#because i'm so sick and tired of having absolutely NOTHING i can do to get my medicine on time

[kyurilin]

"plan ahead for a healthy and happy holiday" YES THANK YOU CVS I TRIED TO PLAN AHEAD BUT YOU DROPPED THE BALL ON REFILLING MY ADHD MEDS FOR THE THIRD TIME IN 2023 and frankly if they fuck me over again on today the 29th when they've told me since the 18th that it will be ready i will be punching a pharmacist for flat out lying :)

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[ellecdc]

All's Fair in Love & Chaos (IV)

fourth installment ( I - II - III)

a short blurb style mini-series in collaboration with @unstablereader no real plot, just vibes and comedy.

Synopsis: soulmate au, everyone's soulmate's initials become visible on their wrist when the last person in the bond 'comes of age' (I've left the age ambiguous because their may be mature insinuations later on in the story). As luck would have it, and much to everyone's horror; it appeared that you, Barty Crouch Junior, and Sirius Black were soulmates

poly!DeathStar x fem!reader

“This is getting confusing.” Peter whined petulantly as the Marauders stepped into the Great Hall and surveyed the various tables. “We used to just wake up, go to the Great Hall, and sit at the Gryffindor table.”

“It’s good to broaden your horizons, wormy!” James offered with a hearty pat on Peter’s shoulder. 

Luckily for them, it appeared that everyone’s respective soulmates were sitting at the Slytherin table this morning. 

Unluckily for Sirius, it appeared that everyone’s respective soulmates were sitting at the Slytherin table this morning. 

“Nothing but the best for my girl!” Marlene proclaimed as Dorcas rolled her eyes fondly. 

“What? Did you buy her the best medication for your various sexually transmitted diseases?” Sirius taunted as he sat down beside you earning him a heavy kick in the shin courtesy of Marlene’s combat boots.

“Don’t be crass, Black.” Dorcas drawled. “She’s throwing me a birthday party.”

“A party?” James chimed in. “When? Where? Are we invited?”

Marlene playfully (though extremely aggressively) shoved James in the shoulder, which James had to massage when she was no longer looking as Dorcas answered him.

“Yes, yes. You’ve all been invited. Or, rather, your soulmates have been invited, and they were told to bring theirs, so.” 

Peter harrumphed as he poked around in his porridge bowl. 

“You’re invited too, Pete; don’t worry.” Marlene called over, earning her a smile that seemed to take a bit too much effort from the Gryffindor boy. 

“Where’re you throwing it? Gryffindor?” Remus asked Marlene.

“No, we’re going to have it in the Room of Requirement! Really deck the place out.” Lily answered for her, pulling out a heft binder that was well and truly over-flowing with party planning paraphernalia. 

“That’ll be fun, yeah? I can pick you up from your common room and we can go together?” Sirius asked you then, only to hear a derisive scoff emanate from your otherside.

“Fat chance, Black. I was here when the invites were shared, she’s going with me.” 

You opened your mouth to interject when Barty pulled you into his side. “Isn’t that right, treasure?” 

“I don’t know why I should have to lose out on my date just because Remus took so bloody long getting out of bed this morning.” Sirius argued over the top of your head. 

“The early niffler gets the gold, Black. I don’t make the rules.” 

Sirius let out an incredulous laugh at that. “You absolutely did make that rule! And every other rule in this sodding relationship! I have to walk around on eggshells sharing her with you.”

“And what do I do? Hm? This isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me to have to listen to your constant nagging and pestering when I’m simply trying to enjoy some quality time with my soulmate.” Barty sneered. 

“She’s our soulmate.” Sirius corrected quickly. 

“Yeah well I’d bloody like to fix that.” Barty muttered.

The entire table was stunned silent when you suddenly slammed both of your hands down onto the top of the table and stood abruptly. 

“I’m tired of this.” You beseeched as you climbed over the bench and stared defiantly at both Sirius and Barty who were now looking up at you in shock. “I am sick and tired of the bickering and the surveillance and the trade offs and the schedules. I'm tired of it! I’m living my life on some timetable that revolves around you,” said as you pointed at Sirius before moving your finger to Barty, “and you. And at the end of the day, there’s no time left for me.” 

You took a shuddering breath but soldiered on, grabbing each of the boys’ wrists (quite painfully, mind you) and flipping them over to expose their soulmate marks. 

“Yes I am both of your soulmates and you are both mine, but you are also eachother’s.” You released their hands and took a step back; your formidable glare falling into something more pained and vulnerable as you began picking at the skin of your nails. “And until you two realise that, or until you can at least pretend to get along for my sake, I don’t want to hang out with either of you.”

Sirius felt like the air had been knocked right out of him as you bent down to retrieve your bag and began walking away. 

“Sit down.” You hissed as you spun around, watching both Barty and Sirius slowly lower themselves back onto the bench. 

You looked as though you were going to turn around and leave again, but your eyes caught onto one member of the group.

“Peter.” You called much more gently than you’d been speaking to Barty and Sirius. “Would you like to go to Dorcas’ party with me?” 

“Yes!” Peter whispered excitedly, which was nearly drowned out by the protest that was going to come from Sirius before a hand smacked itself over his mouth. 

You smiled softly at Peter before you turned and left the Great Hall with not so much as a single glance in Sirius’ (or Barty’s) direction. 

James let out a slow whistle as Sirius shook the hand that was over his mouth, finding himself even more aghast to realise it had been Barty’s.

“Junior! Get your sodding hands off of me!”

“It wasn’t exactly pleasurable for me either, Black.”  He spat back. 

“You should have said something! Now she’s going to the party with Peter.”

“Yeah, yeah. We can kill him later.” Barty muttered indignantly. 

“I don’t want to kill one of my best friends! I want to go to a bloody party with my girl!” 

“Yeah well, your girl doesn’t want anything to do with you.” Marlene taunted with a smile on her face as she leaned into Dorcas’ side. “That was kinda hot, actually.” 

“Bugger off, McKinnon.” Barty and Sirius spat in unison, only to glare severely at one another.

“Merlin’s tits; is this what you’re every time you’re around each other?” Lily asked incredulously, to which Sirius quickly said “no” at the same time Barty replied “pretty much, yeah”. 

“She must be a saint, then; I would have dumped the two of you by now if I were her.” Regulus added in a bored tone, never looking up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. 

“Yeah well, we’re all thanking our lucky stars not to be matched up with you, Reg.” Barty sneered, earning him a snort of laughter from Sirius before he realised what he’d been doing and immediately went back to scowling. 

“Pettigrew!” Barty called as he leaned around Sirius. “100 galleons to not attend the party with Y/N.”

Peter looked equally fearful for his life and resigned to his death. “I don’t want to stand her up…”

Apparently, even Barty didn’t have the heart to have you - poor, shy you - attend a party solo. “Buggering fuck, fine.” He spat as he stood and grabbed his bag. “Pick me up in the Slytherin common room at eight pm sharp. And for the love of Merlin, bring me a sodding boutonniere!”

The group watched as Barty disappeared around the corner and the Great Hall returned to its normal volume. 

“He does know this is a semi-casual event, right?” Marlene whispered to Dorcas. “Boutonniere's aren’t required nor encouraged.” 

Dorcas simply snorted and returned her attention to her breakfast. “Marly, you come to learn to pick your battles when it comes to the likes of Barty Crouch Junior.”

But when Sirius turned his attention away from the door of the Great Hall, he saw her staring directly at him. 

“Duly noted.” He muttered as he loaded up his plate in resignation. 

Looks like I’m going on a date with Junior. 

… 

Never in a million years would Sirius have ever bet even a single knut that one would find him standing outside of the Slytherin common room dressed in his best trousers (that absolutely hugged his arse in all the best ways) and a simple button up shirt that he failed to button up all the way, leaving a sinful trail of skin along his chest. 

Yet, here he was.

Standing outside of the Slytherin common room, dressed to impress awaiting his date…who was none other than bloody Barty Crouch Junior. 

Sirius honest to gods thought about obliviating himself and just going back to his dorm for, say, maybe ever? But Barty chose that moment to step out through the door looking utterly delectable. 

“See something you like, Black?” He taunted with a haughty grin, causing Sirius’ eyes to narrow challengingly. 

“I don’t see Y/N around anywhere, so no.”

Both of them sighed as they considered each other. 

“Well?” Barty asked then.

“Well what?”

Barty scoffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Circe’s tits, aren’t you going to tell me I look nice? You Black’s have horrid manners.”

“You’ve not told me I look nice!” Sirius retorted.

“I didn’t run to the nearest loo to pour bleach in my eyes; you’re so hard to please.”

“Merlin’s saggy balls- let’s go.” Sirius muttered as he turned on his heel to head all the way back up the stairs he just came down towards the Room of Requirement. 

“Uhm, aren’t you forgetting something?” Barty asked as he grabbed Sirius’ wrist. 

“What, you want to hold hands on our way up too?”

“My boutonniere you git.” Barty replied as he pointed to his chest. 

Sirius gave a dramatic eye roll of his own as he pulled a small box from his pocket and returned it to its original size. 

He carefully pulled out the selection of flowers and batted Barty’s hands away when they reached for them.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

“You don’t pin your own corsage, Junior.” Sirius responded tiredly. “Purebloods raise gentlemen afterall.”

Barty fell quiet at that as he watched Sirius’ face as he pinned the flowers to his black button up. 

“Green? ‘Cause I’m in Slytherin?” Barty asked derisively as Sirius admired his work. 

Sirius’ eyes flit up to Barty’s before falling back to the corsage. 

“Green because of your eyes, Junior.” Sirius admitted quietly before he turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. “Hurry along; I want Y/N to see us walk in together looking like perfect tens.” 

And though Sirius couldn’t see it, he could certainly feel Barty’s gaze fall down to his perfect arse as he took two stairs at a time. “Speak for yourself, Black. I’m an eleven.” 

The party was well underway by the time Sirius and Barty made it up to the Room of Requirement which was, indeed, well set up for the party. 

Sirius knew it was likely more thanks to Lily than it was to Marlene, but he also knew Lily would likely let Marlene take all the credit for it.

“Where is she?” Barty asked, leaning into Sirius’ side so he could speak into his ear. Sirius fought back a shiver as he made for the familiar sight of the bar table. “No idea, but I’m gonna need a drink.” 

They found you not long afterwards; Sirius’ heart nearly stuttering to a stop when he spotted you twirling around with Peter looking so carefree as you threw your head back in laughter and caused Peter to do the same.

And by the way Barty’s jaw fell slack, he was sure he felt much the same. 

“She’s kind of perfect, isn’t she?” Sirius asked then, watching as you and Peter reorganised yourselves for a new song.

“Kind of perfect? You’re way off, Black.” Barty shot back, but when Sirius turned to give him an incredulous glare for being so damned contradictory all of the time, he was surprised to see a soft smile on his lips.

Ah, Sirius thought, humour - I know a thing or two about that. 

“Should we show her what she’s missing tonight?” He asked Barty then, ridding himself of his cup and holding his hand out to his date for a dance. 

“It’d be my pleasure.” Barty said with a smile as he accepted Sirius’ hand and followed him to the dancefloor. 

“Is she looking at us?” Sirius asked as he fought every single urge to look at you.

“How could she not? We’re the hottest couple here.” Barty responded easily, surprising a bark of laughter from Sirius.

“Did you just call me attractive, Junior?” 

“I may find you completely horrid and annoying but I’m not blind, Black.” Barty bit back, though Sirius could see a blush forming across his face. 

“Don’t you two make a handsome couple.” Lily offered as she floated by, offering Sirius a wink as she headed for you. 

“Keep your eyes off my date, you trollop!” Sirius teased with a smile, relishing in the pleasantly surprised look adorning your face when you spotted the two of them dancing together. 

“She’s looking!” Sirius whispered at Barty then. 

“Don’t blow it, Black.” Barty hissed back, pulling Sirius flush against him. 

Sirius rolled his eyes (albeit fondly) and opted to rest his head against Barty’s shoulder.

“Does this mean the two of you are, like, together now?” James blurted then, surprising Sirius and causing him to straighten up and break away from Barty as if he’d been caught doing something naughty.

“What!? Of course not.” Barty snapped quickly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sirius added.

James’ eyes flit between the two of them as his brows inched closer together. “Really? ‘Cause it sort of look-”

“Well, you should probably get your glasses checked, Potter, because what it looked like was two blokes who share a soulmate working hard to ensure their soulmate doesn’t up and leave them.”

“Right!” Sirius agreed quickly. 

“Listen; do I think Black always looks like an off-duty model? Sure.” 

“And do I think Junior is by far the hottest bloke here? Sure.”

“Exactly! I could do much worse than Black, here.” 

“And do we make one hell of an attractive couple? Yes.” Sirius paused when his yes was chorused by Barty. “But that’s all it is.”

“That’s all it is.” Barty agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. 

James considered the two of them a moment longer before letting out an inelegant snort. “Sure; whatever you say.”

“He doesn’t get it.” Sirius said simply then, turning back to Barty to continue their dance.

“You’ve got dumb friends; can’t even understand two attractive people not being completely revolted by one another.”

And Sirius couldn’t help but agree; James really was dumb if he couldn’t see that Barty was, indeed, the hottest bloke at this party (Sirius excluded, of course).

[mistiell]

Hello!! Since your requests are open and I absolutely love the way you write him (despite there only being one—), may I request some sort of angst to fluff for Astarion with a reader that accepts his advances but doesn’t seek him out because they know that he’s only doing so for protection/convenience?

Like; yes, the reader does care deeply for him. They could even say that they love him. But they don’t want him to do anything just because he feels as if he’ll be denied kindness and sustenance if he doesn’t. So they’re very reserved and keep to themselves, treating him very kindly when he propositions them, but doesn’t do anything more than what he asks.

Omg, thank you so much!! I worried I might have portrayed him in a way that was ooc but I'm glad to see people like the way I write him!! lol WC: 1.6k

---

Astarion has manipulated and romanced countless people over the centuries. He knows what he’s doing. The routine differs depending on the person, of course, but he has it down to a science.

You shouldn’t be any different.

Since the first time you let him feed on you, it’s become a sort of routine he regrettably relies on to stay satiated. It’s been nearly a month and a half of sneaking to and from your bedroll every few nights, and he’s begun to worry that you’ll tire of it – that you’ll get sick of the fatigue and the lingering ache in your shoulder that clings to you well into the morning after.

This particular morning, he sees it in your sluggish movements and absentmindedness. Karlach has to call your name thrice before you finally turn to her with a small, “Hm?”

“Gods, has the tadpole migrated and blocked your ears?” The tiefling chuckles, cuffing you on the shoulder on the same side Astarion had fed from the night before. With a pained grunt, you wince, brow scrunching in discomfort as you roll it out a little.

Karlach gasps, “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright.” You smile, but when Karlach leaves, it falls as you rub at the juncture between your neck and trap muscle. If he doesn’t find a way to keep you on the hook, there’s no chance you’ll let your late night meetings continue.

So, when the two of you are sitting by the fire after setting up camp for the night, he decides to offer up the only thing he can think of to keep you interested.

“Ugh, Gods. There is nothing to do around here.” He huffs, prodding for an opening.

You snort, taking a sip out of your water skin, “You can say that again.”

There it is.

“You know,” He leans just far enough into your space to make you fluster, smirking, “We could always make our own entertainment?”

Eyes darting away from him, your throat bobs, “What do you mean?”

He leans in a little more, making sure to glance at your lips as he purrs, “I think you know what I mean, darling.”

“I think—,” Your voice cracks up an octave and you clear your throat, embarrassed. It’s rather cute, “I think I do...?”

“You think so, hm? Tell me what I mean, then.” Your mouth opens and closes a few times, and he can hear your heart beating fast against your ribs. He chuckles coyly through his nose and leans forward to brush the tip of it along the apex of your cheekbone, lowering his voice to a seductive whisper, “Might it have something to do with,” His fingertips find the top of your hand where it rests on your knee, ghosting up under your sleeve and over your wrist as he breaths, “Touching, maybe?”

A shudder runs through you as you swallow hard, “May— Maybe...,” He’s not expecting it when you pull back and look at him apprehensively, “But... I mean, are you sure?”

The question takes him aback; throws him off balance. No one’s ever bothered to ask before. It makes him wonder if he’s off his game, if perhaps his act isn’t as convincing as it normally is.

He shakes it off, grinning at you coquettishly, “Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.” It’s not the first white lie he’s told you, and it certainly won’t be the last.

You wet your lips, searching his expression for any sort of hesitance. He’s careful to make sure there’s none to find. When you’re satisfied, you smile shyly, “I’d like that” “That’s what I like to hear.” He hums, standing before offering his hands, “Shall we?”

You take them, and as he leads you somewhere more secluded, he counts it as a victory.

Weeks pass, and he’s sure to propose a little fun between feedings to keep in your good graces. One thing that he’s noticed is that you never really ask him to do anything more than what he’s suggested. He expected you to come to him every once in awhile after the first time he’d bedded you, maybe ask for a piece of him when you’re bored or in need of some stress relief, but... you haven’t.

He also expected you to have at least some demands, but aside from voicing your preferences in the heat of the moment, you haven’t asked him for a damn thing. For a moment, he wonders if he’s losing his touch, but he shakes the thought off as quick as it comes. The implications of it make his stomach churn.

If not his body, what else does he have to offer?

“Astarion?” You call as you approach him where he stands near his tent.

He startles, then clears his throat to play it off. “Yes, darling?”

You smile apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, my dear.” He doesn’t understand why you’d apologize for something so small, or why it makes his undead heart twist uncomfortably in his chest, “Did you need something?”

“Come with me?” You ask, offering a hand, “I have something I’d like to show you.”

This is it. You’ve finally come to offer yourself up instead of it being the other way around.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” He hums, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him into the forest. A rather odd location to lay, but he’s definitely worked with stranger.

Weaving through trees, you lead him to a small clearing with a blanket spread out over the grass in the center. You only let go of his hand when you reach the edge of it, toeing off your boots before carefully plopping yourself down on top of it.

“So this is what you had in mind, hm?” He grins, following suit after you pat the spot next to you, “A romantic romp under the stars?”

“Oh! Uhm, no.” You titter, and he frowns.

“Then what did you have in mind, pet?” He asks, watching you twiddle your fingers.

“I-.” You huff, rubbing at your mouth and glancing away, “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and I thought we could watch it together.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, “It’s stupid. You don’t have to stay, obviously, but... I thought it could be nice.”

What the fuck.

“You... brought me all the way out here, just to watch the stars?” He asks, sounding bewildered even to his own ears.

You look back at him nervously, nodding, “I did.”

What the fuck.

He should say something, but for the first time in a long while, he’s completely lost for words. His brows draw together in confusion, and when he speaks, his voice comes out wrong; too soft, too shaky. “Why?”

You stare at him, worrying your lip for a moment before starting carefully, “You don’t need to sleep with me to buy my kindness, you know. I enjoy our nights together, of course, but I’d like you just as much without them.”

Now he’s really at a loss. His stomach lurches with the anxiety and embarrassment of being seen without meaning to be. He feels vulnerable; exposed.

“Of course I know that.” He scoffs, attempts a smug grin. His voice shakes as he says it, “What’s not to like?”

You huff a small, singular puff of laughter, “Right.”

Something flashes above, drawing both your attentions. Stars shoot across the blackened sky, streaking it with white and blue and purple. You gasp, eyes so wide, he could watch the whole spectacle through the reflection dancing over them.

You lay back, using your forearm as a pillow as you watch the sky intently. He follows soon after, a strange silence falling over the two of you.

He tries to focus on the sight above him, but your words have a hold on his mind like a vice grip. It’s been so long since anyone has shown him kindness without some sort of transaction involved. So long that he can’t even recall it ever happening.

He stares hard up at the sky, mouth twisting down in apprehension. He swallows thickly before murmuring, “Would you really?”

He sees you turn your head to look at him out of his peripherals, brows drawn together in confusion, “Would I really what?”

Embarrassment flares and writhes in his gut; his nose wrinkles at the feeling. He feels utterly ridiculous as he replies, “Still like me if I didn’t...”

He can’t find a word that sounds right. You understand anyway.

Some strange, melancholic sort of horror flashes over your face before you will it away, nodding resolutely.

“Absolutely.” You flip your hand so it lies palm up on the blanket. An invitation, not a demand, “You mean more to me than sex, Astarion. I don’t care what we do or don’t do, as long as I get to be with you. Whatever that entails.”

A lump forms in his throat and his eyes burn. He knows if he looks at you, he’s not going to be able to keep the tears at bay. He looks at your hand instead, staring for a moment before slotting his fingers between yours. Squeezing, he hopes you’ll take it as what it is, “Thank you. I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t know how to navigate this. I think I want to try.”

You squeeze back. He takes it as, “I’ll wait for you.”

[satorusluver]

Minors DNI

Word count: 500 ish

Tags/warnings: uhh...sex with a stranger? idk I'm tired

I'm obsessed with the idea of fuckboy Toji x good girl reader who doesn't do hook-ups, but you're going through a dry spell so when this absolutely jacked, raven-haired guy with a sexy scar hits on you at the bar one Friday night, you throw caution to the wind. I mean, just fucking look at him, who wouldn't? But you're so nervous because you've "never done this kind of thing before, taking home a stranger, that is" and Toji finds it...surprisingly cute?

Normally when Toji fucks, he fucks. He's rough and heavy-handed and it's all for physical pleasure, no emotion involved. But something about your sweet, shy demeanor and your pretty smile makes whatever he has left of his blackened heart go thud. His night with you ends up being the closing thing to making love he's experienced in years. Missionary with intense eye contact, he can hardly bring himself to look away from you, addicted to that blissed-out look in your eyes and to watching those cute little moans and whimpers fall from your pretty lips each time he hits one of your sweet spots.

And he finds himself paying such close attention to your reactions instead of just focusing on the physical pleasure of being inside your tight, wet pussy like he usually would. For once, it isn't just about getting his dick wet. He doesn't really know why, but he doesn't just want to fuck you, he wants to truly please you. So instead of himself, he's focused on figuring out which angles and movements have all your attempts at speaking turning into nothing more than broken sobs as he pulls one orgasm after another out of you, not letting himself cum until you've lost count of how many times you've creamed on his dick.

Toji isn't usually big on aftercare, either, but he finds himself helping you clean your shared mess from between your thighs with a warm, wet cloth and offering to get you a painkiller when he sees the way you wince when you try to walk. And when he spends the night, he's a little scared of how much he enjoys holding you in his arms. You're making him feel things he hasn't in years, and he doesn't know whether this feeling in his chest he gets when he looks at you is a good thing, no matter how good it feels.

Toji tells himself he should just run. After all, that's what he's good at -he ran away from his responsibilities as a husband and father. He just can't be tied down, and he knows you're really not the kind of girl who would want to keep fucking around with no commitment. But he still finds himself a week later sprawled out on his bed staring up at the ceiling, the image of you under him burned into his brain, his thumb hovering over the call button next to your number.

A/N: this is barely proofread because I'm still sick but the Toji brainrot is real.

[moni-logues]

Thirteen Rounds

Pairing: Boxer!Jungkook x f!reader

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

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

Word count: 13.2k

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

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

FOUR WEEKS TO GO

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

Four weeks no sex.

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

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

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

“Just tired? Training hard today?”

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

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

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

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

“WHAT?”

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

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

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

“I know!”

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

“Why?” you ask. “What’s it for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” he begs. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m so wet already.”

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

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

“FUCK.”

He brings his hands to his face and rubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to shower.”

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

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

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

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

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

He almost chokes on his indignation.

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

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

“I’m serious, y/n, I cannot do this.”

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

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

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

“Jungkook! Don’t leave me!”

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

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

“I can put some clothes on?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I at least kiss you goodnight?”

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

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

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

“Night night, my little custard cream.”

“Night night, my love.”

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

THREE WEEKS TO GO

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

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

Hence, Me Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I’ve missed that noise.”

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

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

He shrugs.

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

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

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

He looks at the rabbit, appraising.

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

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

“Let me help you.”

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

“Jungkook... Kookie, no. I want you.”

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

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

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

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

“Wh-.. I...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins at you and raises his eyebrows.

“What’s mine is yours, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me Jeon.”

“Isn’t it your name?”

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

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

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

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

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

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

“And me all ready for you...”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, no, stop! Stop.”

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

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

“Kookie... Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

TWO WEEKS TO GO

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

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

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

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

“Don’t ignore me, my little hobnob.”

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

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

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

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

You sigh, aggravated, and sit back.

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

“No, of course it’s not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, Kookie, baby, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything.”

“Ice. And water.”

“Huh?”

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

“Ok…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go where?”

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

“Ok, I’m going, I’m going.”

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

ONE WEEK TO GO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In six days.”

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

“Now get the fuck out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIGHT NIGHT

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

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

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

He pulls out his phone and dials your number.

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

“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

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

Jungkook sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

“Something is wrong: I miss you.”

“Jungkook! Don’t scare me like that!”

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

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

“I know and whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

He snorts, appreciative of the weird, little effort.

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

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

“Yeah.

“Garibaldi?”

Jungkook laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook is going to lose.

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

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

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

“8… 9… 10!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door opens and there you are.

“Fucking finally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, shit, sorry, baby, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs and kisses your inner thigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ok, my love?”

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

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

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

“Kookie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only mine.”

“Only yours.”

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

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

“I don’t have it,” you whimper.

“Yes, you do, c’mon, y/n.”

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

“Jesus, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

You laugh and pat his shoulder.

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

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

“What title?”

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

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

“Both, I guess?” you answer.

He grins and shakes his head.

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

“What happened?”

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

“I fucking told you!”

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

“No more sex bans?”

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

“Good.”

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

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

[drawing-prompt-s]

GoFundMe: Getting the kitten to the vet...

for a rabies shot, FIV testing, and a possible upper respiratory infection!

So someone sent in the last $305 I needed while I was asleep. I'm transferring it to my account now which means I'm a) shutting off the GFM as soon as the transfers process and b) taking in the kitten as soon as the money becomes available to me - so likely by Friday I'll take her in, or Saturday or Monday (they do half days Saturday, and are closed Monday).

GoFundMe Link Paypal Link

Venmo Link Cashapp Link

Multiple payment options available because I am typically asked for alternatives to GFM and PP.

$350 / $350

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INFORMATION + VIDEO UNDER THE CUT!

From the GoFundMe description:

Hello!

So, unplanned, there is a new kitten in the house as of Feb. 22, 2024. (Not Jolene's, she is fixed). When at my friend's house - where I will be moving in a few months - we found out that a cat that comes to visit often is not only owned, but a mom. However, the neighbor doesn't want the kittens, so he always puts them outside and leaves them there. I could no, in my right mind, leave the kitten outside by a trashcan and under a tire in February of all months, so I brought her home.

So far I have treated her for hookworms, given her the vaccines I can do myself, and looked into getting a spay voucher from one of the local shelters. The kitten is roughly 3 months old.

However, current concerns are that she may have an upper respiratory infection (and there is always the concern that she could be FIV+). She has an inflamed eye with a regular and concerning amount of discharge and has for a few days. I have also caught her sneezing and she has started coughing on more than a few occasions. She also has a few other signs of sickness - anemia, the runs, and some blood spotted in it. If it is a URI, I need to catch it as fast as possible because I also have Jolene, my 3 year old cat. She absolutely also needs FIV testing and a rabies shot because of that, and because where we are moving there are other cats.

Jolene and the kitten have both been getting along well. The kitten loves to follow her around and Jolene acts more like the disgruntled big sister (don't let her fool you, I have caught them playing regularly - she just needs her alone adult time too).

I have already altered a bit of my projected finances and removed money from my savings to care for the kitten and help her. But there is only so far that can go as I also need to be able to afford gas, food, and furniture for the upcoming move (I'm going to start buying things soon so I can put it together and move my stuff prior to the official move date). I was trying to put off a full vet visit until sending the kitten in for a spay, but with her eye and the possibility of infection spreading to other cats, it can no longer wait.

I am shutting off this GFM as soon as I reach the goal. The vet said to budget for a little more than $300, between the base cost of a visit, FIV testing, rabies, and potential treatment for an Upper Respiratory Infection- assuming it's nothing too major. And I added a little more to what I am expecting because GFM does take a fee from donations.

If the kitten does end up being FIV+ we do have rehoming options available or I will find someone better suited to handle an FIV+ cat (either already having one of their own or a home with no pets).

I tried to take a video of the eye, but as you can imagine, a 3 month old kitten isn't the most keen on staying still, haha.

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Let me add in the breakdown as well, now that I think about it:

Base cost for my vet to see a new cat (even as a pre-established client with other cats treated there): $100

FIV testing: $40

Rabies (and other vaccines I may be missing I was unable to do myself): $35 - $45

And the vet recommended budgeting about $100 for medications depending on what they find (if she still has worms, if she has other parasites due to being outside untreated, if she has a URI like the current concern is): $100

The rest is tax, the % upcharge for using a card, and to negate the fees that GFM with-drawls from each donation.

[lovergirl-brainrot]

Deal Makers and Deal Breakers in a Relationship with (some of) the Straw Hats

I'm honestly not very far into One Piece but I already can't stop thinking about it, so if this is inaccurate to something that happens way further in the series then I'm so sorry, bestie.

Some things that I think are major positives and major draw backs in a relationship with Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Nami, and Usopp that could make or break a relationship depending on your tastes.

Fem reader, one minor NSFW mention in Luffy's

𝒮𝒶𝓃𝒿𝒾

Deal Maker

He's so romantic in the traditional sense. Sanji is the flowers on every date, breakfast in bed, long walks on the beach kind of boyfriend. You guys could be married for 50 years and he'll still be thinking of ways to impress you because he's so deeply in love.

Deal Breaker

He does not stop flirting with other women. He'll do it right in front of you and not think twice about it. You're the girl he wants to devote his life to, but it's hard to believe sometimes when he still throws himself at any hot woman he sees. But if you try to flirt with other people, he is seething. He's so jealous that it makes him sick.

𝓩𝓸𝓻𝓸

Deal Maker

He is so devoted and it shows in every aspect of your relationship. There is not a single thing he wouldn't do for you. Fight for you, move heavy objects, carry you back to the ship if your feet get tired... He wouldn't admit it if you held a gun to his head, but he loves to be of service to you. He likes to feel needed. If you ask him to do something and he doesn't know how, he will figure it out by any means necessary.

Deal Breaker

Does not take your feelings as seriously as he should. If you're upset about something minor and he sees you pouting he'll tell you to stop complaining about it. He thinks it's good for you. In his mind it encourages strength and discipline. He also refuses to communicate with you if he thinks you have an attitude. He shuts you down because he doesn't want to argue with you.

𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓲

Deal Maker

She is so open and honest with you. She makes it clear that you can go to her for absolutely anything. She's not afraid to tell you what she thinks but never does it with the intention of hurting you. She is a full believer that shared joy is a double joy and shared sorrow is half a sorrow. If you need advice, a reminder of how much you're loved, or someone to talk shit with, you always want to turn to Nami first.

Deal Breaker

Nothing, she's perfect. I love women.

But in all seriousness, she has a hard time sharing. She does not believe in the idea of "what's mine is yours." She doesn't like to share no matter what it is. Food, clothes, money... You name it.

𝓤𝓼𝓸𝓹𝓹

Deal Maker

He'll do anything to make you laugh, even if it means embarrassing himself. Your smile makes his heart stop, so he works HARD to keep it on your face. If you need someone to cheer you up after crying, Usopp is the man for the job. He tells you stories that are obviously fake but he'll never stop because those make you laugh too. He's good at lifting your spirits even in the most dire of circumstances. He'll bury his own feelings that the crew isn't making it out of this one alive to reassure you and make you feel better.

Deal Breaker

He can be so insensitive at times. He never wants to hurt you, but he can be just as good at putting you down as he is at lifting you up. He wants so badly to impress others and seem cool that the stories he tells to others will make you out to be worse than you are so he can make himself look good in comparison. He'll make jokes at your expense, even if he knows it's something you're insecure about. Usopp will intentionally exclude you from some things and he doesn't understand why it's a problem. He gossips about the crew with Nami but refuses to let you in on it.

𝓛𝓾𝓯𝓯𝔂

Deal Maker

He's very fun to be around. He always wants you to have a good time. He's easy to be with and he keeps your life exciting. You're the first person he invites when he wants to do something he thinks will be fun. At restaurants he excitedly says "this is really good, you should try it" and offers you some of his food. Every morning he asks what you're doing that day so he can come along and make it more enjoyable.

Deal Breaker

He has absolutely no filter. Luffy doesn't tend to think before he speaks so he is honest to a fault. He'll tell you exactly what's on his mind, but doesn't try to say it with tact or empathy in the way that Nami does. That means pointing out your insecurities, telling strangers about your sex life, telling the rest of the crew all of the details they have no business knowing when you're in the middle of an argument, etc.

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Fuck I need some stalker Nikto please. Like reders all for it but loves his roughness when she fights a little.

You my good sire are getting thoughts because I can't sleep simply cause of this ask and also because I'm sleep deprived. Also I kinda don't understand it and have been deciphering it for over an hour so it's not gonna be 100% what you wanted but either way ly <3

Chase — Nikto x reader - reader pov

Stalker Nikto who follows you home from a night out at a bar. What should've been a simple lonely night out turned into a horror mission the moment you spotted the man. Nevertheless you knew the moment you saw those eyes and turned around, trying to feign ignorance will not push him away. Nothing will.

So what could you do? Run? He would catch you with those meaty calves and thighs.

Fight? You saw those arms, you're done for.

But you won't go down without a fight. Impulsively you throw a bottle, glass and heavy, a danger in all it's might against the masked stranger. And it fucking bounces.

Whatever he has as his mask is pure bullshit, maybe metal or plastic or a mix. Ah, no time to think you have to run.

A step back before you're full on running. Dashing away like your life depends on it because it does. Somewhere somehow you know it deep in your very bones. If he catches you, death is absolute.

And so you run. But it doesn't last long.

A body far too heavy for it to be anything the likes of feathers. Nothing soft or pure could be described of what just landed on you. Pure mass making every inch of your body squeak and bend with a sickening thud, knees bruising, maybe bleeding.

But ah, the sick bastard likes it. You can see his eyes glimmer when you fight. A punch straight in his face and you swear he laughs. Fucking psychopath.

And of course he gets the upper hand. Grabbing your wrists as you struggle and struggle, the disgusting shine in the monsters eyes reflecting the fear of yours.

"Struggle all you want."

His voice barks out, nothing similar to what a humans voice should be. All rough and rained like a mutt in the rain, rotting and vile as he laughs and laughs and you swear you can feel a shiver going down your spine.

A shiver of fear or arousal maybe you should get your head checked. Maybe it'll stop you from getting into situations like this and calling the police beforehand. Stupid, stupid girl.

××××××××××××××××××××××x x××××××××××××××××××××××

Ps: If ya want to send requests please be low-key specific sometimes my brain is a wee bit tired when writing so I might get it wrong.

Masterlist

[piplup335]

Subspace x reader! (angst lmao)

HELLO , F E L L A S

I know I said I’d work on requests, but I HAD to finish this up 😭

mainly because SOMEONE (I’M LOOKING AT YA, @sourle) decided to write Valk angst and I decided I’d probably hop on the bandwagon and write Subspace angst :D

this is my first time writing angst, so idk if it’s good ;-; ehhh, I did what I could LMAO

anyway, enjoy :D

honourable mentions here!

@subspacekisser1

@lunarwashere

@sourle

-

The crackling of the flames in the fireplace soothed your mind as you snuggled up to Subspace.

"Long day today, Subspace? How's work at the lab?"

The masked scientist glanced up at you with a groggy expression.

"Hm?? Oh...not too bad..."

He yawned.

"...just the usual lab stuff. There was also this chemical that somehow melted through the vial today...just a poison I'm working on currently. Reacted with another reagent and nearly burnt down the lab. It smelt funny too...but hey, the Biografts helped me clean it up!!"

You couldn't see it through his mask, but judging by his one visible eye closing and his cheekbones raising, you could tell he was smiling.

"I love you, (Y/n)...I feel so tired right now..."

"Awww...I love you too, Subspace...tomorrow's Christmas...wanna go to that one cat cafe? So you can catch a break?"

Subspace nuzzled into the crook of your neck. his warm breath lightly tickling your collarbone.

"I'd love that, dear..."

Subspace fell asleep in your arms as you lay on the couch, watching the flames dance around the firewood, the bright, formless shapes slowly reducing the wooden sticks to nothing but ashes.

The crackling of the flames and their mesmerising movements distracted you from the fact that your boyfriend was barely breathing.

The following morning, you woke up to your boyfriend still lying beside you.

He looked so damn adorable to you. His one visible eye was closed, and a few strands of his soft hair fell over his face. Sometimes you wished you could remove his gas mask just to caress his cheek…but he told you before not to do it, and you wanted to respect his wishes.

You gave your boyfriend a loving kiss on the forehead as you slowly slid off the couch, careful not to wake him up.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

You walked into the kitchen so that you could start preparing breakfast for the two of you.

Subspace couldn’t taste anything and always insisted on eating whatever was available, but you decided to change that today. You woke up earlier than him, and this time you'd get a say as to what he would eat.

And this time, you were determined to make him something a little more filling instead of just a slice of bread or two. You wanted to make him eggs and bacon- a dish he absolutely loved eating before the entire lab incident.

During those days, when you were cooking breakfast, Subspace would look at you with those pleading puppy eyes to make him bacon and eggs, completely disregarding and ignoring whatever alternatives you offered.

And you being you, you couldn’t resist his cute expression.

It was unlike him to enjoy such a simple dish, but hey- you still loved him.

As you were cooking in the kitchen, you felt a tug on your sleeve.

You turned to your left and was met with the sight of your beloved boyfriend standing next to you.

“Darling? Can we not have pancakes today? Do we have any more eggs left?”

You laughed, amused at his groggy, half-asleep expression.

“Subspace, you’ve been eating that same old thing for a week now. When will you ever get sick of it?”

“…never…so are there any eggs left?”

“Probably. But could you try something else for a change?"

Subspace hugged your side, his actions sluggish in his given state.

"I don't wanna...please, babe?"

He looked at you with those loving eyes...that loving expression on his face you could never resist.

You sighed, admitting defeat.

"Fine, fine, I’ll go prepare it for you later…I love you, Subspace. I always will.”

You couldn't say no to his request. To others, Subspace was a renowned scientist who made multiple contributions to Blackrock. They saw him as someone who had helped Blackrock advance their military, someone who had helped multiple residents improve their lives for the better. He was a hardened scientist who pushed through many sleepless nights to make Blackrock a slightly better place than the day before.

To you, Subspace was just an adorable bean you would not hesitate to kill for.

Your boyfriend was too adorable, too precious for this world...and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around his figure in a hug.

"I love you, Subspace..."

Subspace didn't reply, but his actions said it all. You felt his arms slowly move from his side to wrap around your waist.

“…I love you too, babe…what’s that smell?”

A glance at the stove and the steady flow of smoke was all it took for you to get your answer.

“NO- my pancakes!”

You recalled the memory with such fondness. Even after the laboratory disaster your boyfriend went through, he was still the same loving demon you knew. Sure, he acted like a crazed scientist sometimes, but you knew your boyfriend was still the same sweetheart you knew all those years ago.

You spent more than an hour trying to make breakfast...because you spent 45 minutes looking back on and reminiscing about the past.

As you set the last piece of bacon on the plate, you smiled to yourself.

"Honey? Breakfast's ready!"

Usually, when you made breakfast for him, he'd immediately come rushing to the kitchen just to scarf down whatever you prepared for him with his signature grin on his face.

But just like you had different plans for Subspace, fate had different plans for the two of you.

This time, there wasn't a single sound coming from the living room. The fire was extinguished right before you fell asleep, but you wished the therapeutic crackling of the flames followed you into the early hours of the morning for a bit of comfort.

"Honey?"

Still no response. Now you were concerned.

Was he okay?

You, being the concerned girlfriend you were, went outside to check on him.

You shook him.

"Subspace? Please...wake up!"

You half-expected him to jump at you with that big, goofy grin on his face that you loved seeing so much. You expected to jump backwards in fright from the scare, only for Subspace to catch you in his arms as he pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

But that moment never came. Upon further inspection, you mentally facepalmed at your ignorance, cursing at yourself for not seeing the signs that something was wrong.

The once hot pink crystal floating above Subspace was nothing more but a dull pink, most of the colour gone. The once gleaming radiance of the crystal was now nothing but a dull glow.

You immediately checked his pulse. It was there...but barely. You sprinted to your phone, nearly tripping over your own feet in a frenzied panic. A quick dial later, you were arranging for an ambulance to the nearest hospital.

All you could do then was simply cradle your boyfriend's near-lifeless body in your arms and pray to whichever deity would listen.

Beep...beep...beep...

The steady sound of the hospital monitors filled the room. It had been like that for the past few hours or so.

When the doctors in the ambulance did a more thorough check on him, they determined that Subspace needed emergency surgery. You were not sure why, but they said that it was due to "severe poisoning".

Now, here you were, seated on a chair next to your still-unconscious boyfriend, waiting for the doctors to return with whatever results they had to offer. You sat in your chair, glancing at your boyfriend from time to time, hoping that the crystal between his horns would shine bright like it once did.

The sound of the door opening pulled you out of your thoughts. One of the doctors walked into the room...and he had a grim expression on his face.

"Doctor! How is he?"

The doctor let out a sigh. One that carried not hopes for the future, but carried acceptance- a sign that they had tried everything, and yet...

"I'm sorry. Your beloved will not make it."

And that was the nail in the coffin for you- the statement that confirmed your worst fears.

"Can I say goodbye to him, at least? Will he wake up?"

"No. He won't wake up. We've done a thorough and complete checkup on him. His given condition- his rot, that is, somehow reacted with more fumes inside his body. We've investigated them, and it seems that these fumes were inhaled quite recently. Regardless, it has worsened his state, causing the majority of his body to either shut down or stop working entirely. You have two choices. He does not have any known family members, so we'll leave this decision to you."

At the doctor's next words, you did not want to say anything. You did not want to accept that this was your reality- these were two decisions that you could not choose between. You knew that none of these choices would be a correct decision...they would all have harsh downsides.

"Either we pull the plug now and he dies a peaceful death, or we can give him further treatment to try and save him. The chances of his survival from this point on are low, and even if he does survive and wake up, the rest of his life will likely be painful for him to endure."

You loved Subspace...you loved him so much, and you didn't want to let him go just yet. There was so much you wanted to do with him. You wanted to finally stay with him instead of one of you just staying over at the other’s house for sleepovers now and then. You wanted to travel the Inpherno with him, just to see all the marvels the world had to offer. You wanted to be by his side for the rest of your life and wake up by his side just to hug him close to you, praising the gods for such a wonderful spouse.

And now you couldn't. Not with Subspace's condition.

You didn't want to let him go just yet.

But then again, you loved him. You wanted the best for him.

And the best route for him to go down wasn’t one where he’d be suffering for the rest of his life.

You wanted him to live happily, not live in constant pain.

You knew your decision.

December 31. Almost a week after you made your decision.

Snowflakes fell from the sky outside, coating the ground in a layer of snow.

Within the comfort of your house, the flames crackled in the fireplace, consuming everything it touched.

But even the mesmerising movements of the flames couldn’t distract you from your thoughts. Not after what happened.

Beep…

That final, high-pitched sound. That damn, cursed sound. You knew that single beep would haunt you for years to come. What you did was for your boyfriend’s sake, but at what cost?

“5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

You could hear the cheers of Blackrock’s residents from your home as fireworks were launched into the air, painting the black canvas of the sky with bursts of vibrant colour.

“Happy New Year, Subspace…”

A tear trickled down your cheek as you hugged a small photo frame to your chest.

It was the last photo you had of Subspace. A photo you took with him one day before his death.

“…I’ll always love you.”

-

aaaaand that’s another story down! hope u guys enjoyed! :D

…

*runs*

[skzstoryvault]

All Out of NyQuil

F!Reader x Hyunjin

Hyunjin is in love, obsessively so. He's also gone a week without seeing his gf, who is down with a cold.

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real person Hyunjin. The persona he projects for us to enjoy is just so enticing and invites naughty fantasies.

Story includes smut, couple communication, Hyunjin being very doting and caring.

This story is a stand-alone.

The "you" used here is not generic, I'm using it to allow myself some immersion on later re-reads. I know that's selfish but isn't all the writing advice telling us to write what we want to read? If you still find something in here to like, all the better - I hope you enjoy it and have a good time.

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

“Where is my tiny, sick baby?” Hyunjin’s voice resonates through the hallway at the entrance of your apartment as he steps out of his shoes and leaves them there. “When Channie-hyung told me you sounded like Vader on the phone, I figured why you’ve been gone the last week! It’s not nice to ghost your own boyfriend, you know?”

You want to answer and call to him, but you’re really sick and down, and the only thing coming out of your mouth is a sad croak. 

You’ve isolated yourself because you feel gross and are in pain, which makes you cranky and unpleasant to be around. Also, you knew that Hyunjin would have a very busy couple of weeks and you chose to get out of the way and not be an additional concern to him. 

“Please, baby? Don’t hide from me, I’ve missed you so much.” Hyunjin whines, coming straight to your bedroom and opening the door, letting a lot of light in.

He looks scrumptious, as usual, if a bit tired, which is normal considering he is coming from a ten-hour workday of dance practice. 

Although you’re still miserable, it’s always nice to see him, especially when he smiles at you with so much love.

“Jinnie, I’m gross! And full of germs. Don’t come any closer.”

“These germs know me already and didn’t want to hop on me. I remember us making out all evening the day before you decided to vanish on me.” He says. “You have no choice but to let me take care of you.”

“You don’t have to… and I don’t want to have you on my conscience, if you do catch this. You can’t miss any of your public appearances right now.” 

“I’ll be fine, and besides, I can absolutely call in sick if I need to. I’m not a slave.” Hyunjin says. “Now let me air? I brought you my mother’s hot healing soup and once I get some of that in you, we’re taking a shower so I can destinkify myself and then we can snuggle in bed. I wanted to bring you some NyQuil but they were all out at every pharmacy I checked so you’ll have to use my tried and tested remedy for a healing night’s sleep.” 

You sit up in bed, feeling all the more terrible in your long t-shirt that you sweated in, especially since Hyunjin is wearing a really flashy outfit, a Versace coat that looks like a boxer’s robe, complete with a hood and embroidered sleeves, a black tank top and high end jeans.

He’s also wearing makeup, lots of it, and of course he looks otherworldly beautiful and alluring like only Hyunjin can be. You feel like a goblin, especially when he comes and sits right next to you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you, first your forehead, then your lips.

“You still have a fever, I can tell.” He says after his lips have touched your burning skin. “The soup will help.”

***

Eating something warm and nutritious did help, and so did showering and freshening up with him. You couldn’t help but cop a few feels while helping him wash allegedly hard to reach places.

When you return to the bedroom, you see he’s aired, tidied up and changed the sheets, and it brings tears to your eyes. Hyunjin is a brat and the ultimate pillow princess in all things. He was not born to do manual labour or chores. He is not domestic, yet he does all these things for you like he even takes pleasure in them - doing your laundry, cooking for you, even ironing some clothes when he notices you need the help with those tasks and others. This is how you know he loves you and he’s genuine - no one does shit they despise the deepest amount for someone they don’t care about. Sometimes you wonder what you did right in another life to deserve Hyunjin’s softest side and his whole heart in this one. 

He soon joins you, wearing one of your old, distressed t-shirts that does a very poor job at covering him. Normally, men in long shirts that don’t cover their dicks are the biggest turn-off, looks-wise, but of course he rocks the look. And you know he likes having his dick out when it’s comfortable and safe to do so, which makes you happy that he feels so at home with you at your place.

His strong dancer thighs look droolworthy, even covered in the many bruises he gets while practising. The thin white fabric of the shirt and the many holes in it somehow make him look even more naked than if he were actually not wearing it.

“Are you all set, baby?” he asks. “Need to pee?”

You shake your head. You’re too dehydrated to pee again any time soon, and you just wish you could get some much needed healing rest first, and then maybe try and replenish the water you’ve lost. 

“Then I’ll help you fall asleep and we can take care of rehydrating you after.” He says, yanking his one piece of clothing off and joining you under the covers.

It’s not the first time you see him naked, but the sight still has you gasping and heating up instantly. Most of the time, you can’t process how you got yourself Hwang Hyunjin as your loving, loyal boyfriend. Everyone warned you he was trouble and bad news, but… here he is, having been nothing but the gentlest and most loving housecat of a man, unlike anyone else you’ve dated before. 

You have no time to further ponder your extreme fortune in all things relationship because he pulls you close and slings a leg over yours, starting to kiss your neck and run the tip of his nose up the skin at the side of it, until his lips can wrap around the tip of your ear and nibble. He moves to your jaw and cheek, peppering kisses there until he reaches your lips. 

“Hyune… are you sure you can afford to get sick?” 

“Fuck all that… I missed you, let me kiss my girl.”

You can never deny him, and you’ve missed him too, he got you so used to his touches and to the way he fills every nook and cranny of you, and of your soul too, making you feel protected and shielded to the world. 

You can only make a sound of crushed resolve replaced with surrender, your hands going to his arms and chest, tracing his biceps and pecs with splayed out fingers, feeling his warm, butter soft skin. 

“Fuck me, I’ve missed you so bad.” You confess. “A week never felt this long.” 

“It was like a lifetime in hell! I missed you, I missed your laughter and your jokes and you calling me princess and baby in front of everyone. I missed cuddling you and pulling you close and dancing only with you in the club.” Hyunjin says. “I thought I fucked up and you were mad, but then I figured you would tell me directly if that was it. And then I tried hard to think if you might think I was upset with you! But nothing came to mind…”

“I’m sorry for running away and hiding, I just felt ashamed and gross.” 

He kisses you long and deep, erasing your mind and stealing your breath for a long moment. His lips on yours feel so soft, so plush, so pillowy, the sensation of them moving against yours taking you directly to your private heaven. 

“I am a boy and I love gross things. And just because you’re sniffly is not enough to keep me away from you. I want to take care of you. Shower and bathe you, cook you yummy food, clean the house for when you feel better, freshen up the sheets, feed you fresh fruit from the market… Please don’t hide from me, I want as much of you as there is, please don’t keep me out. I want to know you. All of you.” 

His little speech brought tears to your eyes and you sob loudly. 

“Jinnie… I’m sorry. I love you too, I was just scared. You’re always so put together and flawless and high end, I figured you don’t want to snuggle up to a coughing, sneezing, snotting girlfriend who hasn’t even had the strength to brush her hair.”

“I’m not always put together, I wake up with creases on my face from the pillow too, and with my hair sticking out. And I get smelly and gross too, but you never seem to mind it. I am the worst drama queen ever when I have even a mild cold. And you still love me. Why won’t you give yourself the same grace?” Hyunjin pouts, resuming his quest of covering every square centimetre of your skin he can get to.

“I’ll do better, Jinnie… Now I know…” You say, feeling yourself soften and become malleable to his every intention. After all, this is what you wanted this entire past week, what you were missing and thought was off limits. His touch and his attention, all on you.

“I need you. Can I? Please? It’s what got me through this week.” He begs, his lips sucking persistently at a spot on your throat that he knows wipes your mind clear instantly. 

You let out a pitiful mewl, too ashamed to admit how much you’ve needed him too. He’ll discover soon enough. 

“Yes… Please. It’s all I thought of too.” You say and sigh. “If you’re not turned off by me now and you don’t mind catching what I have.” 

“I’ll go gently. Not shake you up too much so you can fall asleep right after.” He purrs, shifting so he’s making room for himself between your legs. “You’re so soft, and your skin burns so much…”

You only now realise, as he moves to rearrange your lower bodies so they slot together the way they need to, just how hard he’s been for a good while. Precome smears on your inner thigh as he positions himself to rub against your soft folds, parting them so he can nestle himself properly. 

“So hot and wet, my baby… You missed me for real.” He hums, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling for a bit, before opening them and focusing on you again. 

“Jinnie, please?” You beg again. All you need, the only thing that will feel good and right now is him finally filling you. 

“Alright, alright baby. I have you.” He says, raising one of your legs up so he can hook the knee over his arm and minimally guiding himself in with the other hand.

Your sigh of relief at finally having him enter you swiftly turns to a moan. He feels so huge and hot, stretching you out to fit around him and it feels so overwhelmingly good, you dissolve into the feeling, letting your here and now become just this, Hyunjin moving inside you with long, deep strokes, igniting pleasure in every corner of your body.

The way he angles himself every time his hips meet yours sends sparks up your spine and makes your toes curl. He’s grasping at you, grabbing with insatiable hands before trailing his fingers down in considerate caresses. At some point he brings his hands up, lacing his fingers with yours, letting the only moving parts of you two be your lower halves.

He’s sweating, as he usually does when he exerts himself, and the heat of it envelops you, his scent permeates all your senses and adds a further, stronger layer of arousal to your joining. His kisses turn hungry and devouring, he steals the breath right from your chest and bites it from your lips, angling himself around like an eel to reach places he needs right now. He coaxes the first orgasm from you with no extra effort, licking over your nipples and sucking on one, then the other as you arch your back into the maddening pleasure from his lips, pushing your head back into the pillow.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl.” He whispers, enthralled with the sight of you falling apart beneath him. “Another.” He proclaims, pulling out and earning himself a displeased sound from you.

You instantly feel bereft and cold without him, but he turns you onto your belly and spreads your legs, kneeling up briefly to watch. Because, of course, it’s him, and he loves seeing what his good work looks like from the outside. Like the mirror in the dance practice room always being there to show mistakes and victories, Hyunjin needs to experience fucking you from two perspectives, once while it’s happening, then a second time, through the results.

He runs gentle fingers over your pussy, squeaking in delight at how hot and sticky you are, right before sinking two long fingers inside you and coating them, taking them out and bringing them to his lips, sucking your essence off of them and closing his eyes.

You stay on your belly, knowing what follows and feeling yourself throb at the thought of more. For now, you look over your shoulder at him.

He’s so immersed in experiencing your closeness with all his senses, it’s still surreal to you. Hyunjin often re-asserts how much he cannot stand most people and how icky he finds closeness. He carries disinfecting gel to use after he shakes hands with strangers or after unwanted touches, but he cannot get enough of you in any way he can get you. 

He holds your buttcheeks open with his big hands, fingers digging into the muscles, as he slides right back into you with a pleased groan. His weight on your back pushes you into the mattress and being crushed like this, while his cock presses on every nerve ending reachable via your walls, is another layer to the pleasure he knows to give you. It brings you close to the next orgasm so quickly and he knows it, varying the force and the depth of his motions. The sensation shifts from that of sensory whipping to lazy waves lapping at a sleepy shore, but even then, you can’t relax too much into it, because he cants your hips forward, kneeling up between your legs and slipping a hand under you. He finds your clit and starts to swipe his thumb over it in that persistent, heavy way that reminds you of trying to spread colour on paper while fingerpainting. How he knew to try this with you, and how quickly he learned to get it just right are further mysteries adding to Hyunjin’s aura. Despite not being that experienced before meeting you, he’s been all ears and taking notes apparently, learning all he could about you, what gets you off and in what ways. 

It’s not long before he has you where he wanted you all along and your entire core clenches, pushing him out as a reflex right before the shuddering release takes over you and you feel yourself squirt all over his front, his dick, the backs of your thighs, the bed.

The stray thought that now you're as dehydrated as you can be crosses your mind, leaving as quickly as it appeared. Hyunjin doesn't seem to take issue with it, watching as your body wrings itself dry.

You look behind you, unable to stop by sheer intention, and see him look at your pussy, cross-eyed and biting his lower lip mercilessly. You also feel his hot release on your ass and pussy, joining your own stickiness.

He allows himself only a few seconds of recovery, lying down near you and panting hard.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. And all mine.” He murmurs, sounding dreamy and completely enamoured. 

He also guides you to lie on your back next to him, away from the wet patch, before reaching for the towel he brought earlier with the intent to use as a sex rag. By the time he starts drying your front, you’re all conked out.  

In the morning, you notice you’re feeling a lot better, the room is flooded with sunlight, it smells fresh and cozy, Hyunjin’s arms are around you and one of his hands is cupping one of your boobs even in his sleep. You did not sweat a river in your sleep like in the previous nights, although both you and your boyfriend are naked under the blankets and he is running warm as usually.

The sheets are crisp and clean, too.

[lyneira]

♡ Nightly Visits + Your First Time ♡

-> It might be a little cheesy, but imagine having late night talks with Malleus in your room and instead of simply knocking at your door, he would enter through your window (using his teleportation magic LOL)

malleus x fem!reader

1st section: fluff! / 2nd section: smut (Your first time with Malleus)

part of the [#lyneira's old junk] collection!

fluffy sequel -> the first morning

Sebek and Silver would be looking all over for him after all and he didn’t want them to see that he was always coming to see you, so entering through your window was the best solution he could come up with.

If Sebek ever found out that Malleus was frequently coming to visit you at such a late hour, you would never hear the end of it. He’d probably be like “STOP BEING SUCH A BAD INFLUENCE TO WAKA-SAMA!” or “ARE YOU TRYING TO SEDUCE WAKA-SAMA?! YOU TEMPTRESS!!”. (But the crown prince was willing to be a little rebel when it came to you, hehe)

Malleus might apologize for having to visit you in such a manner, but tell him that it makes it all the more special because it’s just like in the storybooks where the prince would come to visit his maiden at her window in the tower. And most of all, tell him that you're his maiden and he’s your prince. If you do that, he'll swoon.

These were those rare moments where he enjoyed being alone- well, as long as he was alone with you. Any worries he had seemed to slip away. He was too focused on you to care.

It was a routine between you two. You'd leave your window open for Malleus and he'd soon come so that you can finally enjoy each other's company in peace.

One time, Malleus ends up coming while you’ve already gone to sleep. You seemed to have forgotten to close the curtains and window that would usually signal that you’re sleeping. You even forgot to change out of your uniform. You must have been so tired, Malleus thinks.

He looks at your sleeping figure longingly, gently taking a strand of hair away from your face, which looked absolutely exquisite under the moonlight. He's now hovering over you, so enamored. Your peaceful expression, your scent, the sound of each delectable sigh when you exhale, it all intoxicates him. Oh how he just wanted to have all of you already. He's indulging himself as his lips inch closer and closer to yours. Though, right before they can touch, he stops, realizing that he's getting ahead of himself and being improper.

He then goes back to what he should have been doing– simply setting you properly in bed and covering a blanket over you since you left the window open and he wouldn’t want you to get sick. (Though, if you did, he’d be the first to offer to take care of you, without a doubt)

After doing so, he looks at your serene face one more time, leans over, and leaves a soft kiss on your forehead. "We'll talk another time, my love", he'll whisper.

You slowly open your eyes, sensing the presence of your beloved, though when you fully open them, he was already gone.

NSFW SECTION BELOW - MINORS DNI

cw: fem!reader, penetration, oral, praise kink, and very sliiiiight yandere if you squint hard enough

I could also imagine that it would be during one of these nights where you and Malleus would have your first time together.

You and Malleus are laughing over something silly and he takes a look at your contented face as you laugh.

Absolutely beautiful.

He feels like the happiest fae in the world being able to laugh like this with you, and was so grateful that you were his and he was yours.

He cups the side of your face and smiles at you tenderly, just gazing at you with such love. You lean into his hand, "Yes, Malleus?"

He begins to caress your cheek with his thumb,

"I'm absolutely smitten by you, Y/N…There's nothing more that I can do to express all the love I have for you…I simply love you too much"

You kiss his palm, your heart all a flutter because of his sweetness. "Aww…I love you too- oh!"

He suddenly pulls you into his embrace, holding you firmly but gently.

"...Please, don't ever leave me", he whispers softly into your ear as he holds you a bit tighter.

You're shocked to see him so vulnerable. So desperate. As if anything you'd do in that moment would make him fall apart.

You lean back to stare deeply into his eyes, holding his face with both hands. "I would never leave you Malleus, I love you"

You both continue to stare at each other with such faithfulness and devotion as you two slowly lean in and kiss. It doesn't stop at a single peck. It's initiated by Malleus' desperation that devours your mouth and you can't help but reciprocate it.

Things are getting steamy between the both of you, so you both begin to undress. You begin to unbutton his shirt and he holds the edge of your nightgown. "May I…?"

You hum and nod in response, also giggling at his politeness. That little smug moment is soon cast aside as he discards the rest of your nightgown, leaving you to feel so bare.

Being your first time, it was a foreign feeling to be this vulnerable and quite literally, naked, underneath someone, so you instinctively cover yourself.

"Don't…. Let me admire you", Malleus says in a low tone

You slowly allow him to take your arms away to finally reveal yourself in all your glory, and he's starting to get hard at the sight

He kisses and caresses your body, leaving no place untouched. He's always wanted to know all of you, both body and soul and now that he had the opportunity to do so, he wanted to be thorough.

He'd take his time with you, savoring the taste of your lips, your skin, and your sweet, sweet nectar, all the while savoring your expressions as well.

He leaves a trail of kisses from your lips, down to your jaw, down to your neck, to your collarbone, to your chest, to your stomach, and finally down to your womanhood, muttering praises of you with each time he moves.

When he goes down on you, he pleases you so well that you hold onto his horns and grind into his mouth, causing him to quietly growl into your pussy as he delves his tongue even further inside you than it already was.

And when you finally pour your juices into his mouth, he ensures to drink every single drop. He was drunk on your essence. He needed to be inside of you. Now. And he felt that you were ready enough with how sopping wet you were.

You get a little nervous when you see his cock for the first time. It was deliciously long, as well as thick, you weren't sure it could fit. But he reassured you that he would be gentle and take it slowly, and he wanted you to let him know if it hurt too much at any time.

When he finally slipped it in, oh it hurt alright. It hurt so good. The way he stretched you out as he gradually penetrated you deeper and deeper was making you hold onto him tighter, nails digging into his back. He began to feel your tight walls adjusting to him as he fully sheathed himself inside you.

He then gave you a look, "That’s it, my love... you're taking me in so well….ah, so tight…are you ready for me to move..?"

As soon as you breathe out a "yes", he's pumping in and out of you with short strokes, eventually gaining more depth with each thrust.

When he feels your walls begin to flutter around his length, he attempts to go even deeper into you with longer strokes, the sound of skin slapping and the obscene squelching of both of your juices mixed together filling your room.

He's chanting numerous "I love you's" and you're moaning his name as you begin to tighten around him, getting close to your high. He was getting close to his too.

With one more deep thrust into your core, you cry out in ecstasy and become undone, creaming all over his cock. Not long after, he releases his own load into you as well, coating your walls with the seed of his love.

And he would stay inside you just like that. Not wanting to be released from your embrace.

Close. Closer. And even closer is how he wanted to be with you. He was able to see you in your vulnerable state, to inhale your intoxicating scent, to hear your melodic moans, to taste your essence, and he was able to feel your warmth, both inside and out.

He's experienced so much of you, but he can't get enough.

He will never get enough.

a/n: these old headcanons are actually the inspiration for my other malleus x reader fic, ♤ the crown prince and his wife-to-be pt.II: your first time ♤ that I currently have in progress. Getting into detail with smut is not my forte so I'm honestly having a hard time trying to finish it, so take this for now pls 😢

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[sammiesallow]

Sebastian Sallow headcanons

summary- dating headcanons with Sebastian. a/n- all my personal opinion! cw's- mentions of violence/blood, use of crucio, angry Sebastian

the jealous type. we all know this.

he gets so jealous when you spend time with Garreth, but then you reassure him it's ok :)

"I could never replace you with anyone else seb, you're my pretty boy"

melts at that btw.

nicknames galore!! he wants to call you everything and he expects it back from you too

'angel, darling, honey, sweetheart, pretty boy.

"you think I'm pretty? really?" "of course I do, Seb."

he gives you the most blinding smile you have ever seen. absolutely adorable

y'all are so loving?? he is definitely a lover of pda, doesn't mind holding hands, a hand on the thigh(not in an intimate way, just for some physical touch :D), a kiss on the cheek, etc.

Sebastian is always touch-starved and craves attention from you. even a look in his direction or a "Hi Darling!" as you're passing him in the hallway will have him smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day

more intimate moments are shared in private, however, like in the undercroft.

Merlin knows those paintings, gargoyles, suits of armor, even the floo flames lady will eavesdrop on y'all and tattletale to a professor if you do anything more than share a kiss on the cheek.

Sebastian loves you with all his heart. he couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt or worse

every time you leave the castle, please send him an owl. it lets him know where you're going and it tells him you're safe.

he's worried sick if you come back with even the slightest scratch.

"Merlin's beard! darling, are you alright? are you hurt anywhere? do you want me to kiss it better???" he says as you come into the undercroft with one scratch on your face LOLL

it's all fun and games until someone hurts you. let's say you're on a quest together, somewhere in a cave and you two get ambushed. it would probably go like this:

"Diffindo!" an Ashwinder threw out the spell in your direction, hitting your abdomen and leaving a large gash in its wake. Sebastian yelped, not having noticed your state, and threw a quick "arresto momentum!" in the enemy's way to stall their time. "merlin! are you alright-" Sebastian stopped all movement when he saw you- you were hunched over in pain, groaning as you tried to stop the bleeding coming from the gash on your side. At that moment, he felt nothing but pure and unbridled rage. "you BASTARD!" Sebastian turned to the Ashwinder, (who was quite literally about to cast Avada kedavra on him) and cast crucio. nobody touches his girlfriend.

that's definitely one of his red flags.. he has anger issues, and won't hesitate to hurt someone if they hurt you. it's kinda endearing though

speaking of red flags- I'm not gonna ignore them? we all love him but he does have negative traits that will show through in y'alls relationship.

He's overly possessive and gets super upset when another boy tries to flirt with you. if you don't say something to the guy- sebastian will; and i dont think you want that.

he's not very in-touch with his emotions. he has a hard time expressing his feelings because of a) his insecurities and b) his ego.

but on a more positive note, you help him through these things!

meeting ominis and becoming friends with him gave you the opportunity to ask another person about sebastians troubles, and you can confide in him for advice when you need it!

you're sebastian's sunshine- quite literally. you help him through his tough times, and on a regular day, you brighten his mood imensely.

ON TO THE CUTER RELATIONSHIP STUFF!!!

HE WANTS TO CUDDLE YOU.

if he's tired he becomes 100% more affectionate- which means cuddles in the undercroft, his head on your shoulder in class, a hand on your under the table at dinner, etc.

Sebastian isn't the brightest, but if he has a class with you, he'll listen to anything you have to say.

he adores your smarts- whether or not you're actually smart is up to you, but it's not like he'll care. you could be the dumbest mf in the world and he'll still be proud of you!

he's your cheerleader! in crossed wands, the broom race against imelda, summoner's court, even an arm wrestling contest, he's there to cheer you on

it's because he never had someone to do that for him- losing his parents at such a young age, he didnt have cheerleaders to be proud of him through his achievments, so he does it for you!

in return, you take him on cute little dates!

little picnics in the vivarium are his favorite. he loves the feeling of laying of the grass and cloudgazing with you.

you know he needs to relax- so it becomes a regular thing for you two to sneak off to the room of requirement.

the undercroft is still a regular hang-out, usually used for absolute tomfoolery.

i mean, you sebastian and ominis will have stupid competitions all the time.

"let's see who can cast confringo the farthest!!" "Sebastian no!!" "Sebastian yes!"

chaos trio.

more importantly, chaos duo.

you enable his stupid ideas and make sure that he does them safely.

unless it's something stupidly unsafe- then you'll have to lure him back to the undercroft with cuddles and kisses. <3

A/N- MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!! pls send me ideas!! :)

[abbysdruidess]

•._.••¯´´•.¸¸.•headcanons about married life with abby [w nsfw]•._.••¯´´•.¸¸.•

wc: 1.1k

tags: tooth rotting fluff, smut, dom!Abby, dom/sub dynamics mentioned

a/n: lmk what you guys think abt this one:)

this is kinda in the same universe along with the abby proposes to you and wedding hcs, so if you haven't you could check them out-though this one could also be read as a standalone<3

ꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

❦ you guys put a lot of work into your little dreamhouse™️ and are extremely proud of it. As an out and about lesbian, Abby took up a woodworking project and built a library that fits right into the wall of your living room. Which you were extremely supporting of, because it gave you the lovely opportunity to ogle your wife in a tank top and work pants, huffing, red faced and wiping sweat from her forehead in your backyard. You set an alarm and every couple of hours you bring her some cool water or lemonade with fruit and brush some locks of hair out of her dewy face<3

❦ she's also one of these people that don't believe in bringing in a handyman to fix any faulty appliance in your household. She has a huge, neon yellow tool box stashed away somewhere(you still aren't sure exactly where) that magically reappears everytime your car won't start or the air-conditioner starts making a noise. And 90% of the time Abby gets the job done, running on pure willpower and spite alone. When she doesn't and you guys have to bring someone else to do it, she just goes "Pfft, I could have totally done that. I just didn't cause I thought I might break it.". "Of course honey", you reassure her with a kiss on the cheek. You don't have her saved in your phone with an image of Bob the Builder for nothing.

❦ you guys are over at her dad's place a lot. When you were looking for a house, you made sure to get a place near his so you could visit whenever. He has a photo of you two from the wedding in his mantlepiece making the goofiest faces imaginable and every single time you visit Abby pesters him to take it down while you shit yourself laughing in the background.

❦ also, when your step-siblings Yara and Lev join, it's absolute chaos. You guys probably end up having an impromptu food fight and flick celery sticks at each other.

❦ if you have any hobbies such as knitting/playing instruments/writing etc she's fullly behind them and will always ask you to show her your progress. She's pretty proud of it as well, and smiles a little excitedly like :D

❦ please sing to her. It doesn't matter if you haven't sang a day in your life and it sounds like tires screeching on asphalt, it calms her when her baby sings to her. Will think you have the voice of a choir of angels no matter what and it is the only thing that can effectively put her to sleep. Bonus points if you play the guitar as well.

❦ Abby is really into reading(probably why she got that library built in the first place) and has one permanently etched in her night stand. She strikes me as one of these people that is a fan of the classics and doesn't read anyone that came after Hemingway. Until for her 26th birthday someone gifts her books from like Stephen King or Alison Bechdel and initially she's hesitant but eventually they grow into her and are stationed into her Hall of Fame shelf.

❦ whenever either of you is sick, you insist to pamper and care for one another. During the winter months Abs has a cold or the flu every month or so, and you have to actually fight her to take the day off and rest.

-Baby, you burning up. If you go to work you'll just get worse.

-I'm *cough* fine. I honestly feels 10 years younger. I don't get what the big deal is.

❦ you two definitely exercise together. Either you always go to the gym together-although you're not there as often as she is. Abby exercises religiously 5 times a week and that exercise will take place with or without you, but she would be damned if she didn't love when you tagged along with her. Either you guys have set up a little home gym with some basic equipment like mats, a treadmill, these bouncy balls and a weight lifting bench. Of course, you spot her, because you will take up any offer to ogle at her putting those big, powerful guns she calls arms to work. She reciprocates by insisting to hold your thighs while you do sit ups. And she inevitably ends up squeezing them like balls of dough.

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

❦ when you first met Abby in your early 20s, you though it was natural for a woman her age to have such a heightened libido. After all, she did get around a lot for someone that looked like her. And that instict to fuck you senseless never abandons her-Abby is in a constant state of Wanting to Fuck, and is game whenever you are.

❦ Your sexcapades have included(but are not limited to): empty libraries, locker room showers, back alleys of clubs and just about any sturdy furniture in your house.

❦ she is a total beast when it comes to lovemaking, and can go anywhere from 2 hours to all night long, although most sessions end when you tap out bc you know you'll be sore tomorrow.

❦ even though everyone knows you're Mrs and Mrs from the ring on your finger, Abby wants to reassure that, by marking you as hers. Hickies, bites, anything is game. And she loves the slight sting of the scratch marks you leave her when she hops in the shower the morning after. She calls them claw marks affectionately.

❦ Loooves strapping you to positions she can utilise her muscle strength, like flatiron or missionary with her arms propped up. When you're scissoring, she wants to be the one with her legs on top, grinding her pussy into yours like it's nothing.

❦ I think Abby has this very hard dom image, and while she wants to take over during sex and feel like the one in control, she also needs to be taken care of. She works hard from day to night, and her past partners haven't been exactly accommodating to her needs. So whenever she's particularly exhausted, crawl under the covers to give her some head. Or in the shower. Or in the couch. Or under the dining table. She definitely cums fast when you suck her clit, it gets extremely sensitive and swollen while you're in between her legs.

❦ Is an occasional squirter, and also loves to make you squirt. It happened once as you were riding her face, and she just. slurped it all up. You lowkey passed out on the spot as your knees almost gave up.

❦ cuddling with her afterwards. There's still some resounding bliss in the air, as you both treasure the moment, your limbs all tangled up. You leave small kisses all over her sternum as she tightens her grip around you. If you're too exhausted, you fall asleep immediately, if not you just glance at each other through heavy lids with lovestruck eyes. You sleep like a baby and wake up feeling as refreshed as ever.

send me an ask if you guys would like me to elaborate any of these<3

[forever-rogue]

Good evening I see ur wanting Rockstar Eddie requests 👀 what ab some humorous, sexy tension between him and his stage manager who's sick of him messing around and it comes to a head at one point. How it ends is up to you ;3

AN | I’ve decided that I love every version of rockstar!eddie. 18+ only 🥰

Warnings | Language, Smut [unprotected piv]

Pairing | Rockstar!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 4k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Are you serious, Edward?" You walked into his luxury apartment and saw that it was almost completely dark. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance, "Edward!"

"'m right here," you heard his slow, rough drawl coming from his bedroom, "no need to yell, babe."

You set your bag on the counter and practically stomped your way over to him, almost bursting into his room in anger, "I'm not your babe."

"But you sure are one," he grinned at you from under his wild mop of curls. He was still lying in bed, shirtless and only wearing a pair of boxers. You tried not to stare at his body, but found it a difficult challenge, "now relax and c'mere!"

"Absolutely not," you went over to the window and pulled the curtains wide open, letting in the bright sunlight. He groaned and burrowed his face into his pillow, "its noon, why are you still in bed?"

"Tired," he waved his hand dismissively, "long night."

"Drunk or high?"

"Why not both?"

"Eddie," his name fell softly from your lips as you sat at the edge of the bed.  He pushed his curls to the side and peeked at you with one eye, "I…listen, I don't know how to say this any other way but…"

"But what, sugar?" He'd always had a penchant for nicknames but especially nicknames for you. It still made your bones tingle, despite the fact that you'd known him for almost five years now.

"If you keep this up, I can't work for you or Corroded Coffin any longer," now that garnered his attention. He sat up, his lips in a pout as you picked at a loose thread on his comforter, "I can't be your manager if I have to keep babysitting you, Eddie. Taking care of you is like watching a child and honestly I'm tired of it. Tired of seeing you run yourself into the ground with all the alcohol and the drugs and…everything. You need to get your act together. I know you're a rockstar and whatever, but you can do it smartly too."

"Babe-"

"I'm not trying to change who you are," you swallowed thickly, "but I know you can do better. I'm tired of making excuses to cover for you, having to practically drag you out of bed, rescheduling meetings because you didn't want to show up, and doing damage control all the time. That is not what I signed up for."

Eddie suddenly felt stone cold sober as he studied you. He could see the look of pure disappointment on your face as you clearly tried not to cry. He hated seeing you cry; the realization that he was the one causing you the pain was a harsh reality check. He reached out for your hand but stopped himself, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying…get yourself in check or I'm quitting," you slid off the bed and gave him a serious look. The man in question paled, "I'm serious, Eddie. If things don't change, you can look for a new manager."

"What about the rest of the guys-"

"They already know how I feel," you threw your head back and exhaled slowly, "they're not the problem. And honestly, Eddie, they're getting a little fed up too."

"Oh."

You stood up, hands on your hips as you bit your lip. Eddie looked nothing short of desperation.

"So…there it is. Prove to me you can make some changes or say goodbye," you walked towards the door but paused for a moment before turning back to him, "I'll see you at soundcheck tonight then. Six o'clock and don't be late."

You didn't wait for him to say anything before walking away. As you opened all the curtains on your way out and grabbed your stuff, you could hear him murmuring to himself. 

"Don't let me lose you," you whispered softly before shutting the door behind you and listening to the lock click.

"Fuck," Eddie rubbed at his throbbing temples before lying back down against the pillows. If you, one of the few people that had stuck around and been his rock, was at your wit's end, he knew something was wrong. He couldn't lose - he couldn't imagine a life without you in. Something had to give, "fuck."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You glanced at your watch, nervously pacing around as you waited for Eddie to show up. The rest of the band was already set up and waiting to practice. Gareth caught your eye and the two of you exchanged a worried glance. Was he going to show up?

A quarter after the hour you gave up on waiting, "go on and start…I guess we'll have to have this session without a singer and guitarist."

"You could step in," Jeff shot you a sweet smile as you shook your head. You played guitar, one of the many things that drew Eddie to you in the first place, but wouldn't call yourself an expert by any means.

"Maybe some other time," you promised, "I don't know how helpful I'd be tonight."

"You're-"

"I'm here!"

You all whipped around to find Eddie running in, guitar in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He stopped in front of you and held out the flowers, trying to catch his breath, "Eddie?"

"Here," he panted through a grin, "I'm here. These are for you."

"O-oh," your eyes widened as he handed you the bouquet, which you shyly took. Your cheeks warmed up at the gesture, but you tried to remind yourself that one sweet gesture didn't make up for the last couple of years, "thank you. What's the occasion?"

"There wasn't one," he caught your eye and you saw that his eyes were clear and bright, which you hoped was a good sign. He turned to the rest of the band, "come on then, no time to waste."

After listening to them practice for a while, you decided to excuse yourself. They would be okay without you; you offered them a small wave before heading out. 

When you made it home, you put your flowers in a small vade and set them on the dining room table. Upon inspection, you realized that they were all your favorites. Of course Eddie remembered. He was a good, kind man underneath it all and always had been…lately he'd just been a little off track.

A knock at the front door startled you and you hesitantly walked to the door, looking through the peephole.

To your surprise, your favorite rockstar was on your front doorstep. He looked so beautifully out of place in your quiet little suburb. He always wondered why you preferred to live on the outskirts of the city rather than in the thick of it, but the beautiful quiet nights like this helped him see the appeal.

You opened the door and his face broke into a huge grin. He looked you up and down, "you look cute."

"I…" you looked down and realized you were in a ratty pair of pajamas - little shorts with a well-worn and oversized Corroded Coffin shirt. You rolled your eyes playfully before shaking your head, "what's up, Eddie? Do you…wanna come in?"

"You sure?" He raised an eyebrow, leaving the choice with you. But you didn't hesitate to nod as you stepped to the side.

He followed you into the living room and made himself comfortable on the oversized, comfy chair opposite the couch. A wave of nerves washed over you for a moment. Why were you suddenly feeling this way? He'd been in your house on many occasions and you'd spent so many thousands of hours in each other's company. He shouldn't make you nervous anymore.

But deep down you knew why.

"Everything alright?" You asked softly as he took a moment to exhale before nodding.

"I just wanted to apologize," he seemed to find everything interesting except for your face, "not just for today but for…fuck, the last couple of years. You're the last person I want to hate me. And I wouldn't blame you if you still did."

"I don't hate you," you promised, voice sweet and saccharine, "I could never hate you. Even if you've been a dick. You're still my favorite person underneath it all. Rockstar or not."

"I'm working on it," he was trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach at the words favorite person. You were his too, and had been since the day he met you, "I think the last couple of years have been hard. It feels like so much has changed."

"That's a part of life, babe. The rest of the guys getting married and having kids isn't a bad thing and doesn't change the band or who they are," you knew that had been a bit of contention for some time now, even if he hadn't wanted to admit, "you're still one of the most famous rockstars in the world. But it's still okay to change. You're Eddie fucking Munson, come on! You don't need to party, drink, do drugs or sleep around to stay relevant or young or anything."

"Yeah, I guess I've always known that," he scratched at the back of his head nervously, "it was just hard to accept the idea I guess."

"I hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly a fresh-faced and young musician. You've been at this for like fifteen years now…things were going to change eventually. And that's okay," you'd scooted closer to him, "its all okay and it's going to be okay. You've got us, you're not alone."

"You…" he trailed off softly, "how have you stuck around me for so long?"

"Eddie," your heart felt like it was about to help out of your chest. You definitely weren't about to spill your deepest secrets to him. He might have been your friend but he was also your client, "I…"

"Hmm?" He was absolutely pushing your buttons, trying to encourage you to let it all out. You were almost positive that he knew how you felt about him…you doubted you were that subtle.

"You know why," you grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it at him. It hit him square in the face but made him laugh nonetheless, "I'm not saying it, you dick!"

"Say it," he slid off the armchair and sat next to you, "please?"

"Fuck, Eddie, I-" instead of saying another word or letting him get a word in edgewise, you took his face in your hands and crashed your lips onto his. Your actions caught him so off guard that it took him a moment to react; for a moment you’d worried that you’d overstepped. 

But he quickly returned your kiss, large hands - rough and calloused but still so gentle - found your hips as he pulled you onto his lap. He practically groaned as you settled onto him, looping your arms around his neck as you refused to break the kiss. Eddie would never admit how long he’d dreamed of his moment, about how many songs he’d written about you. He knew that he didn’t really have to tell you - you already knew. 

You felt his hands snake up your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your soft, supple skin. Your skin was practically on fire and you wanted more, more, more. You could feel how hard he already was under you, how his lips tried to taste every inch of your skin. And god knows you wanted him and needed him so badly, craved him, but you couldn’t do it. 

Not now. 

“Eddie,” you put your hands on his chest and gently pushed him back. He stopped immediately and looked at you in concern, worried that he’d overstepped and made you uncomfortable. 

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” you whispered, touching his face and brushing your thumb over his cheek, “really. I-I want this…fuck, I’ve wanted this, you, for so long…”

“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” he laughed softly before resting his forehead on your shoulder. You loved the way his soft curls tickled your cheek, “baby - baby.”

“Not tonight,” you rubbed his back gently before lightly scratching at his scalp, “I don’t want to just rush into this and have it turn into…a one-time thing.”

“It would never be that-”

“Yeah?” you bit the inside of your cheek as he nodded, “good. But…I still. Eddie, prove to me that you’re willing to step up and make some changes. One good day isn’t going to change everything after so long.”

“I will,” it wasn’t even a question in his mind. If his choices were to keep going as he had been or to keep you, it wasn’t even a choice. The corner of your mouth quirked up into a smile and Eddie couldn’t help but kiss, “I mean it.”

“We’ll see,” there was a teasing lilt to your voice that made you both laugh, “until then…I think it’s time for you to go home, rockstar.”

“They’re going to have a field day with this you know,” you raised an eyebrow in confusion, “when you actually let me take you on a date. Tabloids have spectuling for years.”

“How very scandalous indeed,” you snorted in amusement, as you got off his lap. You could see how hard on and cringed slightly when you realized how uncomfortable it must have been…oops. You reached for his hand and pulled towards the door, “you assume I’ll agree to a date?”

“Yes,” so confident and sure, “I’ve asked before…you never said yes though.”

“It wasn’t the right time.”

“Now is?”

“Maybe,” you opened the door and he stepped onto the porch, surrounded by the cool evening air and chirping crickets, “I’m gonna make you work for it, Edward. Not just for me, but for yourself. I want you…to be the best you for you.”

“I know,” he smiled and looked up at you from his lashes, “but you’re it too. Waiting for you.”

Well he definitely knew how to make you swoon. Then again, he’d been doing so for years now, even if he hadn’t realized it.

“Good night, Eddie,” you leaned against the door and sighed softly.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he took a step backwards and offered you a crooked smile in parting along with a little wave. 

You returned it before closing the door and leaning back against it. 

Well. This night had gone very differently than you had anticipated. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Over the next couple of months, to your surprise and delight, Eddie really did make some positive changes. The thing was that you didn’t want to change him, that was never the question. He was still the boy you’d started crushing on almost a decade ago. It was kicking the unhealthy habits that were no good for him that you wanted.

You asked him to prove it to you, that he was serious about slowing down on the partying and the hard lifestyle and recommitting to Corroded Coffin. 

And prove it, he did. He also hadn’t asked you out again, or tried to even kiss you. He was going to let you make the decision of when - and if - you were going to broach the subject again. 

One night, everything seemed to come together perfectly. The band had played a sold out and successful show in New York City, which was a win in and of itself. Then he did the unexpected and performed a new song, one you hadn’t even heard, and dedicated it to you. 

That was enough to make you feel everything all at once. That was when you knew. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Munson!” you caught him as you walked backstage after the show. He turned around at the sound of your voice and his pretty face broke into a huge grin. You ran over to him, practically jumping into his arms and knocking him over. He caught you, the two of you giggling at each other like mad, “you’re an asshole!”

“How am I an asshole?!”

“Because you weren’t supposed to make me cry,” you brushed some sweaty curls out of his face, “I can’t believe…you did that. For me.”

“It’s all for you,” he kicked open the door to his dressing room and stepped inside. He slammed it shut and locked it, keeping away prying eyes and ears. He set you down gently before kissing you, taking your face in his face and refamiliarizing himself with your lips, “baby.”

“Ask me,” you pulled back and practically beamed at him, “ask me how I feel about you.”

“How do you feel about me?” he held your waist, his heart beating wildly and threatening to burst out of his chest. He’d been waiting for this moment, and he’d pictured it probably a hundred different times and yet, he never imagined this.

“I love you,” there it was out in the open. It was terrifying and electrifying all at once. Eddie’s honey brown eyes widened in surprise and there was only a moment of uncertainty in them before his expression softened. Hardcore rockstar turned ridiculously soft, “umm…yeah. That’s ugh…how I feel.”

“Good,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “because that’s how I feel about you, sweetheart. I love you…have for a long time.”

“Me too,” you rocked back and forth on your heels, insides bubbling with butterflies and anticipation. 

You hesitated for just a moment but the two of you were so in sync that you leaned in to kiss each other at the same time, accidentally bumping noses and clicking your teeth. A nervous laugh escaped your lips as he quickly kissed you again. 

He picked you up, carrying you towards the couch without skipping a beat. You were all tangled in him and kissing him fiercely. Eddie plopped down and settled you on his lap, hands already working under your shirt and exploring your skin and mapping it all out with soft touches. You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as felt him trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, making it a point to leave a constellation of lavender love bites in his wake. 

“Eddie,” his name was a breathy whisper as you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. He leaned back from you for just a moment before hastily ripping his shirt off and tossing it to the side. The sight of his pale, inked skin made you practically feral. You’d seen him shirtless countless times but never in this context; you wanted to map out every inch of skin with your lips. 

“May I?” he reached for your shirt and you nodded, holding up your arms to help him. Not that it mattered, but you were suddenly so glad you wore a pretty, lacy matching set. His eyes grew back as he groaned, “you’re killing me. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Your face warmed up under his praise and he grabbed your chin and turned your face to meet your eyes, “Eddie-”

“I mean it,” he whispered, “and not just because my dream girl is sitting half naked in my lap.”

“You’re making it really hard-”

“I think that’s you,” he cheesed at you as played along by moving your hips along his. He hissed and threw his head back, “fuck, you’re playing dirty.”

“Maybe so,” you reached behind your back and undid your bra, tossing to join your shirts. His eyes grew wide as saucers and he felt like an awkward teenage boy again, “I hate to ruin the romance, but I really want you inside of me.”

“Y-yeah,” he sucked in a breath as you reached for the waistband of his jeans, popping the button and lowering the zipper. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when you saw that he wasn’t wearing underwear, “what?! My jeans are tight.”

“You’re…something else,” he rucked your shirt up to your waist, smirking at the pretty pair of panties…that he quickly tore off you,”Edward!”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he growled as he went back to kissing you, lips trailing along your collarbones, “I’ll buy you all the pretty lingerie you want as long as you wear it for me.”

“What if I want nothing but granny panties?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, “you’ll look gorgeous in whatever.”

“That’s the perfect answer,” you reached down and took his length in your hand, practically causing him to have a heart attack as you stroked him a few times. He was biting his lip to hold back his moment but then quickly changed his mind and let it all out, “hmm, you sound so pretty. But I need you inside.”

“I don’t - fuck - I don’t have a condom-”

“I’m on the pill,” you promised, “I trust you’re clean?”

“Got tested the day after you kicked my ass,” he winked, “and there hasn’t been anyone else.”

“Good,” you shifted so you could line him up at your entrance and slowly sank down on him, causing both of you to moan at the feeling. It took a moment to adjust to him - he definitely wasn’t lacking - but once you did, he felt so perfect, “you doing okay?”

“Yup,” he nodded, his face contorted in a look of pure pleasure, “you just feel so good, I-I need a moment or this is going to be over very quickly.”

“That’s okay,” you kissed him sweetly, brushing your knuckles over his cheek, “we’ve got plenty of times to do this again.”

“Is that a promise?” this time it was your turn to kiss him, to mark him up as you pleased to let everyone know he was yours. You nipped at his soft skin before soothing it with your lips, “I-I see that’s a promise.”

“Of course it is,” you started to move slightly, but Eddie was not having it tonight. Tonight he really just needed you. He put his hands on your hips, holding on so tightly that you were sure you’d be sporting finger shaped bruises tomorrow - not that you minded. 

“Sorry baby,” he started to fuck into you, hard and fast, causing your eyes to almost roll back. You moaned as he touched your clit and fucked you; the delicious warmth was starting to radiate out throughout your entire body as you soon felt him twitch inside of you, “fuck, I-I’m not gonna last. Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you rolled your hips in time with his, closing your eyes as you felt your release start to wash over you, “inside, please.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his flopped against the back of the couch as you felt him paint your insides with his release. You came along with him, leaning his body as you rode out your orgasm, his deft fingers still touching your clit. At some point you had to push his hand away before the overstimulation was too much. 

You all but collapsed against him, and he wrapped his arms around you. Eddie could feel your grin as you trailed your lips along his neck, “that was-”

“Amazing?’ he finished for you, turning your face up to his so he could kiss, “I can’t wait to do that again.”

“Me too,” you admitted sheepishly, “and if you still wanted to go out on that date….I’m free whenever.”

“Oh, I’m taking you on all the dates,” he playfully scoffed as though that had ever been a question, “and going to show everyone that you’re mine.”

“I’m proud of you, Eddie,” those words had way more of an impact on him than you could have expected. He practically preened under your praise, “you really made a lot of changes and I can see that you’ve been happier. That makes me happy too.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he traced aimless shapes into your back, “seriously. You’re the best thing in my life. I love you, really.”

“I know,” you pressed a sweet, saccharine little kiss to his cheek, “I really love you. Can I ask for one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Round two?”

“Fuck yes.”