave, Colonel. You can see Elvis when he’s better or whenever he feels like seeing you.”

The Colonel shook his head, chuckling darkly. He looked at Elvis, who was openly glaring at him now.

“You are letting your wife make the decisions? She fights your battles for you now?”

Elvis looks up at you and tightens his grip around your hand. “She’s right. I’m in no shape to put on a show right now. I’ll pick back up in a week or so.” Elvis sits up slightly, and his free hand rises to point his finger at his manager. “And you best watch how you treat her. One more snarky remark or dirty look her way and you're gone.”

The Colonel stands there for what seems like forever. Glaring at you with the most unadulterated rage, but you stared right back at him. Eventually he decides it’s not worth it to try and argue anymore, so he turns on his heels and slams the door shut on his way out.

Elvis opened his arms to you, and you climbed onto the bed immediately. You wrapped yourself around him and pressed kisses to both his cheeks before settling on his lips for a few moments.

“Did I do the right thing, sweetness?” He hummed quietly, and you instantly nodded. You nuzzled into him and tangled your legs together; his arms came around you to tug you as close to him as possible.

“You definitely did the right thing, E. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles at you and reaches out a hand to caress your cheek. “I’m proud of you too, baby. Watching you tell off the Colonel was hot and a little scary.”

You gasp and laugh loudly as you swat at his chest. He chuckles and snatches your hand, laying it on his chest right over his heart. The heart that beats with love for you. His beautiful, somewhat scary wife.

I’m honestly really happy with this, and it was so comforting to write. As always enjoy! <3

[rxqueenotd]

The Girl Next Door part III

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: politics (gag), dubious content, alcohol consumption. Read the previous chapter’s warnings (we ALL know where this is headed)

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Benadryl. I went to the moon last night and somehow woke up with this chapter finished. Thanks to @runningwiththefoxes for being THAT BITCH and @luxlisbons for letting me whine, @weakling-grace for being the best hypeman and @vivalafae for also being neurotic and insane like me.

Also, we’re staying in the Succ universe for this. Jeryd just hasn’t taken off on his political journey yet. I’ve had a few messages about this and just wanted to clear it up.

WC: 1956

I made it a point to buy curtains the next day. They would lay in a pile below my bedroom window for close to a month. The rod would become bent and the screws would wind up in various cracks and divots of the hardwood floor. I made an effort, I would tell myself, only giving up because I couldn’t find a screwdriver or a drill- It was a lie if I had ever told one.

Over the course of a week his house became visible to me through his bedroom window. He never closed his curtain after that night, rewarding me a few days later when he opened the curtains covering the bay window adjacent to the one in my own kitchen.

Oftentimes I would catch him fresh out of the shower. He would trail past the window, his hand vigorously rubbing a towel through his hair, before reappearing a few seconds later, his slender fingers buttoning his button down as he gazed out the window. He would stare out at the sky, at the old oak tree looming in my front yard, over to the inlet, but his eyes would always end up on me.

No more peep shows, I told myself, but dressed and undressed purposely in front of the window each day.

Other times, I would catch him watching me doing innocent things. Folding myself uncomfortably into a dining room chair with an old book, perched on top of the kitchen counter as I chatted animatedly to my long distance friend over the course of hour long phone calls, dancing around the kitchen as I ate raw cake batter. It didn’t matter what I was doing- he looked at me with the same intensity he had the night I fucked Evan for him to see. There was something about that I just couldn’t shake.

On Wednesday, I woke up earlier than I normally would have. A waterline break had canceled my shift at The Marina, an answered prayer delivered via text message sometime after I had gone to sleep the previous night. I rooted around the sheets for the better part of an hour before I decided I wouldn’t be going back to sleep. It was barely past six in the morning.

Thinking about him made me nervous. It’s normal, I told myself, it’s human to be curious. My silent commiserations had left me feeling dirty. My internal monologue seesawing between morality and depravity.

For the first time in a week, I dressed timidly in the darkness of my bathroom, away from any prying eyes. A sort of guilt had washed over me, the type you experience when barely any remorse is involved. Which made the guilt, or lack thereof, even more personal. I laced my tennis shoes in haste and nearly toppled down the staircase in an effort to put physical distance between him and I.

I ran briskly out the front door, my feet thudding against the cool pavement as I set my pace. I took the same course I had taken when I was a teenager. Right out of my driveway to the end of the residential area where the lopsided Welcome sign stood, around the traffic circle that connected Blair Street with Ocean Avenue, and back down Paxton Place. Rinse and repeat. Easy enough.

Running had always cleared my mind. I knew the science behind it. The rush of endorphins and such, but I also resonated with the idea of simply running away from my problems.

And then my problem caught up to me. I hadn’t noticed him at first, too lost in my own little world, before his stride caught up to mine. We stayed at the same pace for a short while, only when I had a burst of energy did I manage to outrun him, but it didn’t last long.

“So,” he blew out a gust of air and looked over at me, “Georgetown in the fall?”

“Can’t. Talk. And. Run.” I managed to get out. He laughed at me, running ahead.

Once we were home free and both of our respective houses were within eyesight, I came to a violent stop, bending at the waist as I braced my thighs in an effort to catch my breath.

“How’d you know about Georgetown?” I asked, dragging myself to the curb to sit down.

“Oh,” he sat beside me, “the McGovens told us all about the neighbors when we moved in.”

“Obviously you weren’t warned properly.”

He nodded along, seemingly agreeing to what exactly I was alluding to.

“There’s a lecture at Stony Brook today,” he stretched his legs out in front of him and looked back at me, “a congressman from Pennsylvania.”

“Yeah, Gil Eavis. I heard about that.”

He nodded. “I’m expected to be there to make sure my students show up and engage. You could join me,” He looked at me almost expectantly, “Only if you want.”

_________________________________________

To say I was nervous would have been the understatement of the century. I silently chastised myself for not having a more structured summer. To not be able to use work or school as an excuse as I had done so many times in the past when I wanted to get out of a social engagement.

“He’s full of shit,” Mencken whispered to me while looking straight ahead, “everything he says is bullshit.”

I pretended to be so deeply immersed in whatever Eavis was rattling on about that I only nodded in silence.

“Pandering to the fucking left,” Mencken scoffed, “this guy doesn’t know the difference between his asshole and a hole in the ground.”

Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Mencken. The only thing I had been focused on was how far apart his legs were spread, his right knee touching my left knee, had me practically breaking apart at the seams. If driving to the university together had been foreplay, this was practically second base.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. Eavis took a few questions from the crowd as Mencken suggested we leave.

“I’ve heard enough,” he leaned down and told me as we made our way out of the lecture hall and towards the main entrance.

“You hungry, Olive?”

_________________________________________

We ended up at a little Italian restaurant about fifteen minutes outside of town.

“A hidden gem,” he told me as he drove and I gazed out the window at the dulcet tones the sunset put off.

When we got there, we were swiftly seated towards the back of the restaurant. I promptly ordered a glass of wine but he intervened, ordering an entire bottle.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “Georgetown. That’s heavy stuff.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?,” he laughed and cocked his head at me, “Georgetown is impressive. “

Once the wine was served and my pulse returned to its baseline, he pried more information out of me. We discussed how I’d double majored in Political Science and Communications, with him calling me an overachiever, and then ragging on me for going to NYU.

“Law schools don’t give a shit about a double major, Olive.” Or, “You should’ve gone to college further from home and seen the world a little bit, Olive.”

“What about you?” I asked him after my second glass of wine. “Who are you?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t go to Georgetown.” He spat back at me. That same sarcastic grin I’d come to loathe and love simultaneously mirroring my own.

“Hofstra University. Full scholarship,” he informed me as he downed his second glass of wine.

“Impressive.”

The conversation idled comfortably as we both ate.

It was never awkward or forced. Neither of us gave away any personal details other than colleges and majors. Nothing of which would be deemed too deep for the light evening we had shared thus far.

“I taught high school Civics and US government in Roslyn for ten years,” he filled our glasses with the last remaining bit of wine from the bottle before continuing, “and then I took the job at Stony back in January before we settled here.”

We.

I wanted to ask about his partner. Their presence being highlighted in the subtle glitter of his wedding band. I had noticed it the first night I met him, an observation I would have made on anyone else. It didn’t mean anything to me then and it shouldn’t have meant anything to me at dinner. But it did. It meant more to me in the back of that old school Italian restaurant than I cared to realize. I wasn’t sure if I was jealous or concerned. Frankly, I was curious.

“Where’s your wife?” I asked him out of nowhere.

I had caught him off guard, his eyes narrowing at me.

“Mission trip.” Was all he offered.

“Where’s your mother?” He asked, “I noticed you’ve been alone.”

Sinister, but not at all threatening. It’s hard to be a voyeur and not recognize these things.

“A medical conference in Florida. She leaves Miami on Thursday to go on a 14 day cruise.”

He hummed in response.

I wanted to call him a dog. But if he was a dog, well, I was one as well.

_________________________________________

It rained that night. It started lightly at first, mixing uncomfortably with the humidity outside, casting the windows in thick fog. He drove slower than he had before, cursing the defroster for not doing the one job it had been designed to do.

I was blissfully drunk and the world felt a little lighter than it had when my day started. I leaned back in my seat, my head lulling to the side as I watched him thrum the tips of his fingers on the dash while his palm gripped the wheel.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, eyes never leaving the road.

I sat up a little straighter. “Like what?”

I hadn’t even realized he had made it back to our houses until he put the car in park.

“Like that,” he said, finally turning his body to the side to look at me.

There were plenty of things I wanted to say:

“Don’t look in my windows anymore.”

“Don’t come into The Marina when I’m working.”

“Don’t ply me with wine at dinner.”

“Move back to Roslyn.”

But none of them would have conveyed what I was feeling more so than when I crawled over the center console and directly onto his lap, straddling him with ease.

His hands rested on the outside of my thighs and he looked up at me, so confident and cool, as I stared down at him.

When I leaned down to kiss him, he met me halfway. What started slowly and deeply, turned into a power struggle of sorts. My hands roamed across his neck, my thumbs meeting at the crest of his Adam’s apple, as our teeth clashed. His hands, his huge hands, explored my stomach, nearly covering the surface area with his palms alone. When his hands danced onto my lower back and dipped low into my jeans, I felt the cool metal of his wedding band as he gripped onto my bare ass, kneading and pulling the soft flesh, dragging me down onto him in a grinding motion.

There was a hesitancy in my kiss then. The guilt had begun to set in.

I pulled away from him.

“I can’t do this.”

I scurried back across the center console and nearly threw myself from the passenger’s side door. I didn’t turn around once I made it to my doorstep. Instead, I let myself inside, slammed the door, and tried to catch my breath.

I slept in my mother’s room that night. The only bedroom with curtains.

[gerryrigged]

mmkay I've read the first two issues out of G0tham War and

(CUT FOR BIG SALT, lol)

this is so dumbbbbb oh my god 😭 like we knew it was gonna be dumb, artificial conflict, but LORDT.

everyone is OOC, even more than I expected, and the stupid, ridiculous plot hinges on the stupid, ridiculous idea that Selina's dumbass plan would ever, ever work. (Let's train ALL the henchpeople/goons (yes all of them) to be ethical 😌 non-violent catburglars 😌 like Selina 😌 who donate part of their profits to charity 😌 and only target rich people so they're really #hashtagvictimlesscrimes and then they don't have to work for dangerous Rogues and mobsters, yay, they're bettering their lives!!) (this is ~Sophisticated Social Commentary~!)

And it especially depends on her plan working astronomically better than the hundreds of millions of dollars Bruce has poured into similar outreach for the city over literal decades through the Wayne Foundation and other programs, creating and offering people jobs, support networks, etc. that aren't criminal in nature.

but oh, no one is going to bring that up (has the Martha Wayne Foundation ever even existed? haha, none of these Wayne kids know, apparently! they're just going to sit and twiddle their thumbs while Selina yells at Bruce that he's just "...clearly furious because [he's] wasted [his] fortune and [his] brain on bat-cars and punching people, and it took compassion to solve this problem").

Anyway, Bruce's efforts never meaningfully improved Gotham (cough because Batman stories can't be told without a crime-ridden Gotham cough), while Selina's (gasp) actually have! Somehow!

because the Power of Plot demands it, her cartoonish plan apparently works SO well that violent crime is down almost 75%!! wowiee, Catwoman is actually fixing Gotham, which no one has ever been able to do before!! who needs Batman, haha! that's such egg on your face, Batman, how come you never thought of doing something like this before, haha. Just convince the criminals to be non-violent, Batman, haha, what like it's hard. Ha.

So anyway, gosh, the Batkids (minus Damian, who's siding with Bruce, and Jason, who, harkening back to his "control crime" roots, 100% supports Selina) are conflicted. It feels ~weird~ just blithely letting burglars walk right past them into people's homes, but the ~numbers don't lie~, Batman, it's ~working~, maybe we shouldn't interfere and just see where this goes, like Selina asked! Aren't you being a little unreasonable walking out of this both-sides-might-have-a-point debate, Batman?? Also, ohhh nooo, you shouldn't push back so hard against her people because we don't want to start a ~war~, Batman!

I'M GONNA FACEPLANT INTO MY KEYBOARD IT'S SO ABSURD. How can you write anyone in-character when you're stuck twisting them in knots to accommodate such an absurd premise?

And then, when one of Selina's "graduates" is shot and killed during a break-in by a scared woman who'd unexpectedly stayed home when she was supposed to be out of town, the Batkids (minus Damian) act like it's somehow unexpected/out of control for Batman to bring down the hammer on Selina's operation? Like a man didn't just die because of the path Selina set him on? Like a massive surge in crime targeting the rich isn't going to eventually have more such incidents and ramifications down the line, as backlash and escalations hit? Like rich people are not known for vigorously defending their property?? What is your long-term plan here, Selina??

Batman isn't even shown being excessively violent in rounding up Selina's people (for Batman, lol) - just relentless. But Tim shows up and tries to talk him down as if he's putting petty crooks in the hospital again like after Jason's death (he just lasso'd that crook's legs and growled at him?? what is so over the top about that, in vigilante context?? this is completely normal Bat behavior??), making noises about Bruce's health and taking it easy, and oooo, nothing's black and white...

And Dick goes, "He's on a rampage, he's out of control" (WHERE? LITERALLY WHERE? are you perhaps referring to the murderous police-state robot he built and accidentally unleashed on Gotham a few arcs ago (which was ACTUALLY bad and over the top), because there is nothing in this event so far???). And Tim worries about how Batman was so angry, he's worried about what he's going to do, how far he's willing to go, and Babs is like if Selina asks for help, I'd be inclined to give it.

Like if they'd actually showed Bruce escalating and going out of control, losing it on these non-violent thieves, I wouldn't be so enormously peeved about this aspect of it. Granted, I'd still be hella mad about people like Cass and Dick and Tim thinking about supporting Catwoman's (IDIOTIC) plan, especially after a man just died, but they've all seen Bruce go off the rails before, they're very familiar with having to oppose him on those occasions.

But the way this is set up??? No. Just no. Bruce is pissed about the one thief dying, he's not trying to kill the rest of them??

It doesn't make sense, and they all come across as painfully out of character. Standing aside and letting certain crimes happen as a matter of standing policy, because they're Catwoman's people - like you can count on nobody getting hurt because Selina just trained them so well - are you kidding me, what happened to these kids' principles?? Writers and Editorial I am IN YOUR WALLS, STOP CONTORTING CHARACTERS JUST TO FIT THE DUMBASS STORY YOU WANT TO TELL.

Dick: I'm gonna head into Gotham and see if I can talk Bruce off his "moral ledge."

QUOTE UNQUOTE MORAL LEDGE??? DICK GRAYSON of all people referring to Bruce's adherence to his Mission and his Code with sanctimonious, condescending scare quotes???? Like he doesn't also believe in "no life is an acceptable loss" to a reckless, at times self-destructive degree??? Huh????

And this absolutely DUMBASS fight scene where all of the Batkids (minus Damian) fight against Bruce, but the all-powerful Bat-god doesn't need strategy or contingency plans to handle the most dangerous and highly trained vigilantes on the planet, he just goes ahead and one-shots Cass (lmfao????) and Duke and then Steph and Tim at the same time and only Dick and Jason even land blows on him for ~some reason~.

UUUUGH.

Funnily enough, outside that stupid-ass fight scene, Bruce is one of the ones who seems least out of character, considering everything he's been through recently, his paranoia about becoming old and unnecessary and only feeling at home in his Batman suit (we've certainly seen that before 🙄), his Code, and not to mention Zur-En-Arrh (and also a shadowy something else?) lurking in his psyche whispering to him, clearly not actually constrained by the cage Bruce thought he was locked in.

I'm 100% blaming instability and Zur for the bits where Bruce is more obviously wilding (mainly when fighting Jason), but like - at least he has reasons built into the narrative to be slipping like that? Everyone else is just acting that way because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, I guess.

This would all be much more enjoyable if they'd found a way to make Selina's side less ridiculous/more convincing. Like I would actually be interested in seeing Zur-En-Arrh twist Bruce's mind against his family. It was fun for that brief period in the Failsafe arc because we got to see Bruce fight against and eventually overcome it! But I can't even enjoy it here when the whole thing is so frikkin' stupid and being written terribly.

Like clearly Bruce is going to go way, way more off the rails fairly quickly from here, given how Zur is straight up fucking with him at the end (and Vandal Savage??? okay Jan). So siding against him will rapidly become more obviously reasonable, I assume. I just hope the (small) bits where like, Tim expressed worry about Bruce's wellbeing are expanded on, and shared by other characters (Dick??? Cass???), so they can help him with this mental breakdown rather than it being constantly hostile/adversarial.

...Admittedly a bit intrigued by the big Rogue Gathering, teaming up as they don't have minions to do their bidding anymore. Like, fun, evil backlash resulting from Selina's (STUPID) plan? Good! And also a compelling reason for the good guys to eventually band back together and heal this rift? Well, hopefully. :/

[moistmailman]

Breath of the wild AU part 2

*at hateno village*

Pyrrha: *sweating while doing yard work at her new house*

Nora, walking up: Heyo!

Pyrrha, smiling: Hello Nora. What are you doing out of your tower? The residents here claim you're a hermit.

Nora, feigning being offended: Hey, being a hermit isn't all that easy you know? A girl gotta get some fresh air every once in a while. Renny is amazing and all, but he can be hard to keep a conversation going with.

Pyrrha: Well since you're down here, do you want something to drink? Got some water.

Nora: Nah, just wanted to say hey and ask a few questions. How's your memories? Anything came back to you?

Pyrrha, scratching the back of her head: A bit of pieces here and there, but I still feel like a giant chunk of my life is missing.

Nora, smirking: Remember anything about prince boy?

Pyrrha, slightly blushly: Jaune? Y-yeah, some more stuff about him came back to me. Still kinda spotty though.

Nora: Well? Come on then. Give me the deets.

Pyrrha: Uh....I don't have any vegetables growing yet.

Nora: What? No, not beets- girl talk, Pyr-Pyr.

Pyrrha, raising an eyebrow: What's there to talk about?

Nora, smirking: Oh come on. More memories came back about Jauney, right? Don't pretend the way you feel about him didn't come back too.

Pyrrha, blushing: I don’t know what you’re implying. Jaune and I are just friends.

Nora: Who had to spend every second of the day with each other?

Pyrrha: And? We’re friends, but I also was tasked to protect him as well. So obviously I would spend a lot of time with him.

Nora: So you’re telling me you saw that relationship as strictly platonic?

Pyrrha: Obviously?

Nora: Well there are memories that you haven’t remembered yet that beg to differ. Like I remember one time after a long ass day you two were found cuddling with each other. The guard who found you two freaked out.

Pyrrha, blushing:.........

Nora, frowning: Really? No reaction? I was expecting you to claim I was at least lying about it. That’s kinda boring, not gonna lie. It’s like as if- *gasp*

Pyrrha, blushing:.........

Nora, smiling: Hold on! You already remembered that memory, didnt you?!

Pyrrha, blushing madly:........*goes back to yard work*

Nora, laughing: Oh don’t ignore me! Come on! Let’s have girl talk about it!

Pyrrha, face on fire: We probably already had girl talk about it, so why bother?

Nora: So you admit you remember!

Pyrrha: I didn’t say that!

Nora: You basically did! Now come on, let’s talk about again!

Pyrrha: So you admit we talked about this in the past already!

Nora: Obviously! It was so entertaining to make you blush that bad! And now I have the opportunity to do it all over again! So come on already!!!!

Pyrrha: We aren’t talking about this!

Nora: You said that last time, and that didn’t stop me then, won’t stop me now! Now come on!

Pyrrha: *vigorously focusing on yard work*

Nora: Admit it, you liked the way he held you, didn’t you?

Pyrrha: Look, can we just please not talk about this?

Nora: I’m pretty sure you said that last time too.

Pyrrha: *groans*

Nora: Just admit it, and I’ll stop. It’s not like you didn’t admit it last time. So what’s the big deal?

Pyrrha, face on fire:......f-fine....I-it felt...nice, okay? It made me feel like he’s protecting me for a change......

Nora:......*snorts*

Pyrrha: What?

Nora, laughing: You didn’t admit jack shit to me last time!

Pyrrha, eyes wide: WHAT?!

Nora: You were stubborn as hell last time! Kept to your guns and didn’t admit anything! Look like finally won though!

Pyrrha, covering her face: This can’t be happening! How did I fall for that?!

Nora: This is amazing! Patience has finally paid off! I’m running on an amazing high right now!

Pyrrha: Can we stop?! You won, okay!

Nora, smiling: Okay, Fine. We’re done for now. *looks around* So, nice house you got here.

Pyrrha, going back to yard work: Thanks.

Nora: Gonna take Jaune back here once you save him?

Pyrrha: Kinda have to. The castle’s not habitable at the moment, and he got no where else to stay.

Nora: How many beds you got?

Pyrrha: One currently.

Nora, smirking: Oh hoho, one you say? Trying to relive that memory in the near future?

Pyrrha, blushing: S-shuddup!

[tamedstray]

Is there a particular aspect/secret/theme/snippet of backstory about Vigor that you have always really liked, but have little opportunity to include in the things you write?

The good news is I have been spoiled by the most lovely mutuals who indulge my nonsense, along with exploring things I never did before making Vigor a bg3 muse. Converting him from a Skyrim OC to a bg3 companion helped me write a proper arc for him. Despite making him back in 2016, I'm only recently learning what happens when he has a support group to grow his confidence and force him out of the wilds.

      But, I want to write more of him as a younger man. Not just with muses he acts genuine with, but muses he would charm and lie to. Even if in meta we all know that he hates doing it, he did have to for many years. I'd love for him to pick a target, internally scream the entire time, and get called out for it. I've plotted some cute stuff from that part of his life, giving him hope through those dark years, but I'd also love for someone to catch him during a kill, especially a shipping partner.

      Also! How he is prone to entering abusive relationships because that's what happens. Not forever, of course, soon enough you've heard it all before. I want to explore the line where his desperation and loneliness are preferable to the fear of being used and owned again.

      Also, also, last one I swear, I need to get better at describing his duality as an upper-class gentleman and a scruffy woodsman. Maybe a more detailed bio might help off the bat? But most of all, I think it's on me to help reinforce that throughout threads. For example, when he does something gentlemanly, I should add some description about his tired eyes or worn out clothes. In reverse, when he's harvesting or hunting, he moves with grace or proudly mentions how a certain plant is referenced in poems and art.

      There's a lot I want to do as drabbles. Anything I can't find a writing partner for, I can do myself, especially exploring his strict childhood or how he managed during his time isolated in the wilderness. It would help me unpack the effects it had on him in more detail, and hopefully help plotting partners understand those years better.

      tl;dr I have thoughts, lots of thoughts. Thank you so much for this question. I've had this blog for two months now, and I already feel spoiled for choice. I currently have assassin Vigor on the brain, but in truth I am still learning more about Vigor every day, and by extension, what I want to explore.

[lilypadlys]

Would You Like To Repeat That?

Summary: You may have sassed a bit too close to the sun. Terzo reminds you who’s in charge.

Ship: Terzo/Reader

Word Count: 1,972

Rating: Explict

Tags: smut, gratuitous smut even, PWP, Dom/Sub, bondage, vibrators, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie

A/N: Sibling is AFAB and cunt/clit is used for what their working with but no pronouns are specified.

AO3 Link or below the cut.

“Would you like to repeat that amore?” Terzo stares you down.

Oh fuck. You think. That sentence fills you with equal parts fear and arousal. Last time you heard it, you got railed into the mattress until even the ghouls were complaining about the noise. What could this time bring? They say curiosity killed the cat but oh well, it’d be a wonderful way to go. You smirk and gesture at the newly unveiled painting of Papa Emeritus III himself. “I said, the portrait doesn’t really seem accurate. They made you look a lot bigger.”

“Really now.” Your lover’s terse tone warns you to tread no further but you trample ahead with abandon.

“In more ways than one if you know what I mean.” You wink for emphasis. “Are you compensating for something or…?”

That does it. You barely have time to register the laughs of the surrounding siblings and ghouls at Terzo’s flush, equal parts fury and embarrassment, before he’s scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder. He proceeds to stomp out of the room and haul you through the corridors of the abbey, your ass in the air for all to see. And your panties for that matter; you can feel your habit sliding up dangerously high.

You can’t see much, your face bumping against Terzo’s back. The snickers and giggles however, make you painfully aware of just how many people cross Terzo’s warpath.

You also can’t see where Terzo is taking you. You wouldn’t put it past him to boot you straight out the abbey entrance for embarrassing him like that. Fortunately, you hear the familiar click of the door to your shared quarters.

Once inside, he shucks you, none to gently, onto the bed. Then he shuts and locks the door. On the bed, you're already ripping your habit off in anticipation of the punishment he’s about to deal out. When he turns to see you in just your underwear, he snorts.

“Don’t stop there.” he prompts.

You also remove your bra and panties.

“Good girl.” He coos meanly. “Or you would be if you knew better than to mouth off.” He shakes his head and tsks. Then he waves a hand in a shooing motion. “Now lie back.”

Having gotten what you wanted, you comply without so much a snarky aside. You flop back and rest your head on the pillows. You can’t help but smile in anticipation. To your surprise, instead of unzipping his pants, Terzo walks away from the bed to rifle around in the closet.

You raise a brow.

Having found what he was looking for, he approaches you, items in hand. He’s holding a set of cuffs and a spreading bar.

Well this should be interesting.

Obediently, you hold your hands above your head. Terzo cuffs your wrists, hooking the short chain through an eyelet mounted on the head board for just this purpose. He does a tug test to ensure the lock is solid. There’s no need. You know from experience that even Terzo can’t break the cuffs if he wanted.

He moves to the foot of the bed to find your legs already spread wide. After locking your legs apart with the spreading bar, he admires his work. The telltale bulge in his pants lets you know exactly how he feels about it. However, rather than joining you on the bed, he surprises you again by returning to the closet. He stalls, seeming to be deliberating.

You feel a tiny hit of worry. What is he up to?

Finally he turns back to you, a hand held behind his back. “My my. What a naughty thing you’ve been, insulting your Papa like that. You think I'm not enough for you sì?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No Papa.”

“Ah and yet you deem my new portrait “inaccurate”.” He hmphs. “Well, being the gentleman that I am,” He puffs his chest dramatically and you roll your eyes. “I can’t leave you feeling unsatisfied.” He brings his hand out from behind his back and brandishes one of the many dildos in your shared collection. Your eyes widen as you recognize it from past escapades.

“No Papa!” You can’t help but whine, anticipation getting the better of you. “You're everything I need. You are the only one who can truly satisfy me.”

“Hmm. If only I can satisfy you then this shouldn’t phase you.”

He steps forward and removes his gloves. Placing the toy on the bed, he sets to working you open. With one hand he rubs your clit. With the other he eases one, then two, then three fingers into your cunt. The stimulation only adds to the slick that was already dripping out of you.

Finally, he licks his fingers clean, savoring the taste of your arousal, before lining the toy up with your cunt. With his free hand he grabs your chin. Forcing you to make eye contact, he slides it in.

You fight to keep your face neutral. You can tell he’s watching for the slightest crack in your expression. He slowly slides the silicon in and out several times. I can handle this. You think. Then he angles the toy just right and you can't stop your sharp inhale of surprise and pleasure.

Terzo just raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite well cara?”

“Just fine!” You squeak as he nails your g-spot again. He leaves the dildo inside you and backs up. Not trusting your voice, you ask what’s next with your eyes.

“Prove to me cara that you cannot cum without me.” Then Terzo casually sits at his desk and picks up a book.

What? Hold on. Is he actually reading?! The little shit!

Terzo indeed seemed to be engrossed in his book; acting convincingly as though everything was normal and you weren’t naked and bound on the bed, feet from him.

The bastard.

You take solace however, in knowing how impatient he can be. You aren’t a monolith of self discipline on the best of days, but compared to him, you have the patience of a saint. You know that he’ll get bored sooner or later. You know you can wait him out.

You shift slightly to get comfortable and immediately have to fight not to curse. The silicon is positioned perfectly so that even the slightest twitch of your pelvis rubs the tip across your g-spot.

Your movement catches Terzo’s eye. “Did I say you could move?”

“Sorry Papa.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“No Papa.”

“Hmm.” He pretends to ponder something. “Why don’t you rest your eyes. If you’re good and you behave, I’ll consider fucking you when you wake up.”

“Yes Papa.” You quickly close your eyes and settle your cheek into the pillow. You're surprised at how light you’ve gotten off so far. Normally Terzo played a lot rougher with you. Trying not to grind down on the toy inside you was annoying, but not impossible. This can’t be it, right?

You hear the creak of wood and Terzo shifts in his chair and stretches. You can tell his patience is indeed running low. You hear the shifting of fabric and he digs in his pocket and the clack of something being set on the table. You don’t need to open your eyes to guess at what it is.

To your coupled horror and delight, the toy inside you whirs to life. Fuck fuck fuck! You knew you had recognized the vibrator. The sudden stimulation causes you to flinch. You squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself to stay still. You can practically feel Terzo’s eyes boring into you, waiting for you to give in.

To both yours and Terzo’s surprise, you manage to maintain your facade of calm; your expression remaining neutral. You yawn and lick your lips sleepily even as you fight to keep from moaning. The intensity of the vibration increases. You clench your jaw and roll your neck and shoulders. Your thighs have begun to tremble ever so slightly. You hear Terzo chuckle.

After a minute or two, the intensity increases again by several degrees and you can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips. Your eyes fly open.

“Have a good nap dolcezza?” You see that Terzo has fully abandoned his book and is watching you with rapt attention. “Nice wet dream of my cock inside you, eh?” He teases. He grabs the remote and walks over to you. You can’t keep yourself from grinding down any longer. “Ah ah.” He lays a hand on your bare pelvis to stop you. Then he cranks the vibrator to its highest setting. You yelp, throwing your head back.

You bite your lip to try and prevent further noises but you can't stop the moan that escapes as Terzo pushes his hand down. “Let me help.” The slight downward pressure holds the vibrator directly to your g-spot. He traces the fingers of his other hand over your clit, working up a rhythm.

You’re moaning wantonly now. “P-papa! I…I’m-ahhh…close!” You warn. You arch your back and sigh in pleasure as you cum. He works you through it until you start to whine from overstimulation. He removes his hands but leaves the vibrator. For a horrified second you think he’s just going to leave you there, shaking and crying.

“Beg for me.”

Immediately you’re pleading. “Please Papa. Fuck me. Fill me up and cum inside me.”

“That’s my good girl.” He pats your abdomen and removes the vibrator. You sigh as your body relaxes. Terzo unzips his pants and frees his cock, flushed and swollen. He makes a show of stroking himself a few times. You have no doubt he’s been hard for a while.

He retrieves a bottle of lube from the night stand. After prepping himself with it, he joins you on the bed. He lifts your legs via the spreading bar, ducking his head under, and rests your ankles on his shoulders. Then he wraps both hands around your hips. “Ready?” He asks gently.

You nod enthusiastically “Yes Papa. Please.”

Terzo lines himself up and thrusts in slowly. You hiss at the sensation, still oversensitive. He pauses to let you adjust before setting a harsh rhythm that would have shoved you up the bed if it weren’t for the bar resting behind his neck.

With practiced accuracy, Terzo nails your g-spot with nearly every thrust, eliciting whines and moans from you with each spurt of pleasure. You clench down each time, and he echos your vocalizations as you do. Your second orgasm comes roaring up quickly and you barely have time to warn him. In the throes of your high, you clench firmly around him. Terzo’s rhythm falters and he comes quickly after, filling you with his warm spending. He stills his thrusts as you both pant.

When he comes down, he meets your eyes and you bask in his adoring look. A look that quickly turns mischievous. “How was that cara? Good enough for you?”

“Amazing.” You sigh breathlessly.

“Good.” He smiles and brushes your cheek lightly with his hand. He leans down to pull you into a soft kiss.

Terzo pulls away first and carefully lifts your ankles off his shoulders. He frees you from your restraints before kissing you again.

“I’ll be right back amore.”

He retrieves a soft towel, dampened with warm water, and helps you clean up. The grabbing a bottle of your favorite lotion from the nightstand, he motions for you to lay on your stomach. He begins to massage your shoulders and neck, tenderly and lovingly. You chuckle to yourself. He’s being so gentle now when just minutes before he was fucking you within an inch of your life.

“What’s so funny tesoro.” He hums.

“Nothin. Love you Terzo.”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Love you too dolcezza.”

[theangstmeister]

Hold Me Tight (Before I Let You Go) - Chapter Two

Please see masterlist for warnings

Present Day

“Oppa-nim, have you finished drawing my princess yet?” Soyeon asked, skipping across the room from in front of the television which was tuned into some kind of children’s show. 

“Soyeon-ah, don’t be rude,” her sister, Jiwon, scolded.

Jungkook smiled at Soyeon, the little girl was pouting with her chin on the table-top.

“Nearly. But you did make me do your hair halfway through,” he reminded her, flicking the tuft of hair. 

“I wanted to be like oppa-nim.” 

The landlord had turned up late that afternoon, Jungkook assumed when the girls had finished school, and begged Jungkook to watch them for half an hour- two hours ago. He didn’t particularly mind though, it wasn’t the first time he’d done so and they were easy enough to keep an eye on. Jiwon was quietly doing her homework while Soyeon, with her youthful confidence, had Jungkook sketching her pictures to colour in.

He finished off the crown before sliding the picture across to Soyeon. 

“Thank you, oppa-nim!” she said, giving Jungkook a quick hug around his waist before running back across the room to lie on the floor, a collection of Jungkook’s lesser used coloured pencils scattered around her. 

Jungkook wondered if he’d ever been that carefree- he didn’t think so. 

He pulled his sketchbook towards him to continue working on his sketch for class. More like start it. The prompt was simply “love” but the seemingly endless possibilities were crippling Jungkook. He knew he should probably do something based on Yoongi but he couldn’t get Taehyung out of his head. 

However, before he had chance to fall down that hole, he was interrupted by Jiwon. She hadn’t said anything but her pen has stopped scratching its way across her exercise book. He knew she was looking at him, he’d developed a great sense for when attention was on him from a young age. 

“Oppa-nim?” Jungkook looked up, acting surprised that she had called him. “Can I ask you something without you telling my dad?”

“Of course, Jiwon-ah. What is it?”

“Promise?”

Jungkook held his hand out to her across the table, his little finger raised, “I pinky promise.”

Jiwon hooked her little finger through his and shook their hands together vigorously. 

Releasing Jungkook’s hand, she glanced furtively over to her sister, checking that she was either engrossed in her colouring or the television. 

“Did your parents ever get divorced?”

It hadn’t been the question Jungkook had been expecting and if her parents were having marital problems, it certainly wasn’t something Jungkook felt comfortable talking about- not with the complicated relationship he had with her dad, his landlord. 

But he also remembered what it had been like to feel like you couldn’t talk to anyone. 

“No...but they argued a lot.”

That was the child-friendly way of putting it, and while Jiwon was sixteen, Jungkook had learnt that sixteen year olds really were still children in the ways that mattered. 

“How did you deal with it?”

“You have to find a way to block it out and look out for your sister, but I can’t tell you how to do that because I only had to look out for myself.” 

And Jungkook had never stopped doing that. 

“You told me once that you’ve got a brother.”

Jungkook hummed, nodding, “I do but he’s older so he looked after me, like you look after Soyeon.” 

That was of course a lie. Junghyun had been one of Jungkook’s tormentors, one of many, but always the one capable of hurting him the most. 

When they’d been younger, they’d gotten along well and Jungkook had trailed after his brother, learning from him in the way that younger siblings tended to do. He’d even been reasonably close to Yoongi, who had been his brother’s best friend since their first day at school together.

But then those three years between them had carried more and more weight as Junghyun became a teenager and didn’t want his little brother around anymore. 

When the two older boys had found their way into Busan’s dark underbelly, Jungkook had been left behind to flounder on his own, ignored by everyone until Taehyung had appeared one day like a light in the darkness. 

Jungkook would have been happy if things had stayed that way, being ignored didn’t bother him that much but the drugs had brought out the worst in Junghyun, turning him into a miniature version of their father at the exact same time as it was becoming increasingly obvious that Jungkook wasn’t straight. 

It had been an unlucky combination of circumstances which had sent Jungkook’s life spiralling out of his control- bullied at school and beaten at home- with only Kim Taehyung to keep him afloat. 

But he didn’t even have that anymore. Just Yoongi with his own crippling self-hatred that made him so dependent on drugs. 

Except that Taehyung had slipped back into that role with such ease, and Jungkook’s heart ached to accept the lifeline that was being extended to him in the form of Taehyung’s phone number. 

He shook himself- such thoughts wouldn’t lead anywhere good. 

Because even if Taehyung’s boyfriend made the alarm bells in the back of his head clamour for his attention, he had no right to get involved. He’d forfeited that right years ago. 

Looking at the girl before him, Jungkook wished he could offer her something more concrete but what could he possibly give her when his own life was such a mess? If he could, he’d offer her a safe place to come to whenever she needed to get away- he was home most of the time during the day due to the nature of his degree and work, and his landlord lived in the building- but he didn’t think he should risk exposing them to Yoongi too much. Usually, he arranged for Yoongi to be out whenever he watched the two girls, only agreeing two hours earlier at such short notice because Yoongi had gone to deliver a track he’d produced to someone (Jungkook knew these things could be done digitally but he and Yoongi both knew it was an excuse for Yoongi to get hold of cash and then happen across his dealer on the way home). 

When the door knocked loudly, Soyeon leapt up, “Oppa-nim, it’s Appa!”

Jungkook rose from his chair, waylaying Soyeon, “Let oppa open it, just in case.”

It probably was her dad but it could easily be Yoongi, in god knew what state. 

With Soyeon’s small hand in his, Jungkook opened the door to what was indeed his landlord. 

“Appa, you have to come see my colouring,” Soyeon beamed, dragging him into the flat and towards the living room. 

“Soyeon-ah, I don’t think Jeon-ssi wants us invading his home any longer than we have to.”

“It’s fine, they’ve both been good as gold anyway.”

He knew that the other man didn’t really know how to treat Jungkook. After all, what were the chances that he asked any of the building’s other residents to babysit for him? And Jungkook would have bet good money that he was the only one sucking his dick to get out of paying his rent. 

“That’s really good colouring, Soyeon-ah,” he praised his daughter. “Did Jeon-ssi draw the pictures for you?”

Soyeon nodded emphatically, “And he tied my hair up like his so I can be a proper artist.” 

Meanwhile, Jiwon silently packed her school work into her bag. 

“Well, make sure you thank Jeon-ssi properly and then you and Jiwon can go back upstairs.”

Jungkook frowned slightly- he was clearly wanted for something. 

“Thank you, oppa-nim,” Soyeon said, hugging Jungkook. 

He hugged her back, “You’re welcome, Soyeon-ah, make sure you behave yourself.”

“I will oppa-nim.”

“Thank you, oppa-nim,” Jiwon muttered, taking her sister’s hand and leading her from the flat. 

Jungkook tugged on his earrings as he heard the two girls leave the flat- he honestly wished he could be more to help Jiwon but he also didn’t think he should get involved. He couldn’t risk getting kicked out of his flat. 

“Do you want to sit down, Park-ssi?” Jungkook asked, indicating towards the sofa. 

The other man sat down with a long sigh- he looked like he’d had an exceptionally long day- and Jungkook seated himself sideways on his lap, wrapping his arm along the back of the sofa. 

It was like being at work and Jungkook slipped into his role with ease. The other man had taken to talking to Jungkook about his issues but Jungkook would always be the pretty boy downstairs who sucked him off to pay his rent so he had to play the role of the seducer. 

Not that it would be the first time the two had done nothing but talk- the older man didn’t have anyone but Jungkook to talk to about his struggles with his sexuality.

Yoongi didn’t know that, though. Jungkook had told him that the landlord liked to watch him finger himself to cover up for the lack of noise. He wasn’t sure why he lied but something had told him that it wouldn’t be good for Yoongi to think their relationship was anything but a sequence of sexual favours over the last year. 

Not that Jungkook was at all interested in their landlord- he just wanted somewhere to live- but that didn’t stop him feeling sorry for him. 

He was like most of the men that came into the club. A good number of them were married to wives they didn’t love and they used the club as a safe place to express their true desires. For many of them, coming out would mean losing access to their own children so Jungkook liked to think he was doing some good. 

And perhaps that was why he attracted so many customers to him- he understood what his job really was. It was more than stripping (or even sex if you knew who to ask). It was about allowing those repressed men a moment of respite. 

In a way, Jungkook thought he’d been lucky. He may have been labeled as something he didn’t think he was, and he may have suffered for it, but at least he hadn’t had to pretend to be straight anymore. He’d been given a kind of freedom. 

And he’d had Taehyung to guide him, to help him see that there was nothing wrong with him but with his family and society at large. 

Jungkook brushed Mr Park’s hair away from his face, his fingers then trailing down the side of his face to hold his chin, “You can touch me.”

Jungkook had learned that once you took down the barrier between people and what they desired, everything else came spilling out. Sexual desire was so repressed in so many people that it was often like breaking down a dam. 

The older man’s hand settled on Jungkook’s thigh, still timid even after a year of their arrangement. 

“I don’t think I can stay with my wife anymore, Jungkook-ah.”

“What’s changed?”

They’d been together for, Jungkook thought, nearly twenty years- something had to have changed.

“I worry about what I’m teaching my girls by hiding who I am. I don’t want them to grow up thinking that they should be ashamed of themselves but shouldn’t I teach that by example?”

“I think your daughters would be very upset if you divorced your wife and they couldn’t see you anymore.”

“Maybe they’d be better off without a man like me. Look at me, I’m accepting sexual favours from my resident like a pervert.”

“One: I started it. Two: there’s nothing wrong with what you are. And there’s a difference between knowing and accepting that, and being out. Maybe that’s the balance you need to find.”

Taehyung had needed to find a similar balance when it came to Jungkook; a balance between his love for and attraction to Jungkook, and the fact that the narrow worldview of other people meant that they would never have been able to look past their ages. 

But Taehyung had never managed it and, in the end, it had strained them both to breaking point. 

“When people are ashamed, they hurt the people around them even though they might not mean to,” Jungkook said gently. “If our arrangement means that you’re not ashamed and that you can be a better father, then isn’t that worth something?”

The older man nodded, Thank you, Jungkook- for talking to me.”

He thought about trying to get the man to come to the club but he decided against it. Part of the reason their arrangement worked was that there was a kind of exclusivity to it, Mr Park got to feel like Jungkook was his and his alone for ten minutes each month, and that gave him the emotional gratification he needed. 

It would be far too risky to mess with that if Jungkook wanted to continue to have a roof over his head. 

“You should go back upstairs before your wife gets any more suspicious of me,” Jungkook chuckled, pecking him on the cheek before rising from his seat. 

The woman would have to be an idiot not to suspect there was something going on when Jungkook hadn’t paid his full rent in a year and her husband spent longer collecting Jungkook’s rent than he did with anyone else. 

Also, Yoongi would probably be home soon and Jungkook made sure to keep him far away from their landlord. Jungkook was exactly what he wanted- his wide eyes giving a look of innocence while his physique provided a touch of sin- while Yoongi was all sin with his bleached hair and arms covered in tattoos. 

Mr Park let himself out, leaving Jungkook to tidy up before going back to his classwork.

Half an hour later, completely engrossed in his work, Jungkook was startled by Yoongi coming up behind him. 

“What’re you drawing?” Yoongi asked, pizza box in his hand. 

Jungkook’s mouth watered at the smell of the warm dough but it wasn’t strong enough to cover up the distinct herbal scent clinging to Yoongi’s hoodie. 

“It’s just for class,” Jungkook said.

“Yeah, I know that but what actually is it?”

Jungkook had only got as far as an outline of a broad back with two wounds on the shoulder blades but he knew exactly what he was drawing now. 

“A fallen angel.”

“I thought your theme was love and sexuality?”

And to Jungkook, love was a fallen angel in ripped jeans and loose T-shirts, and he had been the one to make him fall from grace. 

“Let me get to a good stopping point and I’ll come eat,” Jungkook avoided the question. 

Once he’d finished, he sat beside Yoongi, who had the pizza box balanced on his lap, on the sofa, tucking his legs up underneath him. 

With one hand, he held a slice of pizza and with the other, he pulled Yoongi’s arm into his lap, turning it over to admire the brightly coloured ink that covered his arms. 

“What are you doing?” Yoongi mumbled around a mouthful of food. 

“Admiring my handiwork.”

Jungkook had drawn each and every tattoo, just as he’d drawn his own, for the tattoo artist to follow. He was most proud of the traditional style drawing depicting the mountains and the sea- for Busan. To Jungkook, that city would always be where he had been the most miserable but also the happiest he had ever been, so he’d had it inked it onto Yoongi’s skin. 

His own was reserved for his dragon, for Taehyung. 

Not that Yoongi realised that. Jungkook had cried when he’d gotten it done and Yoongi had assumed he was a baby who couldn’t handle the pain of the needle. 

As if Jungkook was a stranger to pain. 

“Do you remember when you drew that first one? When you were… how old were you?”

“Fourteen, it was just before my fifteenth birthday.”

August 2015

Jungkook sighed contentedly as he felt Taehyung’s fingers carding through his hair, easing them through where the strands had stuck together from the sticky heat of the afternoon. 

He relished these quiet, secretive moments with Taehyung. Nobody else knew Taehyung was there so they didn’t have to pretend that they were nothing to each other. 

In Jungkook’s bedroom, lying together on top of the duvet, they could simply be them. 

However, their peace was interrupted far too soon by Taehyung’s phone beeping, signalling that Taehyung needed to leave and come back in an hour (via the front door rather than Jungkook’s bedroom window this time). 

“I don’t want you to go,” Jungkook said softly, wrapping his arms tightly around Taehyung. 

“I have to go, sweetheart or you won’t have anything to eat. But I’ll be back straight away.”

“No, you won’t be, not really. You’re different when you’re with them.”

Taehyung may have been spending most of his time with Jungkook, holed up together in his bedroom, but he was still friends with Junghyun and Yoongi, which meant that he had to hang out with them, too. 

“You think I like the way things are? I can’t stand your brother, or the way he treats you, but it’s far less suspicious for me to bring you food if I pretend I’m still his friend.” 

Jungkook knew that, he did, but it didn’t stop it from hurting. He wanted people to know that Taehyung was his and that it didn’t matter how much they mocked him at school, or how many bruises he got at home, because he had something they didn’t. 

He was free in a way they never would be by constantly conforming to society’s expectations. 

“You can go if I get a goodbye kiss.”

“Are you eighteen yet?”

“No,” Jungkook pouted. 

“Then no.”

“But you’re not eighteen yet so it’s fine.”

“And you’re fourteen so it’s not fine.” 

Jungkook sat up, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, “It’s only kissing, it’s not sex. That’s what I have to be sixteen for.”

Taehyung rubbed his face with his hands, “Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Put all the responsibility on me to say no to you,” Taehyung snapped. 

“Maybe because I’d like it to actually be clear what this even is between us!” Jungkook’s voice rose sharply as his temper flared defensively. “Instead I’m left to feel like a- a-” Jungkook stumbled over his words, thoughts flying through his mind faster than he could catch hold of them. “-like a placeholder until something better comes along.”

Would they even be able to say they’d broken up when that inevitably happened? And without being able to use that phrase to describe what had happened, would he ever be able to get any closure on what they were to each other right now? 

Not that Jungkook fully understood whatever it was between them. Taehyung always skirted around it, only going as far as to describe them as “exclusive”, but Jungkook’s life was filled with too many uncertainties already. 

He never knew when his dad would come home drunk, or what tiny action might set him off when he did, and he never knew when his brother’s own pain would spill over into using Jungkook as his punching bag, either verbally or physically. 

But he did know that Taehyung cared about him and that had been the one constant in his life since he was twelve years old, and now, nearly three years later, he was willing to risk it all because he couldn’t ignore the feelings that swelled inside of him everytime he saw Taehyung. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by them- he’d had a crush on Taehyung ever since they’d first met but that had been juvenile. Not like the way he felt now. 

Taehyung reached out for his hand, “Jungkookie-”

Jungkook snatched his hand away, “You should go before hyung starts phoning you in a bit and hears your phone going off in here.”

“We’ll talk about this later. I don’t know when but,” Taehyung sighed, “later.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He knew all that would come out would be a demand that they talk about it now, and he didn’t want to ruin their limited time alone together more than he already had. 

Taehyung pulled Jungkook into his side briefly before releasing him and climbing out of the bedroom window. 

After a few minutes, Jungkook picked himself off the bed and carefully pushed his door open. He checked there was no sign of his brother before emerging fully. 

Whenever he was upset like this, he went for a shower. The running water hid any sound of tears that might be shed while the hot water reminded him of when his mum used to hug him. Not that she’d done so for years- his dad had made her stop, saying that Jungkook was a man now and men didn’t need hugs from anyone.

Jungkook had been ten and he definitely still needed to be held in someone’s arms. 

Now, that someone was Taehyung. Those gentle touches had started off with nothing more than the older boy ruffling his hair but then Taehyung’s fingers had started to linger and thread their way through Jungkook’s hair. Then Jungkook, seeking the kind of comfort he hadn’t had in years, had crept closer until folding himself into Taehyung’s arms felt as easy as breathing. 

But his feelings for Taehyung were like a double edged sword- impossible to grasp. 

Would things be easier when they were older?

Jungkook hoped so because he didn’t want to think about what his life would be like without Taehyung. 

Jungkook lay on his bed, his hair still damp from his shower due to the humidity of the summer air. Staring up at the cracked ceiling, he inhaled deeply, smelling the spicy aroma that wafted to his room from the kitchen. 

He’d heard Taehyung ask Junghyun where he was numerous times since he’d got back with the food shopping he’d done for Jungkook. 

Good, he’d thought to himself, let him be the one who’s left hanging for once. 

Barely a week went by without Jungkook having to powerlessly watch what seemed like every girl in Taehyung’s year flirt with him because Taehyung kept him secret. 

His secret shame- that he was in love with a fourteen year old (and Jungkook suspected at least slightly attracted to though Taehyung steered clear of the topic at all times). 

He knew it had nothing to do with coming out as gay, Taehyung would’ve come out before now if it hadn’t meant being cut off by Junghyun. It was all because he thought there was something wrong with him for loving Jungkook specifically. 

Well, if he was going to leave Jungkook to hang all the time, he could do the same 

Maybe he’d start flaunting himself around in front of Yoongi, that would certainly get Taehyung’s attention. And it was becoming increasingly obvious to Jungkook that as he filled out, love of dance gifting him with a more toned physique, Min Yoongi’s interest in him had grown. 

There was a soft knock on the door followed by Taehyung’s warm voice, “Jungkook-ah? I’ve cooked dinner but if you’re not hungry yet, I can leave it in the oven.”

Jungkook rolled over hugging his pillow to his chest as he lay there, not answering Taehyung. 

“Jungkook!” his brother yelled, banging violently on the door, making Jungkook jump slightly. 

“Why do you have to do that?” Taehyung’s voice was clear through the door. 

“Do what?”

“Try and scare him all the time. You know, I remember when you were scared of your dad and now you’ve gone and turned into him.”

Previously, Jungkook had wondered how Taehyung got away with speaking to Junghyun like that when nobody else would have dared. But he’d realised that Taehyung got away with it simply because he dared, and some part of Junghyun respected him for that. 

He also thought that was how Taehyung was never called out for wearing make-up and jewellery, or the way he carefully styled his hair. Instead of ever hiding those more feminine aspects of who he was, Taehyung left them out in plain sight, and that was what prevented him from being called out for it. 

In a city where the slightest deviation from traditional masculinity may as well be a death sentence, Taehyung expertly hid himself in plain sight. 

Not like Jungkook, who had only been able to truly express himself after he’d already been found out for not being straight (and incorrectly labelled as gay. Jungkook didn’t know what he was but that wasn’t it). But in a way, he was free from that now. 

Distantly, Jungkook heard Junghyun’s own bedroom door slam shut. 

After a few seconds, Taehyung’s voice came through the door again but lower down this time, like Taehyung was sitting on the floor.

“Jungkookie, please come eat.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, I know it’s not easy for you either, and that you worry that I don’t feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Jungkook rolled the other way to face the door. 

“Do you really think I’d be so worried about the legality of what we have between us if I didn’t feel the same way? Or if this was about stringing some kid along just because I could? I don’t want you to have any regrets or to ever feel pushed into anything you weren’t ready for because I want us to be able to be happy together in the years to come. And I hope that we can be together for the rest of our lives because I can’t imagine being with anyone else.” 

Jungkook could hear the sincerity in Taehyung’s voice, could imagine seeing it in his eyes. 

He rose to his feet and padded towards the door, pressing his ear to the wood as tears began to spill silently from his eyes.

“You’re everything to me, Jungkook and that scares me because I’m scared of what I might do in order to keep hold of you. So I have to keep those concrete boundaries in place to keep you safe from me.”

Jungkook opened the door to find Taehyung kneeling on the floor outside. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up, a plea in his eyes for Jungkook to forgive him. 

Crouching down, Jungkook cupped Taehyung’s cheeks in his hands, pressing their foreheads together and breathing in the light, vanilla scent of Taehyung, “You’re the only thing in my life that I don’t need protecting from.”

“I’m not so sure, Jungkookie.”

“Then let me be sure enough for the both of us.” 

Taehyoung picked himself up off the floor, holding his hand out to help Jungkook up.

“Come on, you should eat before Yoongi gets here.”

Jungkook frowned, “Why?”

“Did you not hear him the other day?” Taehyung asked, leading Jungkook by the hand to the kitchen table. “He found his biological mum, don’t ask me how, and he decided to go see her today.”

“But isn’t that good?”

Yoongi felt like a great disappointment to his adoptive parents, who had been hoping for a more well-behaved child that did better in school. Not one who smoked weed and did nothing but write lyrics and melodies during class. 

Taehyung placed a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of Jungkook, along with a set of chopsticks and a spoon, “She gave him up for a reason. I’m just worried he won’t like what he finds and then he’ll be looking for something or someone to take his anger out on.”

“I doubt that’ll be me.”

“If it was just Yoongi I’d agree but he goes along with your brother far too easily for comfort. I’d just feel better if you were safely out of the way.”

Out of the way and away from Taehyung. 

Taehyung must have seen the look on Jungkook’s face because his long fingers began threading their way through Jungkook’s hair, soothing him. 

“I’ll try and sneak into your room, sweetheart. They’ll probably just get stoned so it won’t exactly be hard.” 

Jungkook nodded, appeased, and tucked into his dinner. 

Distracted by the film playing on the television, Taehyung’s fingers absentmindedly traced circles into the skin above Jungkook’s knee, his legs slung over Taehyung’s, occasionally drifting under the hem of his shorts. His other arm was wrapped around Jungkook’s waist, holding him close.

Yoongi hadn’t turned up so Taehyung had suggested they watch a film, convincing Junghyun to let Jungkook stay in the living room with them. 

Junghyun was beside them on the sofa having fallen asleep- he always said he found horror films boring but Jungkook knew that he purposely fell asleep because he was scared. Taehyung probably knew that too.

Even so, it was still risky but they both needed to be close to each other, especially after their earlier argument.

Taehyung gripped Jungkook’s leg as a black figure appeared in a doorway behind the film’s protagonist

“Scared, Taehyungie?” Jungkook teased. 

“Why’d you have to pick one in a foreign language?” Taehyung whined, unable to look away from the screen lest he miss what was being said. 

“Because if you didn’t have to read the subtitles, you’d be hiding behind your hands.”

And Jungkook was perfectly happy with Taehyung’s hands where they were. 

At the sound of the front door knocking, the two of them leapt apart, and Jungkook quickly glanced over to his brother but he was still fast asleep. 

“I’ll get it,” Taehyung said, rising to open the door. 

Jungkook leaned forward so that it was in his eyeline, the film forgotten as Taehyung opened the door to Yoongi.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the sight of him, not because he’d turned up at gone midnight, but because he had clearly been crying- his eyes and nose were bright red. Taehyung was obviously as shocked as he was, stepping silently to the side to let Yoongi in but making no move to comfort him. 

“Oi, Junghyun! Wake the fuck up!” Yoongi yelled, kicking his shoes off. 

Beside Jungkook, Junghyun stretched, rubbing his eyes blearily, “About time you turned up, Min.”

“Yeah, well, I got us something to have a little fun,” Yoongi smirked, pulling a small plastic bag of white powder.

At the sight of it, Taehyung crept around the back of the sofa, towards Jungkook. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Junghyun asked, grinning. “How did you get hold of it?”

“Our usual dealer gave me some other guy’s number.”

Jungkook thought it was safe to say that Yoongi meeting his biological mother had not gone well. His nose wrinkled at the cloying scent of alcohol that clung to the older boy. 

“Go to your room,” Taehyung muttered, leaning down to Jungkook’s ear. 

Jungkook nodded. He already knew he didn’t want to be around for this. Weed mellowed his brother out to the point where he didn’t remember Jungkook was in the room but cocaine was going to hype him up, and Jungkook didn’t know what that would entail. 

Unfortunately, Yoongi had overheard them. 

“No, the kid stays in here. I want him to draw something for me.”

Jungkook glanced up at Taehyung, unsure of what to do. 

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Kook-ah,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I want a tattoo and I want you to draw it.”

“Why would you want him to draw it?” Junghyun drawled. 

“Because have you seen the way the kid draws?”

“Whatever, as long as he stays out of the way.”

“I’ll stay until they fall asleep,” Taehyung whispered. 

Jungkook nodded and fetched his sketchbook and pencil case from his room, carrying them to the adjoining kitchen so he could sit at the table. 

He sat there for hours, drawing sketch after sketch, with Taehyung staying nearby, until Yoongi was satisfied. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi asked conversationally as he ripped the page out of Jungkook’s sketchbook and folded it up to take with him. 

“That’s a weird question to ask a fourteen year old,” Taehyung interjected. 

“He’s nearly fifteen, Taehyung. He’s not a child anymore.”

The two older boys were like day and night. Taehyung was warm and light, with his tanned skin and voice like honey, while Yoongi was icy-cold, his veins clearly visible under his pale skin, but there was a strange softness to him. 

Yoongi was the devil, enticing him towards sin, and Taehyung-

Taehyung was his guardian angel. 

“I’m the school faggot, remember? What do you think?” Jungkook muttered, twirling a colouring pencil around his fingers. 

“Don’t call yourself that,” Taehyung scolded. 

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you shouldn’t put yourself down like that. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“It’s a shame, really,” Yoongi mused. “You can tell you’ve started working out, I bet the girls would be all over you if they didn’t know you were gay.”

Taehyung’s fingers curled into a fist on the table. At first, Jungkook was confused but then he realised. Taehyung was getting jealous. 

“It’s really just for dance,” Jungkook shrugged. “Jimin-hyung, he’s on the team, he told me that it’s better for your muscles if you strengthen them, then you’re less likely to pull something dancing.”

“I see, and looking good is just a lucky side effect?” Yoongi smiled. 

“I can’t believe I’m having to say this again,” Taehyung hissed, “but he is fourteen whether his birthday’s coming up or not.” 

Jungkook knew the comment wasn’t aimed entirely at Yoongi, that Taehyung was also reminding himself of that fact. 

“Yoongi, time for another hit?” Junghyun asked, putting on some music. 

“Sure, let’s go,” Yoongi said, getting up. “Come on, Tae.”

Taehyung stood reluctantly, glancing back at Jungkook as he went to join his supposed friends. 

Jungkook pulled his sketchbook back towards himself, blocking out the drug fuel frenzied energy of his brother. 

Jungkook eyelids felt heavy, telling him he’d accidentally fallen asleep at the table again, too absorbed in his drawings to bother going to bed. 

“Get off,” he whined as someone lifted his arm. 

Taehyung’s voice hushed him, “It’s only me, sweetheart. I’m just putting you to bed.”

He was easily lifted into Taehyung’s arms, his own arm slung across Taehyung’s shoulder and his face nestled into the crook of his neck. 

“Wait, I need my sketchbook,” he said, reaching his other arm back towards the kitchen. 

“I already put it in your room, Kookie,” Taehung reassured him, knowing that Jungkook wasn’t keen on the idea of his brother looking through it. 

“Stay tonight, please,” he pleaded when Taehyung lowered him into the bed, clearly not planning on getting into it with him. 

Taehyung tucked the duvet up around him, “I’ve got work later or you know I would. But my break’s at two so you can come visit, if you want to.”

Taehyung worked at one of the many small independent coffee houses in the city so that he could buy Jungkook food whenever his parents were away as well as restock his art supplies. Most of Jungkook’s wardrobe and jewellery were also from Taehyung but in the form of hand-me-downs (not that Taehyung hadn’t tried to take Jungkook clothes shopping after his last growth spurt). 

“Of course I want to.” 

And with his parents away, there was nobody to stop him. 

“How about we have lunch together?”

“Sounds good, Taehyungie,” Jungkook murmured, being dragged back down into sleep. 

Distantly, he could feel Taehyung’s fingers stroking his hair while he sang to him, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

Present Day

“What’s the theme?”

The sound of Jimin’s voice made Jungkook jump, snapping him out of the intense concentration that came over him when he sketched. 

He’d made excellent progress (in his opinion) on his project for his class. His piece for “love” was now a double-page spread with the fallen angel on one side, feathers scattered around the hunched figure, and a man laying spread-eagle on a bed of flowers on the other. 

Jungkook put his pencil down, deciding that it was as good a time as any to take a break since he’d already been interrupted. He looked around for Yoongi but he was nowhere to be seen- Jungkook assumed he’d gone to get takeaway, spending yet more of Jungkook’s money. 

“Love. It’s pretty broad.”

Jimin perched on the end of the table, his pupils blown wide from whatever he’d been taking (Jungkook kept an eye on what Yoongi bought and flushed anything he deemed too far, and generally Yoongi took the hint, but Jimin was a mystery to him as far as that was concerned), “I’ll be honest, Kook… I don’t get it.”

Jungkook sighed, “You have to look at both together, hyung. The fallen angel gives his wings to the man he loves.”

“So it’s about Kim Taehyung. You used to call him your angel.” 

“Not like that,” he lied. 

Jimin raised an eyebrow at him, “I was in Taehyung’s year, do you really think I didn’t see that photo?”

Who hadn’t seen that photo? 

Yet that day had been one of the best days of Jungkook’s life because Taehyung had finally-

No, he wasn’t going to think about it. It was pointless, he couldn’t change the past. 

“It wasn’t like Junghyun said.”

“I know, I remember thinking that picture was pretty damning but also that your brother must be blind and an idiot. And everyone else, actually,” Jimin mused.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook frowned. 

Jimi thought for a moment, dragging up his memories of what had happened back then, “Well, your brother obviously put it out that Taehyung was taking advantage of you-” Jungkook nodded along, he knew that part “-but I remember when he used to bring you to dance practice. At first, I thought it was a bit creepy the way he used to be so fixated on you but it soon became obvious he was absolutely head over heels in love with you. Guy must have had bad taste,” Jimin teased. 

“Very funny, hyung,” Jungkook said flatly. 

“Anyway,” Jimin continued with his version of events, “when you left the team and came back a year later with Min Yoongi, of all people, on your arm, I had to wonder what happened with you and Taehyung.”

He could keep on wondering because Jungkook certainly wasn’t about to start talking to him about it. He was very aware of where Jimin’s loyalties lay and wouldn’t trust him with anything he might not want getting back to Yoongi. 

Jungkook shrugged, “Well, things didn’t work out and I preferred Yoongi.”

Or he’d been an idiot and thought the ability to stick a clear label on a relationship, and to be given that physical aspect, was worth more than everything Taehyung had ever given him. 

Jimin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, and that’s why I haven’t seen you look genuinely happy in three years, because you and Yoongi are so happy together.”

He picked up one of Jungkook’s pencils, holding it up to inspect it. 

One of the pencils from the last set that Taehyung had ever bought him, and had been hidden at the bottom of a drawer ever since they moved to Seoul a year ago. He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten them out now except maybe to torture himself. 

“Stop acting like you know me,” Jungkook snapped, snatching the pencil from Jimin’s hand. “I’m going to work in the kitchen.”

He didn’t spare Jimin a second glance as he hurriedly gathered his supplies into a messy bundle in his arms and carried them into the other room. 

After dumping everything unceremoniously onto the small table, Jungkook moved over to the fridge. It was bare except for a single photograph, taken on a rollercoaster when he, Taehyung, Yoongi and Junghyun had gone to a theme park when he’d been fifteen. 

Really, Taehyung had wanted to take Jungkook out for the day but he couldn’t do that without taking the other two, or it would have looked too suspicious. However, Yoongi and Junghyun were both terrified of rides so he and Taehyung had plenty of time just the two of them. 

His fingers brushed across Taehyung’s face, his boxy grin impossibly wide as he’d laughed at the way Jungkook had cheered the entire way around the ride. 

But those days were over and there was no point crying over spilt milk. 

Except that Jimin was right- Jungkook was miserable, staying with Yoongi out of a sense of duty more than anything else. 

If he could, he’d walk out of the flat and get on his knees to beg Taehyung to give them a second chance. But Yoongi’s threat echoed through his mind. He’d been high as a kite when he’d said it but that only made his words more sincere. 

“Kook, can you get some plates out?” Yoongi called from the hallway, apparently back with food. 

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jungkook moved to do as he was asked, reaching into the top cupboard to pull the plates down. 

However, he forgot about the mug he’d also stowed in there, just to the side of the plates, because he’d been too tired to put it in the proper cupboard after drying up. Unnoticed by him, it was pushed slightly by the edge of a plate until it tumbled from the shelf to shatter on the floor. 

Jungkook froze, staring wide eyed at the shards of porcelain scattered across the tiles. 

Quick, pick it up before dad sees, you idiot!

Heart racing, Jungkook threw himself onto his knees to pick up the broken pieces of the mug.

“It’s alright, Kook, it’s just a mug,” Yoongi said, coming into the kitchen “we’ll just- Jungkook, what are you doing?”

Jungkook stared at his hand clenched in a tight fist around a shard of porcelain, blood oozing between his fingers. He suddenly gasped in pain, like he hadn’t been aware of it until he looked at it, but he didn’t let go. 

Instead, he gripped it tighter until he cried out.

You deserve this pain for what you put Taehyung through and what you’re putting Yoongi through. To love you is to be burned. 

Yoongi prised his fingers open and the shard fell from his palm, sticky with blood which now dripped onto the floor. 

“Fucking hell, Jungkook.” Yoongi held Jungkook’s hand up towards the light, inspecting it. “Come on, we’ll have to take you to get this looked at. What were you thinking?”

Jungkook pulled his hand out of Yoongi’s grip, “I’m fine. I’ll take myself to the minor injuries unit.”

The hospital wasn’t far away, he could walk the distance in less than twenty minutes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yoongi scolded, yanking the tea towel from a drawer handle and wrapping it around Jungkook’s hand, “you can’t go on your own.”

“The Chinese takeaway down the road might not care that you’re stoned but the hospital will, Yoongi. I’ll be fine, it’s not like you’ve ever looked after me before.” 

Yoongi had no response to that because he knew it was true. Yoongi might have been in pain and needed the drugs to numb himself but what about him? What would they ever have done if Jungkook had seriously injured himself? 

Jungkook stood up and, being careful not to get blood inside the sleeve, tugged his jacket on in the hallway. 

“At least text me,” Yoongi said, following him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Jungkook mumbled as he opened the front door and slipped out into the foyer. 

He had twenty minutes to think of a good excuse for why he had a gash across the palm of his hand. He definitely couldn’t tell them he’d zoned out while he’d done it, or that he deserved it. 

For one thing, he couldn’t afford to take the time off work when they no doubt chalked it up to stress and signed him off. The good thing about his job was that he was technically self-employed so could work as and when he chose but the disadvantage of that was the lack of sick or holiday pay.

Luckily, it wasn’t the first time Jungkook had had to lie about how he got an injury. 

Taehyung spun around on the swivelly chair that had somehow found its way into the break room. He should probably be making the most of his break but with ten minutes still left, he was bored. 

That was the problem with working the night shift- he couldn’t go anywhere on his break.

“Taehyung?” 

He spun back around to the door, sitting up straight but relaxed when he saw it was only Soojin. The two of them had been at university doing their nursing course together and after graduating that summer, they’d both gotten jobs in the minor injuries unit at the same hospital. He was glad for it though- Soojin was the closest thing he’d had to a friend in nearly ten years. 

“What is it?”

“There’s a young man in the waiting room, he’s just cut his hand, and I know you’re on your break but do you mind seeing him? I’ll tell Choi-nim and you can have the extra ten minutes after.”

“Why don’t you want to do it?” Taehyung asked, suspicious. 

“Remember that kid that came in a few weeks ago and we suspected that the broken arm maybe wasn’t an accident? And how you were really good with him?” Taehyung nodded, unsure where she was going with this. “Well, this guy’s crying silently.”

“And? Maybe he’s embarrassed?”

“No,” Soojin said firmly, “people cry because they’re hurt and their instinct is to attract attention so someone will help them. People only cry silently because they’ve been conditioned not to attract attention but they still can’t stop themselves.”

Taehyung considered her words- he knew she was right. Soojin’s hobbies included reading psychological research papers in her free time. 

“Also, he’s clearly lying about how he did it,” she added. “He’s dripping blood onto the floor but he says a broken bit of mug was wrapped up in something else and he accidentally grabbed it. He’s obviously used to having to lie about these things. And you’ve got a knack for these types of things. I haven’t got the emotional capacity for it.”

“Fine,” Taehyung strode towards her, holding his hand out, “give me the sheet. What's the name?”

“A Jeon Jungkook,” she said, checking the clipboard as she handed it over. 

Taehyung’s blood turned cold.

“Tae, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, I just know a guy with that name.”

And a boy who used to cry silently

“Well it's a pretty common name, so I'm sure it's not the same one.”

“You’re probably right, you always are,” Taehyung said, smiling reassuringly at her before making his way to the waiting room. 

He looked down at the board as he stepped through the double doors, acting as if the name meant nothing to him, “Jeon Jungkook?”

When a chair creaked to his left, he looked up straight into the eyes of his Jungkook. 

“I’ll go to a different hospital,” Jungkook said, hastily wiping his eyes as he walked away

Taehyung’s eyes moved from the blood-soaked towel wrapped around his hand to the blood on the floor to the trail of blood that dripped from Jungkook’s hand as he walked away. 

He took a deep breath, he had to be careful, he couldn’t make it look like he knew Jungkook. 

“The closest one is a forty-five minute drive away,” he called, following after him. 

He knew Jungkook wasn’t stupid and there was a concerning amount of blood on the floor. Hopefully, the reminder would be enough to make him stay. 

Jungkook stopped and turned on his heel. 

“I want someone else to see me.”

“There’s nobody else available.”

“I can wait.”

Taehyung stepped closer, keeping his voice low so only Jungkook could hear him, “Jungkook please, just let me-” do my job , that was what he was supposed to say “-look after you.”

Jungkook shook his head, “I can’t-”

Taehyung caught him as he stumbled slightly. 

Under the guise of supporting him, Taehyung discreetly moved one hand down to Jungkook’s waist, and whispered into his ear, “Sweetheart, this is silly… I’m still your angel.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched and Taehyung worried he’d pushed too far. But Jungkook silently nodded, allowing Taehyung to lead him out of the waiting area. 

Usually, he would have dealt with this kind of injury on the main ward but given the circumstances, he opted to go to one of the private examination rooms, making sure to lock the door behind them. 

“So you really did come to do that nursing degree,” Jungkook mused, seating himself on the bed. 

“Why would you think I didn’t?” Taehyung asked, putting a couple of pillows behind him and gently pushing Jungkook back against them. 

He then went to the sink and washed his hands while Jungkook spoke, “I wondered if maybe you’d lied so you had an excuse to leave.”

“You left me first,” Taehyung said, collecting a wad of gauze, a bottle of disinfectant, bandages and a needle and thread. 

“You pushed me away, you asked me to live with you but not as boyfriends, like a parent and child,” Jungkook muttered bitterly. 

If the night before he left for Seoul was the second worst night of his life then the night Jungkook was referring to was the worst night of his life. He’d messed up, he knew that, and he’d had four long years to think about that. 

Jungkook was right, he’d wanted Jungkook to live with him so he could look after him properly and get him out of that house, but he’d failed to appreciate that Jungkook would see that as a rejection, and Jungkook had reacted badly to that. 

The only person who had shown him genuine love and affection had seemingly rejected him, of course he’d lashed out and threatened Taehyung with the prospect of leaving him for Yoongi. It wasn’t as if Jungkook had ever been shown how to handle emotions properly in a home like his. 

And Taehyung had reacted even worse than Jungkook. 

He surreptitiously wiped his clammy hands on the inside of the pockets of his scrubs before pulling the trolley over to Jungkook. He also dragged the wheeled stool over with him to sit on beside him. 

When he unwrapped the sodden towel, Taehyung found that some of the blood had dried, sticking the towel to the wound. He pulled it off as gently as he could, tensing everytime Jungkook hissed in pain. 

“Remember step one, Kookie?” Taehyung asked, pressing some of the gauze he’d collected into Jungkook’s palm.

“Stop the bleeding.”

“So why are you still bleeding everywhere?”

“I tried,” Jungkook pouted.

“You should have lifted it above your heart,” Taehyung told him, lifting Jungkook’s arm with his own fingers pressing tightly onto the wound. 

“You were always better at this than me.”

“I kind of had to be.”

How many times had Taehyung patched Jungkook up, whether from his dad’s fists or the bullies at school? 

Jungkook leaned back against the pillows, “My head feels funny.”

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood but you should be alright in the morning, you just need to rest and let Yoongi pamper you a bit.” Jungkook snorted derisively. “And no…” Taehyung paused awkwardly. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he needed to do his job still. “And no getting aroused for the next week or so or you’ll feel dizzy. You need your blood to stay in your head.” 

“I’ve only ever been attracted to one man in my life and it certainly isn’t Min Yoongi, so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Why that one man?”

He didn’t need to ask who it was as he looked into those warm, doe-eyes. 

I’m not into boys either...apparently that doesn't apply to you... I want all these things that I’ve never wanted before and it scares me...

��I’ve never really been able to work out my sexuality but I think that for me, attraction is based on the emotional connection.” Taehyung nodded to show he understood. “The only man I’ve ever been attracted to is also the only man I've ever truly loved. But then he left me and came to Seoul.” 

“This isn’t the way I wanted things to be either, Jungkook.”

“If you’d let me have what I wanted, you would’ve had what you wanted.”

“You needed stability and a good home, and I had to choose between what you needed and what you- what we both wanted.” Taehyung lowered Jungkook’s hand, gently lifting the gauze to see that the bleeding had stopped for the time being. “Or so I thought but I was wrong, and I’ve regretted it ever since.” 

He knew he’d said too much but everything had always come spilling out of him around Jungkook. Just never the right things. 

He’d never managed to tell him that he loved him.

“Right, let’s get this clean and stitched up,” he said brusquely, avoiding the tension crackling in the air, not giving Jungkook a chance to shoot him down. 

“Does this mean I’m going to end up with a cool scar?”

Taehyung was glad that Jungkook was playing along.

“Maybe but you might not be able to see it very well because your palms aren’t smooth anyway.” 

The lines criss-crossing the skin were likely to obscure the kind of faint scar that Jungkook might get. 

He wiped the blood from Jungkook’s fingers before dousing a cotton pad in disinfectant and making sure the wound was properly cleaned. 

Jungkook flinched when it came into contact with the cut but Taehyung had been expecting that and held his wrist firmly. He’d always been the same. 

“What happened, Kookie? This wasn’t just from accidentally picking up a broken bit of china, it’s too deep.”

Taehyung prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that Jungkook would let him in the way he once had. 

“I’ll tell you but as Taehyungie, not Nurse Kim.”

“I was asking as Taehyungie,” he reassured him, threading the needle to stitch the wound. 

It would give him something to concentrate on while Jungkook talked. He just hoped he could keep his hand steady. 

“I accidentally dropped a mug and I was picking it up, but I… I don’t know… it was like I zoned out and when I came back round, I was holding one of the pieces in my hand and then I thought, I deserve this, I deserve to be hurt like this.”

“You don’t deserve it, Jungkook. You never have.”

“Don’t I? I kept pushing you when you were trying your best.” 

“And you’d never been given a chance to make mistakes and grow from them. It’s human to make mistakes, Jungkook. I wanted to give you a space to do that but I ended up doing the opposite.” 

With the cut stitched, Taehyung held a dressing over it and began wrapping a bandage around it with practiced movements. 

“I really am sorry, Jungkookie. I was so focused on your immaturity that I forgot about my own. But really neither of us were equipped to deal with such a delicate situation.”

He’d seen everything in black and white- what Jungkook needed versus what he wanted- but the two things weren’t that easy to separate. 

Jungkook hadn’t needed a boyfriend in general, but he had needed for Taehyung to take that final step after two years of walking that fine line. 

Most teenagers had the chance to have their little crushes and their “relationships” that nobody expected to go anywhere. But they hadn’t.

They’d collided into each other and neither of them had been able to handle it. 

The only difference between them had been that somewhere inside himself, Jungkook had known that so he had bowed to what Taehyung thought best while Taehyung had plowed ahead, sure that he was right. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be telling Jungkook that right now, maybe it was too late, far too late… but Taehyung was still desperate for the one thing that only Jungkook could give him. 

He wanted to be forgiven. 

“Wiggle your fingers for me.”

Jungkook oblingingly curled and uncurled his fingers. 

Satisfied that everything was working fine, and that the bandage was secure, Taehyung picked up the bloody gauze and got up to put it in the bin, turning his back on Jungkook.

Suddenly, arms wrapped firmly around his waist.

“I forgive you,” Jungkook breathed, his warm breath tickling the back of Taehyung’s neck. 

He stepped forward slightly and Jungkook’s fingers snagged in the fabric of his scrubs. 

“It’s alright, I’m just turning around.”

He hadn’t held Jungkook in his arms in three years, and this could be his only chance to ever do it again, he wanted to do it right. 

Taehyung held Jungkook tightly, burying his nose in the hair that was as feather-soft as he remembered. Jungkook had always seen Taehyung as his caretaker, his guardian angel, but there was something about having Jungkook’s arms wrapped around him that made Taehyung feel safe. 

It made him feel whole. 

“I’m sorry for being so aloof at the club,” Jungkook said softly. “I just didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to get hurt again.”

“What are we going to do, Jungkook?”

He couldn’t bare to lose Jungkook again but he didn’t have the right to ask anything of Jungkook. 

“I don’t know but we’ll work it out. We found each other in this huge city, that means we’re meant to be.”

“I wish I had your optimism, Jungkook.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got enough for the both of us.” 

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift home,” Taehyung said, his heart heavy.

He wondered if this whole encounter counted as a form of self harm.

“I don’t think you’re just allowed to leave work, Taehyung,” Jungkook smiled, pulling away from him, though his hands still lingered on his waist. 

“Soojin can cover for me for a bit, she owes me for interrupting my break to deal with you.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, “I thought you said nobody else was available to treat me.”

“I lied.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I can’t believe you lived so close the entire time,” Taehyung huffed, pulling up outside of Jungkook’s block of flats. 

He noted that Jungkook’s directions had taken him the long way round despite Jungkook always taking the most direct route everywhere back in Busan. 

“Like I said, we’re obviously meant to be.”

“Except that both of us have boyfriends and I know you, you won’t leave Yoongi because we both know he’d end up on the streets.”

He was trying not to think of how he would ever get away from Hoseok. 

“Does that not mean we can be friends?” 

Taehyung felt like he’d been punched in the gut even though he shouldn’t have been surprised by the words. 

“Yeah, of course,” he said, smiling through the pain of his heart shattering into even more fragmented pieces. 

Jungkook unbuckled his seatbelt, “My phone number hasn’t changed, by the way.”

“Who says I kept it?” 

“I do because I know you. I bet you still have that memory box, too And I bet your boyfriend really appreciates that.”

“He doesn’t know about it

Jungkook clicked his tongue, “I see. You’re still ashamed of me.”

“It’s not like that, Jungkook. He gets jealous easily and I don’t want him to destroy any of it.”

“Sounds healthy,” Jungkook drawled, in a tone reminiscent of Yoongi. 

It made Taehyung want to punch something. 

“Yeah because you and Yoongi are the poster children for healthy upbringings and relationships.”

Jungkook shrugged, “At least now we’re only messing each other up, and like you say, neither of us were exactly undamaged to begin with.” 

“I should get back to work.” 

“Wouldn’t want people to say I was the bad influence this time, would we?” Jungkook chuckled, getting out of the car. “Bye, Taehyung.”

When Jungkook was a few paces away, Taehyung rolled the passenger side window down. “Jungkook!” he called. 

Jungkook came back to the car, leaning his forearms against the rolled down window, “Yeah?”

“Make sure you keep that hand clean.”

Jungkook smiled brightly, his slightly oversized front teeth on full display, making him look like that twelve year old boy Taehyung had first met all those years ago, “Of course, angel.” 

April 2016

Taehyung grunted as he lifted the shopping bags onto the kitchen side. 

“Hey, Taehyung,” Jungkook greeted him cheerfully, unphased by Taehyung letting himself into the house. “Do you want some help?”

At least he’d been able to come in through the front door instead of sneaking in through Jungkook’s bedroom window. He’d been hoping that Jungyun would move away for university to make things easier both for him to see Jungkook and for Jungkook to get some peace at least when his parents went away. But it seemed like the universe wanted to constantly spite him because Junghyun was still living at home and if anything, more likely to be there than he had been before since he needed somewhere to bring girls home to. 

“No, you just sit,” Taehyung said, starting to unpack the shopping. 

He knew Jungkook only wanted to sneak the bag of dried seaweed out of the bag before Taehyung could stop him and he didn’t want him ruining his dinner.

Jungkook hopped up onto the side, kicking his legs, “Do you know where Junghyun is? He’s been gone for two days.”

Taehyung wondered if Junghyun knew that Jungkook worried about him and always asked after him. Would he even care? Or would he find some way to twist it against that sweet boy?

“I’m sorry, Jungkook. I only saw him today. If I'd known, I would've brought you food sooner.”

Of course Jungkook could have text him but he never did so Taehyung had stopped expecting it. The pride that Taehyung had noticed in him when he was only twelve had only grown in the last three and a half years. 

“Is he alright?” Jungkook pressed. 

“He’s fine, Jungkook.”

“Is he with Yoongi?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

Jungkook hummed thoughtfully, “I tried texting Yoongi to find out but he never replied.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenched, he was having to constantly reign himself in whenever he was around both Yoongi and Jungkook. The way Yoongi was looking at Jungkook made his skin crawl. 

“I never used to like Yoongi,” Jungkook continued, “but he’s been different lately. He’s stopped calling me a bratty kid and actually talks to me. He told me he's going to move up to Seoul and make music.”

“You should stay away from Yoongi, Jungkook.”

He was only interested in Jungkook when it was convenient or when he wanted an ego boost, and Jungkook liked to use Yoongi to make Taehyung jealous whenever he was feeling insecure (which was most of the time), or to get back at his brother. Taehyung couldn’t think of a worse combination.

“Worried I’m going to replace you with another one of Junghyun’s friends?” Jungkook smirked.

“No, we both know you could never replace me, Kookie. Who else is going to remember to buy all your favourite snacks?” 

And who else would be willing to stand up to Junghyun the way he did?

“I’d like to try charcoals next but they might be a bit too messy…”

Taehyung had been listening attentively while Jungkook rambled about what he’d been drawing recently and what he had planned for the future.

They were sitting on the kitchen side together, their legs brushing against each other comfortably. 

“I’ll get you something to put down while you do it, then you can just wash that every now and then.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to say something but froze when the front door banged open. 

“Tae? What are you doing here?” Junghyun called from the living room, obviously spotting his shoes on the rack.

“Someone had to feed your brother.” 

“He’s capable of cooking, you know,” Junghyun laughed, coming in with his latest girlfriend on his arm. 

Taehyung had probably been told her name at some point but they came and went so fast that he never bothered remembering them. 

“Not when there's no food in the house he’s not,” Taehyung snapped.

“Just remember whose brother he is, Taehyung.”

“You’re the one who needs to remember that, not me.”

Junghyun laughed, “Maybe you could hook Tae up with one of your friends?” he said to the girl. “I think getting laid would really loosen him up.”

The girl looked him up and down appraisingly, “I’ve got plenty of friends who would be interested in him.” 

Taehyung fixed Junghyun with an icy glare, “I told you, I’m already with someone.”

Beside him, Jungkook tensed. 

Taehyung discreetly reached behind him until his fingers found Jungkook’s and squeezed them reassuringly. 

“And you won't let me, your best friend, meet them so you're clearly not that into her.”

“More like you're a dick and he doesn’t want to subject people to you,” Jungkook shot back, stung by his brother’s words. 

Junghyun’s cheeks flushed with rage and Taehyung shifted forward, ready to dive between him and Jungkook if he had to. Fortunately, Junghyun remembered who else was there and merely snorted dismissively before leading the girl to his bedroom. 

“You shouldn’t rile him up, Jungkook.”

“He already hits me for being something that I’m not, what else can he do to me?”

Taehyung didn’t know but something told him Junghyun was, despite his hard exterior, even more vulnerable on the inside than Jungkook, and far more volatile if pushed. 

“I just think you should be careful.” 

Present Day

Taehyung gazed out of the window towards Jungkook’s building, the engine still running. 

He knew he shouldn’t be there, that he should be leaving it alone, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that despite getting a scholarship, Jungkook was still having to work at a strip club. 

Just how much money was Yoongi wasting on drugs? 

He couldn’t stand the thought that despite managing to escape his childhood home, Jungkook might still be going hungry because of the person who was supposed to love and look after him. 

Except that had been him and what had Yoongi ever done? 

He doubted Jungkook would accept any kind of financial help from him but he wouldn’t be able to look his reflection in the eye if he didn’t try.

Hoseok would kill me if he knew what I was planning on doing , he tried telling himself as if that would do anything. 

Jeon Jungkook was quickly filling Taehyung’s world once more, eclipsing anything else, and Taehyung welcomed it with open arms. 

December 2017

“I just think you should try it, Kook-ah.”

Partway through his warm-up stretches, Jimin looked over towards the studio entrance, expecting to see a newcomer to the dance club. Instead, he saw a boy he hadn’t seen in over a year and hadn’t expected to see ever again. 

And certainly not with the infamous Min yoongi in tow. 

But there was no mistaking those wide eyes. 

He couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boy- Jungkook- after his brother had cruelly sent that picture around everyone in his own year, Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s. Of course that had been enough to make sure that the whole school saw it.  

Jimin went over to the pair hovering by the door, smiling brightly, “Hey, Kook-ah, are you rejoining?”

“No,” Jungkook folded his arms over his chest. 

“Yes,” Yoongi said firmly. 

Jimin thought he had a good idea of why Jungkook was so reluctant to come back. 

“Hyun-Woo left a while ago,” Jimin told him. 

Jungkook instantly perked up, “Really?”

“Really. You should go warm-up before we start.” 

Jungkook practically skipped on his way to the coat hooks. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi muttered, watching him go. 

“It’s nothing, I always thought he was kind of adorable. I’m Park Jimin, by the way.”

Yoongi fixed him with an intense gaze, “Min Yoongi.”

Jimin giggled, “Yeah, I know who you are. The only people more well known than you are him-” he stuck his thumb out towards Jungkook “- and Kim Taehyung.” 

Yoongi sighed, his eyes moving back to Jungkook, “Why do I get the feeling that name’s going to follow me fucking everywhere?"

Jimin didn’t respond, he didn't think Yoongi would like the answer that came to mind.

[classic-horny]

(in this scenario i guess i’m medics assistant or like another doctor or something. also this is mmpp, im just capitalizing letters because it looks better LOL)

I watch you strip naked in the medbay, blue and black clothes landing in an untidy pile.

“Ready for your examination?”

You seem unsure. “Uhh.. what’s this for again?”

“You’ll see. Hop on the stretcher for me and lay down.”

You trust me. I’m a doctor after all. You lie down obediently.

“Good! I’m going to put the restraints on now.”

“The wh-?” Your eyebrows shoot up as I buckle soft leather straps around your wrists, ankles and waist. They won’t hurt you no matter how hard you struggle. You won’t struggle, of course- not yet. You know if you’re good you might get a reward.

I take a moment to let my eyes linger on your muscular body. Your legs are spread slightly by the ankle restraints and your face reddens as you become acutely aware of just how exposed you are.

“Get on with this… exam shit, will ya? I feel vulnerable.”

“Tch. Impatient.”

I take your chin in my hands, choosing to start my examination at the top and work downwards. I open your mouth, checking your sharp teeth and ghosting a few fingers over your soft wet tongue.

I move on, feeling the muscles of your neck, your shoulders, watching your arms tense up as my fingertips reach your pecs. My hands are quickly followed by my mouth- I dip my head down to lick and suck at your nipples.

“Hey!” You blush even more deeply. This obviously feels good to you. “The hell are you- mmh- doing!?”

“Just making sure everything is in working order!” I chirp, pretending not to notice your cock quickly hardening.

I keep going with the exam, feeling your stomach, taking great pleasure in squishing the fat and muscle around. I get a firm grip on your hips- no good reason, just checking them- and move on to your legs. Your face is redder than the enemy team’s uniforms, and your cock is fully hard now. It is a very pretty sight. It’s long and thick, glowing a lovely pink at the tip, and I can see a bead of precum starting to appear.

When my exploring hands reach your inner thighs, you tense up even more and I hear you whisper something. I look innocently up at you from between your legs.

“What?”

“Please…”

I smirk. “Please what?”

You struggle against the bonds in frustration. “You know what I mean, asshole! Please… please touch my cock. I need it. Please.” The bead of pre lazily drips onto your stomach.

I take my sweet time pretending to mull it over, knowing that waiting is just about torture for you right now. “Mmm, I suppose as your doctor it is my duty to relieve your ailments, and you do look painfully hard right now…” I flick the tip of your cock, eliciting a yelp. You’re panting now, blushing deeper than I’ve ever seen.

“The next examination happens to involve touching you there. It’s… a resilience test of sorts.

There is one rule though. You must not cum until I say you can- it’ll mess up my results. Can you do that? Can you be good?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll be so good, please just touch me.” You’re nodding your head so vigorously that I worry for the safety of your neck.

I retrieve a nearby surgical tray and pick up a bottle of lube off of it. After snapping on a pair of gloves and pouring out some lube, I slowly push a finger into you. I probe around your insides cautiously and you don’t react much at first, shifting a little and breathing through your nose until-

“Oh, fuck! Shit!”

I grin to myself, adding another finger and focusing on hitting that sensitive spot until your eyes roll back and your body goes limp. I can see you mouthing things- “Fuck, shit, oh god, fuck, it feels so good-“ and decide to take it up a notch.

Moving to the surgical tray again, I select a plug and lube it up. Your legs shudder a little at the cold metal stretching you out, bigger than my fingers had been. I give you a moment to get used to it, then without warning I click a button on a remote in my other hand.

You give a strangled yell and thrash like an electric current is flowing through you, gasping out- “Oh god, oh god, I’m gonna cum, don’t turn it off, let me cum please I wanna cum-“ and I shut off the vibrations. You slump back down onto the stretcher, chest heaving.

“You did wonderful!” I coo, admiring the little puddle of precum now dripping onto your stomach. “Are you ready for the next test?”

“Yes..” you get out. You’re almost whining, and I’m not even touching you. Marvelous!

I grab the lube again, pouring a generous amount directly onto your cock just to see you take in a sharp breath from the coldness.

“Remember, no cumming.”

I set my hand on your dick, stroking steadily to slick the lube all over it. you give a pathetic whine. “Please-“

“Mm-mm. I said no.” I pull my hand away.

“No, god, I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” you cry out. You look so desperate that I take pity on you. I resume stroking you at a leisurely pace. Click! the vibrations from the plug come back, albeit much lower. I hear you emit a low, breathy moan.

“You really like this huh? Being treated like a little experiment, tied down and toyed with?”

“Fuck… yeah, I- I do,” you whimper, so humiliated you’re almost unable to look me in the eyes. “I’m getting close.”

“I told you not to cum, remember?”

“Keep touching me like this and I won’t have a choice! I can’t… I can’t hold it back very well.”

“That’s why I said this was a test of resilience! I’m going to see how far I can push you before you just go pop-“ and on “pop,” I flick your cock again, right on the sensitive pink head. You grit your teeth, I think to stop yourself from shouting at me. You know it won’t do any good. You may order me around on the battlefield, but this medbay is my domain. Here, spread out on this stretcher, you’re mine.

Suddenly, I speed up my hand, pumping your cock as fast as I can. You moan loudly, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth rails they’re secured to. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t hold it back, I’m about to- unh-“ I pull my hand away, leaving you gasping for breath. After just a moment, I start again, touching you, edging you…

I continue doing this for almost half an hour, watching you grow more and more desperate to cum, breaking you down and turning you into nothing more than a weeping, needy slut. I tease you about it too- “You’re a big burly team leader, a hired killer for god’s sake, and you break this easily with just a little touching? God, you pathetic whore…”

When I finally have mercy on you, you’re fully sobbing, begging, promising me anything and everything if I just let you cum.

I turn the plug’s vibration up to max, growl “Cum for me, you fucking slut. Now.” in your ear, and duck down to shove your cock all the way into my mouth. You nearly scream, cumming hard down my throat, crying and twitching and saying “Thank you, thank you sir, god, thank you for letting me cum…”

I straighten up and wipe my mouth, turn off the plug, and pull it out of you. I take a moment to admire the mess i’ve made of you- you’re covered in tears and sweat and precum. A truly handsome sight.

I release you from your restraints and help you sit up, giving you some water and holding you, praising you for doing such a good job and being such a good boy for me. After a while of sitting together in silence, you turn to me.

“So when’s my next exam, doc?”

*dies from my boner* GODDDDDDd god this is fucking awesome good good ogh

[emoooooo]

دل شکن دوست!

I don't know what else to say, to call you, to remember you for.. All I am aware of is that your presence would probably not fix me, but your absence doesn’t help either. You were not a part of my life or a chapter of a book that i could just close and put on the top shelf of a dusty library of my heart, among other painful items. Even if i do that, i believe the earthquakes my soul encounters every now and then would make the books hidden on the top shelves fall most vigorously than anything else. And I am not in a place to pick up the glass shard-like memories by my own hands. I don’t feel alive, my love. And you used to say that I can rest in your arms whenever that happened.

Sometimes it is not that you are not near. That we never are, and I have made a little bit of peace with the fact that it is going to be that way for quite a while. But sometimes, just on some days. Or maybe on all of them little by little, I feel half alive. And the other part of me just doesn't feel alive and it also doesn't feel dead. It feels like it is in a coma. And what else would there be, to worry me of. I don't carry the problems and pains of the whole world in me. Perhaps of I could I don't think it would be the cause of so much pain. Only the pain of this love that is contained by my heart is too much for me to be in. How could I ever hold something more in my heart.

Dearest, you consume me. The grief of not being the absolute motivation that could keep you going, pains me to my core. And I don’t know what is the reason of that, i don’t know if your heart has found room to love other people or it is just a temporary setback in our connection. I don’t know if I should wait for you or all the love in my heart is to throw away somewhere. You brewed a very fresh cup of my love, like morning coffee and went. And I don’t know who could drink it other than you. I keep warming it up. But you don’t return. Every moment of everyday, I try to believe you might be on your way home, bringing snacks to have with the coffee. But you have lost your way to me. And I am hurting like hell.

Can you please come back before this pain infects every part of my heart and I become physically unable to generate love for you.

Today is our anniversary. The day I came to know you existed. The day i was intrigued. And when did that intrigue turn into love, im unsure. Perhaps it is love all this while. Hiding behind a curtain like a child who has broken his mother’s favorite vase. Waiting to be forgiven and found.

The thing I cannot forgive myself for however is for loving you to an extreme where the way back seems like walking on hot coals. I am so tired. Why have I loved you to the point of not returning. To the point where if i stop it becomes a suicide and when I continue it becomes a murder.

تم نے کیوں درد دیئے اے دوست

تم سے تو زمانے کا غم بانٹا تھا

تم بھی مُکر گئے ساتھ چلنے کو

تمہی کو تو اِس جہاں میں سب سے اپنا جانا تھا

My dearest, please do not break me. And do not lie to me. For I do have the energy to walk away from you for other reasons but not because you deceived the ocean of love I had for you. Sometimes I pray you find that love everywhere you go, even if it means not having to turn back to me. But sometimes.. I am assured, that no one in this universe could love you the way I did. And I don't want you to be miserable at all but I want you to miss that. I hope you miss the love I had for you.

You shatter my heart while I love you with all the shards

You let it bleed and I love you with every drop that leaks out of it

You move away and yet I miss you with every word, every morning, every night, every moon, every breath I draw

Yours and Hurting,

Emaan.

6 February, 2024.