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ikaroux · 2 years

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How are they with their pregnant companion? Al Haitham, Dottore, Pantalone.

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/partner is over the moon. But how would he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Alert: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Al Haitham, Dottore, Pantalone.

Next on the list: Ayato, Itto, Heizou, Cyno.

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Note: For this headcanons, I assume that the reader is of age and that she is in a relationship with the genshin boy for a while! For Al Haitham, I don't know the character yet, I haven't met him during the main quest. I wrote him as I imagined him in a serious love relationship, like for Dottore and Pantalone. For Dottore, in the manga he is portrayed as a cruel man, who does not hesitate to play with the lives of others. I like the idea that once in love, he can completely change. You are beginning to know me, I never write anything cruel or violent. Dottore, Pantalone and even Pierrot (if I were to write about him one day), I would always soften the characters in their relationship, so don't be surprised to see no torture, insult or abuse.

PS: I'm trying to do a rewrite of part 1 with Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya etc… I would like to add more details to what I already wrote…

masterlist

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Vomiting, fatigue, late menstruation. Alhaitham would quickly notice the signs of your pregnancy. And, by the archons, if his deduction proved correct, you would make him the happiest man in Teyvat.

He would not tell you immediately, preferring to take you to a doctor first. Nevertheless, he won't be able to hide that sweet little smile every time he meets your eyes. No matter how much you ask him why he looks so cheerful, Alhaitham will just tell you in a calm voice, "You'll know soon enough."

When the doctor tells you the good news, Alhaitham will warmly welcome you into his arms, tenderly kissing the top of your head. "You knew, didn't you?" You tell him against his chest, which vibrates against your ear from his laughter. "Why didn't you tell me?" He gently pulled you away from his embrace to look into your eyes. "I didn't want to see your face devastated if it turned out I was wrong." His lips met your forehead. "But I'm glad you weren't."

Alhaitham was a scholar, a man more often occupied with furthering his knowledge than frolicking about the city. He spent most of his time reading, writing, studying or observing and, of course, improving his fighting skills. He was a man with a cold and distant appearance, often considered an unpleasant person, but as soon as you appeared in his field of vision, his expression would soften and he would stop all his activities to take care of you, and even more so since you were pregnant. The people of Sumeru as well as the scholars who knew the man well will be amazed at the change in his personality as soon as you entered the same room.

The man would personally take care of your meals, preparing each dish with care to ensure your child's good health as well as yours. He would select every ingredient and buy it for you. He would ask (or order, depending on your point of view…) Tignari and Collei to bring him the best fruits of the forest. Cyno would also be part of the game, whether willingly or not…

Alhaitham's hands are perfect for massages. He will use on you essential oils made in Sumeru to massage every painful part of your body. He will also apply it to the areas where your skin is more susceptible to stretch marks.

When he was not with Lady Kusanali, you will find him at the academy, sitting at his desk with several scrolls spread out in front of him. He has always allowed you to visit him, but where once his focus was on his work, since your pregnancy, Alhaitham now wants you close to him, pulling your body into his lap, one of his hands resting comfortably on your now beautifully rounded belly. His lips gently kiss your cheek before one of his hands picks up his quill between his fingers to continue taking notes. The gentle rubbing of his hand on your belly, the sound of the pen against the paper, and the peaceful breathing of your lover will accompany you into a pleasant sleep.

Alhaitham could sometimes see your face light up with intense joy when you felt the baby move. Curious, he would try to understand your feelings by touching your belly. The first time, his child had stopped moving as soon as he put his hand on you. "Sigh why do I feel like this child will be a strong head"; "Because he will be stubborn like his father!" You laughed and reassured him as best you could, one hand tenderly caressing his cheek before kissing him.

Alhaitham accompanied you on every visit to the midwife. She advised both of you to try haptonomy in preparation for the birth. It was a therapy that allowed you to create an emotional bond with your baby. She was to teach you both how to communicate with the baby. Touching was a fundamental thing and your lover did a great job of that, applying gentle pressure to feel the baby move.

With each touch, Alhaitham could feel his child respond as he "played" and stroked your belly, your hands gently placed over his to accompany him. He would often talk to your belly, his deep voice seeming to soothe your baby.

Sometimes he would stop whatever he was doing just to look at you. The more your belly rounded, the more he felt moved… You were so beautiful, standing there in front of that flowerpot you were watering, one hand on your belly while singing a nursery rhyme to your child. You were so precious to him, a jewel in his life.

Since your pregnancy, you had been moody. The midwife had already explained to him that this was normal, so Alhaitham did not worry about it. However, he stayed by your side through every bad patch that came your way, calming your fears. He knew you would be a good mother, and he told you so whenever you were in doubt.

At night, Alhaitham already had a habit of holding you close to him while you slept. Now that you were pregnant, every time you lay down next to him, he would massage your belly and your aching chest until you fell asleep. He will look at your sleeping form for a long time, his hand still on your belly before tenderly kissing your forehead, whispering a warm "I love you". He will fall asleep against you, his hand continuously brooding over your baby, who seemed to react to his father's warmth by giving gentle strokes against you.

Alhaitham was always lovingly tender with you. Throughout your pregnancy, he would bend over backwards for you, taking care of everything in preparation for the birth. He was the one who took care of decorating the baby's room, as well as everything administrative. He wanted to remove all the unnecessary stress from your head and take on his future role as a father.

Alhaitham will be an exemplary father, always encouraging his child to excel, to believe in his abilities. He will show great patience in his education.

NSFW Bonus:

Pregnancy hormones made you insatiable. The first time you begged your husband to take you, he was lying comfortably on your marital bed with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Without him having time to react, you straddled him, gently pulling what was in his hands away to focus his attention on you. He knew immediately what you wanted and was neither surprised nor shocked. His lips met the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands came to rest on your waist to help you sway against his hips. You could quickly feel his sex rising up under his clothes as you rubbed languidly against him. You were driving him crazy. Crazy with desire, and your pregnancy wasn't helping.

Alhaitham would always go easy on you, he didn't want to bully you or hurt the little being in your belly. He would undress you calmly, his lips worshipping the parts of your body that were offered to him. By dint of rubbing against him, you were wet enough to take him inside you, nevertheless, Alhaitham preferred to prepare you for him, thrusting a finger then two between your lower lips, making you moan at the sudden invasion. As he pumped his fingers inside you, you clung to his clothes, begging him to remove them and penetrate you as deeply as possible. He couldn't resist you, but still decided to make you cum once on his fingers before tearing off his clothes and giving you the object of your desires.

As soon as he got what he wanted from you, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you panting and sweaty. He slid his tunic over his head as quickly as possible before opening his pants to pull out his manhood already soaked by his own excitement. His heart pounded against his chest as he helped you stand over him. You straddled him in one go, without giving each other time to adjust. Grunts filled the room. Both of you had red cheeks as you slowly rolled your hips against him, whispering his name over and over in his ear.

It felt good. Terribly good. Alhaitham helped you with your movements, using the strength in his arms to lift your hips up and down with more speed and precision. He was surprisingly loud, moaning loudly, his head pressed against the back of the bed. At this rate, he wasn't going to last long. Knowing you were pregnant, full of desire for him because of the hormones was making him dizzy.

He made you cum several times that night, before retiring to take care of your exhausted, but finally satiated body. After cleaning you up, Alhaitham took you in his arms to let you sleep. His hand, warmly placed on your belly, rocked you. He whispered loving words in your ear to help you fall asleep. Before he fell asleep, he made sure to tell you and the baby that he loved you more than anything.

"Dottore! I have good news for you!"

Dottore never thought about having children. Not with the life he was leading. He was known to be a cold-hearted man with little to no regard for human life. So when you happily told him of your pregnancy, Dottore would cease all movement with a grim look on his handsome face. His ruby eyes seemed empty as they remained fixed on the bottle filled with a strange liquid that he handled carefully before you arrived in his laboratory. "Good news, you say?" His calm voice nevertheless hid a hint of horror. Shivering at his chilling tone, you slowly moved away from him, understanding that he was not happy about the news. Quickly, you ran out of his laboratory, tears in your eyes. "Tsk… Shit!"

Dottore didn't care about people, much less their feelings… Many women had coveted him for his intelligence or his looks, but none of them had interested him enough to make him feel affection. His relationships had always ended in the same way, as soon as one of his suitors started to annoy him, Dottore killed her in cold blood, using her body for his experiments… So why was it so different for you? Why did your distress affect him so much?! Why, by all the gods, did he have to fall madly in love with you? Abandoning everything he was doing, he ran out of his laboratory to catch up with you. Dottore was a man of incredible intelligence, but he always felt like a complete idiot when it came to you. He easily hurt you with his words or his behavior. Yet, you had always stood by him, faithful and loving. So when he finally managed to grab your wrist, he vowed never to be the cause of your tears again.

Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, letting you beat his chest as hard and as long as necessary if it would earn him your forgiveness. Losing you was not an option… "Let me go! " He tightened his arms around you a little more as he heard your words. "I'm sorry…" He whispered in your ear in a broken voice, which stopped all your movements instantly. You weren't used to hearing him apologize. "A baby? The idea's not so bad." You sniffed against his shirt, plunging your face deep into his chest. "You really are just a jerk…"

After that, Dottore had a completely different demeanor with you. Where he was once obsessed with his research and experiments, his mind now wandered to you, often imagining you with a round belly. A gentle smile would sometimes appear on his lips as he tended to a few vials filled with some herbal liquid or poison. Seeing him like this often frightened his subordinates, who would ask him in a hesitant voice if everything was all right, which usually erased his soft, happy expression to find that cold, threatening façade.

Your companion was not a very popular man, either among the Fatui or anywhere else on Teyvat. He was feared for his experiments on humans and hated for being the cause of death of many. He knew that your relationship with him could harm you, so for your safety and that of his unborn child, he decided to have you live near the Tsarina's palace, only a few steps away from his laboratory. The only people Dottore trusted absolutely were his copies of himself, who took care of your protection in his absence.

At your request, Dottore will cease his research on human beings (though not willingly), claiming that your child does not need a murderer for a father. The two of you argued about this for a long time, but Dottore had found someone who could stand up to him, even finding you frightening at times (and even more so since your pregnancy), when you got upset about the methods he used in his experiments.

Dottore would go to great lengths not to upset you. He knew that strong emotions were not good for you during pregnancy. As a doctor and scientist himself, he knew the risks of miscarriage. He refused to have you followed by a doctor out of nowhere and preferred to be the one to follow your pregnancy and delivery.

During the first six months of pregnancy, Dottore would continue to spend a lot of time in his laboratory, asking Pulcinella to look after you and your needs when his clones could not.

Your husband would leave work in a hurry if one of his copies came to warn him of a problem. You'd be surprised to see him come running, breathless and disheveled, slamming the door to your house and calling your name in a hurry. If you complain of stomach pain, Dottore will lay you down on the bed, taking his medical equipment with him to examine you. As soon as he was reassured of your health, his body would relax as he continued to examine your belly with his stethoscope, a small chuckle making his vocal cords vibrate. When he removed the object from his ears, his amused gaze turned to you. "Would you like to hear it?" For the first time, you could hear your child's first sounds. A softly beating heart… Dottore tenderly kissed your forehead as the first tears of happiness rolled down your cheeks.

After the seventh month, Dottore would spend more time with you. It was strange not to see him working on one of his experiments or even just seeing him in a more casual outfit. Now that he was home more often, Dottore personally made sure you rested properly, sometimes forcing you to lie down on the couch where you were sitting and rest your head on his thighs to fall asleep. Of course, you didn't say anything, enjoying these moments of affection between you and him. Dottore was more tender than he wanted to be, his hand caressing your hair until your eyes closed. You were the one who had made him like this, affectionate, tactile, in love… He had become completely addicted to you, to the idea of building a family… He couldn't deny that a little bit of fear was making his heart twirl.

The more your belly rounded, the more your back became painful, often forcing you to sit or lie down. Dottore would work on massaging your back until you felt nothing.

"I'd rather it be a girl." he once told you. You laughed, knowing exactly why he was saying that. "You'll take what comes, honey." Dottore had seen and lived with younger versions of himself, ranging from childhood to adulthood. You had always thought he was a bit of a father to them, even though it seemed strange.

Dottore always made sure to keep you away from his work to avoid any danger from the Fatui. But, when people hostile to Fatui had attacked you during a moment of inattention on his part, you had seen a face of your husband that you had never seen before. Anger invaded his features, distorting his beautiful face into a mask of hatred. You knew that Dottore already had a lot of blood on his hands and you didn't want your child's father to have any more. Just as he was about to kill those who had hurt you, your voice brought him back to his senses. So, since he couldn't punish them himself, he would let the Fatui justice system do it for him. Perhaps it would have been better if he had killed them…

Your child adored his father, you could tell by the way he wiggled in your belly whenever he heard his voice or felt his hand on your belly. Dottore may have told you it was ridiculous, but you could still see his ruby eyes sparkle every time he felt his baby press against the palm of his hand.

Overall, Dottore will be a very strict father, hoping that his child will follow in his footsteps. He won't be strict to the point of being scary or hateful, he was just what was needed to keep his child from straying from the straight and narrow. Nevertheless, his child will love him unconditionally, seeking his approval, attention and affection every time he comes home.

NSFW Bonus:

You had reached the second trimester of your pregnancy, and you were beginning to feel a rather ferocious carnal appetite. Dottore would be the one to claim you first, though, not waiting for you to come begging. Of course, you were happily guided by this man. You didn't know if it was the pregnancy that made you want to be one with him all the time, and frankly, you didn't care. The only thing that mattered to you was to feel him inside you, to have him claim you, to desire you. Maybe it was a subconscious need to feel desirable again as some of the curves were coming in with the pregnancy?

When Dottore came home, he quickly threw his long fur coat on the coat rack before looking for you in the house with the only idea in mind to make you his. You were used to his roughness in bed, but now that you were pregnant, he was more gentle. He'd take the time to prepare (or rather torture) you with his fingers, caressing your slit and then massaging your clit before his lips took over after tending to your sensitive breasts. Even if you were wet enough for him, Dottore would always add extra lube to his fingers and member.

Your round belly prevented you from getting into certain positions during sex. Most of the time, Dottore would dominate you with all his form, just to save you from any unnecessary physical effort. But sometimes he would simply lay you down on the mattress with your back to him, spreading one of your legs to facilitate the penetration of his member into you.

The swaying of his hips would be torturously slow at first. Dottore liked to play with your nerves, putting aside his desire to hammer you to listen longer to the small moans of pleasure that you offered him. You were so sensitive that it made him lose his mind. But there comes a time when his restraint breaks, and as his lips marked the skin of your neck in a possessive gesture, his hips would increase the pace of their thrusts. Your husband's grunts of pleasure along with the moans of your name would eventually send you over the edge.

Dottore would wait patiently for you to calm down before continuing, his hips slowing in a languid circular motion. He wouldn't cum yet, preferring to savor you for as long as possible. His hand would come to rest on your belly for a while, caressing it gently. He would silently claim your lips with his eyes, kissing you deeply, tangling your tongues together. Dottore was a cold and cruel man, but in your arms, passion and warmth would emanate from him like a fire.

"Sweetheart, I have a gift to give you."

Pantalone was a Fatui enforcer, a wealthy banker known throughout Teyvat as a false, calculating and unscrupulous man. Who would have thought that such a person was capable of loving anything other than his money and starting a family?

When you offered him this small rectangular box carefully sealed with a blue ribbon, Pantalone first looked at it with a doubtful air before displaying his usual smile. "Do we have something to celebrate my dear?" Your sweet, innocent smile always cracked him up. As you remained silent and your gaze grew more insistent, the man sighed before one of his hands tugged at the ribbon that surrounded the package. When he opened the box, he was surprised to find inside a small knitted sweater, obviously made by you. He remained silent for a long time, observing the garment in his hands. "Um… isn't this a baby garment?" He fell silent, realizing what he had just said. When his eyes met yours in a silent question, you nodded sharply, confirming his suspicions. Trembling, he dropped the box to the ground, treasuring the sweater in his hand as he pulled you into his arms. You had both been trying to have a child for several months, and so far, it hadn't been a real success. He was going to do everything he could to take care of you both…

The first few months were complicated for you. You had every morning violent and unbearable nausea. But Pantalone always managed to help you get over it, sitting you on his lap after giving you a cool glass of water. He would massage your belly until you felt better.

Pantalone is rich. Excessively rich. It's almost indecent. Next to him, you felt like a smile. Yet your husband had been poor and that was the same reason why he was spending a lot of moras on his unborn child. He wanted to give him a luxurious and comfortable life, everything that he had not had in his youth. The furniture was made of the best wood. The sheets, mattresses, and all the fabrics covering the surfaces were made of the most expensive materials in all of Teyvat. Of course, he also showered you with gifts, giving you clothes, bringing you all the food you wanted. He spoiled you and fulfilled your every wish.

When the two of you go out, Pantalone always keeps a protective hand on your lower back, warning those who would want to hurt you. He wants to keep you from any unnecessary stress, especially if it's work-related.

You'll be quite surprised to learn that Pantalone has told all of his harbinger colleagues about your pregnancy. Sometimes he would sit in Dottore's office and tell him about your growing belly with unconcealed pride. Dottore would often growl at him, asking him to get out of his lab. The man hated to see his colleague, usually wearing a cold, manipulative smile, so gaga over a "baby.

In the early stages of pregnancy, Pantalone sometimes didn't come home all week, too busy managing Snezhnaya's bank. He hated to leave you alone for so long, even knowing that you had bodyguards protecting you. And although Pulcinella would come to see you from time to time, sometimes bringing you some sweets or your favorite fruit, it didn't make him feel any better. Every day he would write you a letter and you would rush to answer it. He was always so anxious to hear from you…

Pantalone is the kind of man who will talk to your belly, hands gently encircling your hips and an ear pressed against you, hoping to feel his movements and hear his child. If you're sitting comfortably on a couch, the man will come between your legs, face against your belly, eyes closed, savoring your hands combing his long silky hair. He would be perfectly capable of falling asleep in this position, totally serene in your hands.

Sometimes your companion would come home late from work and find you asleep on the couch in the large living room, patiently waiting for him to return. The man would let a long sigh escape him before displaying one of his rare tender smiles, approaching you to kiss your forehead, your nose and then your lips. His hand would warmly caress your rounded belly, until he was startled by his baby's movements. "Well, aren't you still asleep my precious? Be good, don't wake up mommy…" Gently kissing the spot where he had felt his child's thrashing. He would eventually lift you gently off the couch, carrying you in his arms to lay you down in your bed.

Every time Pantalone passed you, he would pull you into his arms, kissing your lips and whispering about how beautiful he thought you were with your rounded belly, brooding over his child. "How is it that every day you get more and more gorgeous?" You would often roll your eyes, cheeks flushed and a slight smile on your lips before silencing him with a kiss.

Pantalone has a deep, gravelly voice, perfect for soothing your child's fidgets as well as your nerves. He will gladly lay you on his lap with a Snezhnaya storybook in hand and read it slowly until you fall asleep.

Your mood swings will never disturb this seasoned businessman. He will find the right words to calm you down.

Your husband will be very affectionate with you. He'll always speak softly to you, the warmth in his voice soothing your often frayed nerves during pregnancy. He will put aside his evil eye, wanting to live many years with you and your child.

Pantalone will be a very loving father and like Kaeya and Zhongli, extremely gaga over his child. He would spoil him to excess if you weren't there to temper him.

NSFW Bonus:

Your partner did not hide his desire for you. After all, he never stopped telling you that he found you beautiful and desirable… Pantalone was not in the habit of asking for you at any time of the day, often too busy with his work. But he couldn't help it, your pregnancy made it impossible for him to control his urges.

Your sexual relations were always slow and languid. Pantalone had never been a rough or brusque person. He liked to sit you on his lap in his office, his fingers penetrating your wet slit. He wanted to hear every moan, every whisper of his name in your mouth. His free hand took hold of your sensitive breast, gently pinching and pulling your nipple. His lips would mark the skin of your neck before moving up to your jaw and then your ear, gently whispering to you to cum for him… His deep voice, marked by lust, will make you rock on his fingers.

Pantalone likes to take you from behind, sticking you against a wall before penetrating you. His hips will slowly sway behind you, first in a teasing circle before moving in more forcefully. One of his hands would be under your belly, helping you bear the weight, however lightly, while the other would draw your hips into place. A smirk would appear on his lips as you begged him to go faster. "Oh? Don't you appreciate the way I take you? It seems to lull our child to sleep though, don't you think? " And indeed, it was possible for sex to lull a baby to sleep in the womb. Reluctantly, you gave in to your husband's slow rhythm.

As soon as he felt your walls tremble on his member as your orgasm approached, Pantalone accelerated his thrusts, surprising you in the process with a shrill cry of sudden pleasure. "Pantalone! The baby he-"; "I never said it was enough to be slow to rock him honey." You quickly climaxed, screaming his name over and over until he released his load inside you, his head collapsing onto your shoulder, his breath tickling your bare back. Both of his hands would rest on your lower abdomen, tenderly caressing it as he whispered his love for you in your ear.

9K notes · View notes

moni-logues · 1 year

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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?”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts #mmm repost

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velkia · 1 year

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do you think a 'the little mermaid' au for alhaitham and kaveh would be fun? who'd be the prince and who'd be the mermaid!!

I've been thinking about it for 2 days...

The most inspiring for me would definitely be an AU where Kaveh is the mermaid. He would be a talented architect from the undersea.

During his youth, his mother fell in love with a human from Fontaine, and turned into a human to live with him. Kaveh was left alone. He then began take an interest in the human species, going to the surface to interact with them, studying their culture, especially their architecture, their food…etc etc. After a while, the humans of Port Ormos would appreciate him so much that he was asked to renew the structure of the Port.

One day, he noticed a beautiful student from the Akademiya sleeping on the beach, a book in his hands. His name was Al-Haitham. They became friends very quickly, meeting there as often as the could.

The heart of Kaveh began to be flooded with a strange feeling towards his friend. He wanted to spend his days with him, laughing, discussing...cuddling.

But they'd never be able to live together, and he knew it. Unless he became human.

He and the student worked on a project together: "Decoding the Runes and Architectural Philosophy of the Ruins of King Deshret's Civilization". Kaveh actually used this project as an excuse to ask Al-Haitham to help him to find a way to become human. Then their fallout happened.

Since this terrible event, Kaveh didn't return to the surface, even though people asked for his talent, until…

Dori.

She asked Kaveh to design her famous Palace of Alcazarzaray. In exchange, she'd turn him to a human. He accepted, was given two beautiful legs, then…you all know how it turned out.

Al-Haitham offered him a room. Kaveh felt both relieved to be given a shelter and shameful that his no-longer friend saw him in such a pityful state.

An architect mermaid with nor home, nor fins, nor sea.

Time passed, their relationship started to improve. However, Kaveh missed the undersea, and Haitham noticed it. Thinking his friend would be happier if he returned to the sea, he found a potion to turn him back to a mermaid. He gave it to Kaveh, who eventually just spilled its content to the floor (he'd clean it later don't worry).

Yes, he felt miserable. Corals, seashells, fishes...how much would he pay to swim among all of that just once again. But nobody awaited for him there. He would never be as loved as he was on the surface there. And above all...

He'd never feel more home than with Haitham.

...

Nevertheless they managed later to buy a magnificent aquarium for Kaveh. He would sit in front of it during harsh days, an ocean of stars flooding his eyes, while Haitham would secretly observe him.

Aaand, that's it! Sorry if anything seems weird, I'm french but I do my best with english. owo

#alhaitham #kaveh #haikaveh #kavetham #mermaid #mermaid au

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xcrust · 4 months

Text

Paint the Town Red [PREVIEW]

I seriously haven't written due to having an education but for my story i want to give you improvement and quality content. So I am not making you all wait too long here is a preview of the next chapter. If there is anything that you feel is needed and note you would want to offer then i would love for you to throw it my way

FULL STORY HERE

All the latest chapters and previous is at that link!!!

Looking between the mirror in front of you, reflecting In the soft glow of dawn's embrace, (Y/n) stood before the ornate mirror that adorned her room. The morning sunlight filtered through the delicate curtains, casting a warm radiance upon them as they examined her reflection. It wasn't the typical admiration one might associate with vanity; rather, it was an introspective gaze that transcended the surface.

As they lifted a lock of hair, the sunlight or rather the glimmer caught the subtle highlights, reminiscent of the glimmers of hope that had guided them through the darkest nights. The relationship between their parents isn't inherently bad. But the isolating feeling never evolved or made anything better. This dark world was something that was all you knew. Inherently when it came to your view of humans it had to be a little different from your older sister. All humans are made corrupt. No matter the family a person is raised from. Though what allows hell borns to be condemned to whatever flock shows up. It is a harsh ideal but with so much bad coming from earth then how could someone even have a belief that earth is all that good when it's corrupting the supposed bad.

Nevertheless the people that showed up from earth kept the seven rings entertained the more time went on. In fact if it weren't for earth then you wouldn't be in the situation that you are now. You couldn't remember the last time you had dinner with your parents, Family dinners hadn't been a thing in a long time. So sitting across a little table of a cafe with the infamous radio demon for dinner is the last thing that would have been imagined in your life.

“So my dearest! I want to know everything about you and what makes you tick” Closing your new pocket mirror you glance at him before going to pick at your clothes, the bunny painted in red stares at you with a charming look in his eye.

“Alastor, you're going all out for a person like me. But what is it that you want.” curiosity might have killed the cat but in hell its survival of the fittest. Between you and him, that's an easy feat for you but survival in getting higher in the food chain? Well that's some grounds you need to work on.

“ Heavens me, or should I say hells me? HA can't a guy get to know another fella?” His burgundy pinstripe suit made your weakness to elegant things. In your heart you are truly someone that cannot be so easily deterred by another. If leaving the Morningstar household didnt prove it. Maybe working on social skills might be the first thing to work on.

“Who are you kidding? What?! Did you want to talk to my dad? Sorry to best your bubble but i'm making a nam-”

“Hush now” he quipped in “now what are you assuming on today” taking out a pocket watch from his top pocket. The ticking being comically loud. Being in hell should have you used to an odd face every once in a while. But looking at him felt like a lost cartoon. “As ive said before, i know nothing about you. You've just got a nifty little… look to you” There goes his smile again. It's so shameless.

“Yeah right” Being hell royalty should've put your name towards everyone that walks this street.

“Sorry doll face, having such a smooth face in this area of town might just be the most interesting piece of plot in these parts” you let out a sudden hitch in your breath. Does he actually not know anything about you? Maybe the overlord title might be a lot harder than intended. “Now doll you're never fully dressed without a smile, now play nice” The grimace on your face might’ve just drowned in your thoughts hearing him say that.

You couldn't make sense of his statement. An earthborn being known to you and probably the purest kind of entertainment in hell. Though if he didnt even know who you were then maybe this could be a better opportunity in the end. No phony respect. Something that would actually make a difference to yourself. Smoothing your expression into soft passiveness.

“Say there, bunny tail, how about you and I take a stroll down the boulevard and paint the town red”

“Aren't you a tough nut to crack? Well who am I to deny a bona fide high roller”

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markscherz · 3 months

Note

I just wanted to give you some context for the anonymous ask you got about Tumblr CEO being a transphobe. The user who got banned, predstrogen, had been publicly posting about frustration over content moderation and non-sexual posts about her transition getting marked as mature content. Those were valid concerns and should be talked about. Unfortunately, she (predstrogen) also publicly posted a death threat against Matt (the CEO). The death threat was the inciting factor for the account being shut down, not her other posts. Notably, Matt is not involved in content moderation on the site and did not make decisions regarding the moderation of her posts. He only became involved after she posted the death threat.

I do not believe that he has handled this situation as well as it could have been handled. Predstrogen hasn't, either. However, I haven't seen anything in his behavior that comes across to me, a nonbinary trans person, as specifically transphobic. (Obviously that doesn't give me the last word on whether or not somebody is transphobic or whether his behavior may or may not be hurtful to some trans people; I'm just saying that the things he said do not appear to *me*, someone who has often been hurt or offended by transphobic behavior, to be overtly or implicitly transphobic.)

I could go on and on with details, but Curated Tumblr on Reddit has some detailed threads about this situation if you want more information: https://www.reddit.com/r/CuratedTumblr/comments/1avbp78/tumblr_bans_trans_woman_over_looney_toonslevel/

Thank you, Anon. From the reading I did before I posted my answer to that ask, I could also see that there is clearly more subtlety to the specific situation than a simple question of blanket transphobia, or a simple case of violation of TOS/guidelines. I really appreciate your insights and perspective here, and especially you highlighting the importance of a well-informed and carefully considered reading. Also emphasis on the separation of Church and State Moderation and Management at Tumblr; it is an important aspect. That Reddit post you link to really collates the information well, and some of the comments bring critically important context (both specific and broad) to the discussion; thank you for that. As you say, I think it is evident that the situation has been poorly handled by both parties, and consequently has also escalated. It was handled worse than I had thought, before I read that post. There were several audible 'yikes'-es muttered as I read through it.

Nevertheless, I also think it should be said that this is not an isolated incident (neither on tumblr, nor on social media platforms in general), and I felt it is important and timely for me to use my voice here to be explicit in (1) my dislike for disproportionate use of sanctions against users targeting staff relative to their typical handling of threats and other reports made among the community, and (2) my support for the trans community here and elsewhere.

On Twitter it would also often proceed like this, with people finding themselves in holes of their own making digging deeper, rather than realising that the ladder out consisted of listening, reflecting, apologising, committing to and visibly striving for improvement. This is a *hard* thing to realise when you are in the middle of it, and you often see people crash and burn this way.

#answers by Mark #transphobia #transgender

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neverchecking · 1 year

Text

TotK Link

Okay, I know not everyone has played Tears of the Kingdom, nevertheless finished (I know I haven't), but I just have brainrot that I need to spread.

And I now have the platform to do so >:)

So, of course, Spoilers under the cut!

CW: Yandere, TotK spoilers!

・❥・So, this can go two ways. One, TotK Link is Wild who was taken mid-adventure with the other Links. Or, two, this is an entirely different Link, kind of like Calamity (AoC Link-- there are some great headcanons about him -> Here! Go check them out they are so, so good.).

・❥・I like both ideas! But, let's talk about the second option.

・❥・So, imagine, the chain and Reader are coming through a portal to this new Hyrule. Or, well, they think it's new. It's oddly reminiscent of Wild's Hyrule only...bigger. There are islands in the sky, holes covered in what appears to be malice in the ground. People are more abundant, there are towers standing, glowing a welcoming red rather than the golden towers in Wild's Hyrule.

・❥・It's so different, but yet so familiar.

・❥・Now, it's evident that this Link is a little more...Feral. Look at his hair and tell me otherwise, you can't. This man had won. He had won, gotten his victory over the Calamity and was supposed to have the rest of his life to settle down. But he didn't. It was ripped away from him once more. Not only that, but he was thrown back to square one. Gloom now riddled his veins making him feel like he was newborn fawn stumbling out of the Shrine once more. So he's probably livid. Angry with Hylia and fate, and Ganon and and and-

・❥・He has no patience left to offer.

・❥・Zelda was supposed to have unlocked her sealing powers, no? And she did nothing. Actually, that's a lie. She used them to save herself. He was left dying again and she saved herself. After he destroyed the Master Sword, the only thing that made him anyone, protecting her. Destroyed his arm. Destroyed himself. And she saved herself. Rauru had to protect him. Had to save his life before Zelda did.

・❥・So, yeah, he's a little less...companionable. He had to save someone who wouldn't give two shits about him again. He thought they had improved their relationship, but he guesses not. Betrayal runs deep in his gut, igniting a fiery inferno that burns on spite.

・❥・And the worst part about it? Everyone around him is praising that damned Princess. For the bare minimum. Showing them a recipe, building a school that should've been there years ago, hell, even just having a horse got her praise out the ass.

・❥・He was tired of it.

・❥・People stay out of his way a lot more. He wears a look that promises some form of harm should someone cross him, and he's more than willing to deliver. Because now, it's not just the one land of Hyrule. Now he has to deal with the Sky Islands and the Zonai creations. Now he has to deal with the depths and all of those creatures which just bring back the gloom he dispels. And he's so over it.

・❥・Now, picture if you will, Reader falling through the portal, separated from the chain, scared and alone. Reader thinking they're in Wild's Hyrule, but his doesn't quite look like this, does it? Reader thinking that, hey, at least they're hidden and in a forest, only Oh Sweet Goddess Above-- THE TREES ARE MOVING-

・❥・Reader doesn't know what to do because THE TREES ARE COMING AFTER THEM, they were forbidden from having a weapon (Because why would they be separated ever? They were there to protect their sweet reader? why would they need to burden themselves with a weapon when the Links could fight for their honor?), and THE TREES WERE ATTACKING THEM-

・❥・But, here comes their knight in shining armor- or some sort of blue tunic. Honestly, the tunic was styling if we're being honest; the open back and split sides along the hips? (Iykyk)

・❥・The trees are taken care of easily and the blond is turning to look at reader.

・❥・Reader just knows. "...I'm gonna guess your name is Link?"

・❥・And while on the outside, all he gives is a simple nod, it's anything but simple. You, this gorgeous being that he just so happened upon, recognized him. It seemed that without Zelda parading him about like some show dog for all of Hyrule, people didn't know who he was. but you? You did? You knew who he was? And the way you were staring at him was like you knew what he had done. The sacrifices he had given. And you were thankful and appreciative. Which was all he asked for.

・❥・You then thank him (You THANKED him) for saving your life and explain that you had been separated from your group. (Group? You had a group? And they just...let you out of their sight?) He offers to help you look for them and you eagerly accept.

・❥・Now, he latches onto you pretty quickly. Your already used to all the Link-isms so he isn't much different. The silence, the constantly guarded exterior, your used to all of it. And it just convinces him further that you're perfect for him.

・❥・Eventually the rest of the chain do pop up. But this Link isn't convinced their safe, after all, Ganon could make puppets out of everyone. Whose to say their not puppets or Yiga? It's better to stay with him, can't you see that?

・❥・The chain obviously have a different opinion on the matter, Legend all but Demanding you back. Hyrule and Four try to placate this Link, while Wild, Wind and even Twilight are trying to think of way of just scooping you up and running. Sky and Warriors are trying to barter with this Link (What does he want? Fairies? Potions? Money? They could have it all should he just give you back). Time is the only one to recognize that this is still a Link. He still wants what's best for you. That doesn't mean he trusts him.

・❥・If Fierce Deity and First are int he group at this point, they too are probably either trying to manipulate explain to this Link that they are in fact your aforementioned group or are just barely holding onto the shred of sanity left thats stopping them from simply doing away with this obstacle.

・❥・But this Link, like all Links, is stubborn. Not just a regular stubborn either. He has learned the hard way that if he wants something, he's going to have to fucking cling to it to keep it. And he's not losing you. Eventually they explain the situation after a bit of your pestering and he loosens up, just the slightest, to take in their words. That doesn't mean he lets go though. Oh no, he just lets them meander closer without threatening a flame throwing at them.

・❥・He's sort of indifferent to Wild, I would think, since they're kind of the same person. He was just dealt the shittier hand.

・❥・When asked where Zelda is, he simply points up (Maybe her name is Natura? Idk, I'm uncreative). He does not elaborate. They don't ask him to.

・❥・Now, it's obvious you have just claimed this Link. He's yours. Sorry not sorry. It's just a matter of taking him with you. He's insistent on not leaving your side. The Demon King isn't actually doing anything, other than unleash monsters the people of his land are already familiar with. This is obviously a new threat and he's a Link isn't he?

・❥・In terms of names? Maybe he's the hero of the Zonai because Tears of the Kingdom doesn't really give us much to work with. Maybe they call him both Zonai and Sage. I like Sage, so I'm going with that.

・❥・The way he fights is fast and brutal, delivering hits that dissipate his enemies own mobility before delivering a fatal last hit. He's a unit of a man, probably like Twilight, if not a little smaller. (Have you seen the shit he has to lug around? Mans is built.) Same height as Wild though, just more built.

・❥・As for the type of Yandere he is? He's on you. Constantly. He is hovering over you because anything and everything can be ripped away from him in an instant, as Hylia as so helpfully shown. He is making sure nothing gets the chance to get closer to you. And he's using his new abilities to do so. Wild is probably interested in the abilities and the arm and the tech, since his Hyrule, after Sage's, is the most technologically advanced.

・❥・He's inspecting your food, checking your person every time you disappear out of his sight for a second, snarling at people who attempt to talk to you.

・❥・The group have to keep him in check like an untrained puppy.

・❥・Oh, but how he laps up the attention Reader bestows upon him. He is such a cuddle hog and he knows it, smirking smugly at the others while you hold him close because oh how his arm hurts so badly, didn't you know? Oh, how the gloom has him feeling absolutely rotten, please can he just lay with you for a while? Just until he settles back once more? Pretty please?

Anyway, those are my thoughts for now, feel free to add your own!

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #loz #Lu x reader #yandere legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda totk #tears of the kingdom #tears of the kindom spoilers #But imagine him!#He would be so loving #because he knows what its like to lose everything #and he remembers it all #just wanna give him kithes

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shadowtriovibes · 1 year

Text

i think i'm gonna love you (for a long, long time)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, oral sex, unsafe PIV sex, enemies to lovers, rivals with benefits, love confessions, slightly sentient Room of Requirement

Summary: request: "what if seb and reader have been academic rivals since they’ve started hogwarts, are basically enemies, and seemingly can’t stand each other. meanwhile everyone knows of their rivalry, BUT what they don’t know is that the two take their aggression out on each other by sleeping together … and maybe seb eventually admits his feelings when someone tries to flirt/sleep with reader and seb gets pissy and jealous…"

But not even three days had gone by before you were at it again – this time with Sebastian lifting you onto an unused potions stand and burying his face between your thighs. Afterward you heard yourself saying filthily enticing nonsense to Sebastian to coax him into pressing inside you, fucking you so hard that a whole stack of empty cauldrons next to you tipped over – and even then you didn’t stop. You have not and will not talk about it. "Take out your wand," you growl. "Take off your clothes," he counters.

To this day, neither you nor Sallow will admit which one of you found the Room of Requirement first.

If you ask him, he’ll swear up and down that he found it first. As his story goes, he’d been wandering the Astronomy Tower in a frenzy, pacing back and forth in front of that batty tapestry with the dancing trolls and thinking that he desperately needed somewhere where he could grow magical plants with the same kinds of results he would get back home in Feldcroft.

Sebastian isn’t exactly a green thumb, but he’s nevertheless determined to excel in Herbology, just like he does in all his classes. Magical plants are overflowing with life and therefore especially challenging to someone like Sebastian, who firmly believes that he can track down a book that will help him solve just about anything. But to succeed in Herbology, he needed planters, and good soil, and most of all a consistent climate like the temperate hamlet in which he grew up.

Then the Room of Requirement appeared, offering a spacious greenhouse-like room full of empty planters, limitless fertilizer and a shelf full of books on Herbology.

You, on the other hand, contend that he’s utterly full of it.

You had obviously found the Room of Requirement first because Professor Sharp had specifically mentioned its existence to you. (Of course, it was an attempt to stop you from lingering in his potions classroom at all hours trying to improve your brewing skills.)

When you had entered, you were greeted by an array of squeaky-clean cauldrons, a dozen potions stations, shelves of exotic ingredients in glass jars – even a hopping pot!

Neither of you had known that the other was aware of the Room’s existence until one late autumn evening in your sixth year when you’d both arrived at the same time to do some after-hours studying.

To say that you and Sallow had a complicated relationship is a severe understatement. Academic rivals, occasional friends, frequent adversaries… no one really knew where the two of you stood on any given day. By your sixth year, you both were competing to be at the top of your class and your friendship was extremely tenuous at best. The stress of your upcoming N.E.W.T. exams was tangible, and while neither of you said anything to the other, both of you felt overwhelmed – and you needed that Room.

You’d nearly dueled for it right there in the hallway, but then the door to the Room quickly appeared and inside you’d discovered that it had efficiently rearranged itself to suit both your needs.

You made a pact that the east wing full of bubbling potions and self-cleaning cauldrons was to be your domain, and the west wing’s long rows of planters bursting with plant life would be Sebastian’s. For the rest of the year, you’d simply tried to avoid each other as much as possible.

—

“You’re a right foul prick, you know that?” you tell Sebastian as the door to the Room slams shut behind you.

“What is it this time?” he asks lazily, trimming a few leaves off of a dittany plant without sparing you a glance.

“You cheated today at Crossed Wands,” you insist.

You shrug off your robes and drop your school bag to the floor, leaving your belongings in a messy heap feet from the Room’s entrance. As soon as Sebastian hears your bag hit the ground, he sets down his shears.

“You’ve finally gone mad,” he says simply. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“You cheated,” you repeat. “Even Lucan thinks using Diffindo was a step too far.”

“I missed, didn’t I?” he reminds you as he turns around. “Though judging by the state of you, that’s hard to believe.”

Admittedly, you are quite disheveled. You’d practically sprinted up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower to give Sebastian a piece of your mind, and now you’re red-faced, a bit sweaty and your hair is a wild mess.

“I have half a mind to hex you right here, right now,” you seethe.

Sebastian rakes his gaze down your body and smirks.

“Did you come all this way just for a rematch?” he asks, his voice low.

That’s all it takes for the energy in the room to shift wildly.

You are not proud of this, but ever since the beginning of your seventh year, you and Sebastian have been sleeping together. It’s just a ridiculous amount of sex, really.

You can’t even remember how it started. You just remember that one day, the two of you were standing in the middle of your shared Room arguing ferociously about whether you could help yourself to some of the lacewing flies flitting around Sebastian’s Mallowsweet bushes.

The next thing you knew, your back was against a bookshelf and your arms were wrapped around Sebastian’s neck while he kissed you breathless. Moments later, your skirt was pushed up around your waist and he was pressing two fingers inside you and it was bloody brilliant.

After he’d deftly gotten you off and you’d returned the favor with your mouth, you quickly sprung apart and didn’t say a word to each other.

You have not and will not talk about it.

“Take out your wand,” you growl.

“Take off your clothes,” he counters.

Your hands twitch at your sides as you consider your options. Wand or skirt? Vengeance, or satisfaction?

Sebastian looks entirely too satisfied with himself when you mumble a curse under your breath and reach behind you for the clasp of your skirt.

He quickly unbuttons his own shirt while you step out of your shoes and roll down your stockings. Lately whenever the two of you strip off your clothes, it turns into an unspoken race that Sebastian wins almost every time, though you insist it’s only because he doesn’t have to wear corsets.

At least he’s not too much of a prick to make you take off the offending garment yourself, even if it’s mostly an excuse to get his hands on your body as soon as he can.

Sebastian is still wrestling with the last hook on your corset when a door appears in the middle of the back wall of the Room, creaking open with absolutely no subtlety.

(You had both been horrifically embarrassed the first time the Room had offered you a bedroom, but since then you’ve grown to appreciate it.)

Sebastian roughly marches you inside and pushes you down on the bed. You snap at him to watch it, not so hard up for him that you won’t go and get your wand.

He simply raises an eyebrow at you like he doesn’t believe you and joins you on the bed, turning you over onto your stomach.

“I’m not a dog, Sallow,” you protest.

“Let me get a look at you first,” he explains. “Got you in the back at Cross Wands, I just want to check that it’s closed up.”

You fall silent at that. Rather than firing off a witty retort about how it’s so typical that he’d cast a spell at you with your back turned, you reach for a pillow and wad it up under your head, letting him trace his fingertips over a sensitive, freshly-healed burn wound on your shoulder blade.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your back?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you answer, just as softly. “Poppy put some salve on it for me, it’s fine.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

Before he lets you turn around, he presses a soft kiss over the wound. It’s unsettling at first. It feels sweet, apologetic – possibly even claiming. Those are not words you associate with Sebastian Sallow of all people, who is brash and unrepentant and certainly not dependable.

(These are all things you remind yourself daily to try to stop being so stupidly, foolishly in love with him.)

Then it’s over, and he’s got you on your back with his hands on your tits while he’s determinedly tonguing at your clit, stubbornly set on making you come with just his mouth as if to prove that he can.

—

You’re in an especially foul mood several weeks later when Leander pulls you aside after Charms class.

“Can I help you?” you ask annoyedly.

Your patience for Prewett has gone down significantly since you were younger. As a spoiled young man about to enter the wizarding world, he’s become haughty and pretentious and remains not particularly talented.

He’s nothing like Sebastian, your lovesick brain tells you, which makes you sincerely sick of yourself as well.

“Perhaps you can,” he says teasingly. “I was thinking about going down to Hogsmeade this weekend and I wanted to invite you to join me.”

“I don’t have time, I need to study,” you tell him, trying to beg off.

“You do seem particularly aggrieved today,” Leander points out. “Why don’t you let me take you to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer?”

“Leander, I’m just not interested,” you insist, moving to duck around him.

“Quit being ridiculous, we’ve been playing this little game for far too long,” he says arrogantly, reaching for your hand to stop you from walking off.

Before he can touch you, a fiery spell arcs through the air and lands squarely on Leander’s palm. He yelps in pain as he pulls back his hand, cradling it to his chest.

“What the bloody hell was that?!” he demands. “Did you do that?”

“I did, Prewett,” you hear Sebastian’s voice say.

You glance behind you and notice that he’s leaning far too casually against the wall outside of class, lazily spinning his wand in his fingers.

“You seem to have a really hard time understanding the word ‘no,’” Sebastian observes. “That thick-headedness, is that something all Gryffindors have, or is it just you?”

As a Gryffindor yourself, you shoot him a look.

“Bugger off, Sallow,” Leander replies. “This is none of your business, you prat.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Sebastian says, his voice formidably even. “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, that’s very much my business.”

“Since when do you give a damn about her?” Leander challenges. “You two hate each other, everyone knows that.”

“We don’t,” you mumble. “Sebastian, he just – we’re competitive, that’s all. But we’re friends.”

“‘Competitive?’ He’s nowhere near your level,” Leander sneers.

Sebastian scoffs, and you brace for him to go on and on about his many accomplishments – all earned, of course – but instead he says, “Obviously, Prewett, as there’s no one in this entire school who’s good enough for her, myself included. But you don’t have to try so damn hard to fall to the bottom of the list.”

Good enough?

You blink, stunned. Leander looks bewildered as well, but then he demands, “Is that what this is about? You’re in love with her?”

“What?” you laugh. “Of course he’s not.”

“Of course I am,” Sebastian says easily. “Hopelessly, in fact.”

You must have fallen and smacked your head off the statue outside of class when Leander tried to grab you, you think. That’s the only way any of this makes any sense.

“You’re pathetic,” Leander guffaws. “Merlin, Sallow, I actually feel bad for you!”

Again, you brace yourself for Sebastian to throw a litany of devastating curses toward Leander, but instead he simply shrugs and tucks his wand away.

“Go right ahead, mate,” he says, reaching for your hand.

Mindlessly you let him take it, lacing his fingers with yours while Leander just gapes. Without another word, Sebastian leads you toward the stairs up to the Astronomy Tower, the small crowd of students who’d gathered to watch the whole debacle swiftly parting for him.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “What were you thinking back there?”

“Evidently I wasn’t,” he says under his breath.

“You have to apologize to Leander, and tell him you were just joking,” you say anxiously, fretting the whole way up the stairs. “He’s going to tell the entire school otherwise, and they’re all going to believe that you–”

“That I’m in love with you?” he cuts you off. “Good.”

“Good?!” you sputter. “But it’s not true!”

Sebastian comes to an abrupt stop feet from the room to the Door, a dumbstruck look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“You aren’t in love with me,” you say deliberately, as if you’re trying to communicate with someone who’s been concussed by a Bludger. “You don’t even like me, you can barely stand me.”

He’s wordlessly watching you pace and rant at him, his expression drawing tighter.

“It’s different in the Room, that’s not – that’s just physical,” you insist. “I understand that, Sebastian.”

“That’s what you want?” he asks, his voice sounding rougher than usual. “Just meaningless sex?”

“That’s what it’s always been, hasn’t it?” you ask desperately.

You feel like you’re going a bit mad. You never talk, you just strip each other bare and cling to each other unrelentingly like anchors while you get each other off, you thought that that’s all you could ever expect from him.

“Not for me,” Sebastian says bitterly. “Not for a while.”

“You… you never told me,” you breathe, your fingers twitching at your sides as though your hands have to reach out for him.

“I was scared!” he shouts. “I knew you didn’t feel the same way and I didn’t want to stop, I couldn’t stop, so I didn’t tell you.”

Merlin, you’re both so damn stupid, you realize.

“But you’re wrong,” you tell him, still tensed up like you’re both about to draw wands at each other. “Sebastian, I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

Before either of you says another word, the door to the Room of Requirement swings open unprompted, and you become keenly aware of the sound of fourth-year students stomping up the stairs to their Astronomy lesson.

“Inside,” he murmurs, and the two of you quickly duck into your Room.

Sebastian reaches for you as soon as the door melts away. But this time instead of tugging off your tie or fumbling with the waistband of your skirt, he simply holds you against his chest, nose buried in your hair.

“Say it again,” he pleads.

“I love you,” you confess, lips pressed to the hollow of this throat. “I’m mad for you, Sebastian.”

“I need you,” he growls as his hands slide down from your back to your ass, easily sliding underneath your skirt. “I need you like this.”

He pulls you into a desperate kiss, and you can’t help but smile against each others’ lips when you hear that bedroom door creak open.

He marches you inside just like he had before, but this time you appreciate that his hands are gentle on your body as he maneuvers you toward the bed. You step out of your skirt and stockings and let him take off the rest, helping himself to slow, lazy kisses in between pulling garments off of you.

“Sebastian,” you eventually whine. “Hurry up.”

“Merlin, you’re still the same as before,” he laughs delightedly. “I’ll never catch a break with you, will I?”

“Never,” you grin.

Sebastian divests you of your corset and you lie down on the bed to watch him take off his own uniform. You’ve known him for so many years now, but in the past year, you’ve closely watched him grow from a boy into a man – solid, broad and deceptively tall.

“Come here,” you whisper, and he practically throws himself onto the bed.

“Can I ask you something?” he whispers against your jaw.

“Anything,” you breathe.

He pauses for a beat before murmuring, “Do you think it will be different now? Since we love each other?”

You pause to consider, but then you tell him, “I don’t think so, no.”

“Why’s that?” he asks curiously.

“Because we’ve been in love with each other this whole time,” you tell him softly. “So it’s not that different, really.”

Sebastian makes a heartbreakingly fond sound before he starts kissing down your body, single-minded in his quest to pleasure you.

You lose track of time while he’s licking you open, deliriously babbling words of praise and pleas for more until you realize you’ve both certainly missed your last class of the day. You don’t think you or Sebastian has ever missed a class, certainly not since your O.W.L.s, and now here you are with your legs spread and your love’s tongue on your clit and you can’t even remember what class you just missed.

He makes you come twice before he entertains the idea of letting you catch your breath, but he doesn’t give you much time to recover before he’s throwing your legs over his shoulders and sinking inside you, his brow furrowed and his mouth hanging open.

“Bastian,” you whine. “Please.”

He’s perhaps a touch too gentle with you at first, romanticizing your first time together as actual lovers rather than rivals letting off some steam.

But by now you’ve done sinful things in this bed more times than you can count, and you need the Sebastian who routinely whispers pure filth in your ear until you’re trembling on the edge of your climax – and he’s happy to deliver.

You’re nearly bent in half by the time he spills inside you, softly groaning your name. You slide a hand down your body to rub your clit and make yourself come one last time, desperate to reach your peak with him still inside you.

“Let me,” he grunts, nudging your hand away so he can finish you himself.

You’re completely spent by the time Sebastian pulls out of you and collapses next to you in bed. He tugs you against his chest and nudges a leg between yours, and that’s the first thing you notice that’s different than before.

You get to stay with him.

Despite knowing full well that you’ll surely miss dinner if you fall asleep, you both quickly drift off curled around each other, soaking in the peace and quiet of your Room.

—

The next morning, you and Sebastian wake up in a very different Room than the one you’ve occupied for the past two years.

Instead of a strict divide between your space and Sebastian’s, your bubbling cauldrons and bursting planters are tucked up together in thoughtful pairs — dittany next to the Wiggenweld cauldrons, knotgrass by your simmering Invisibility potions and so on.

“This is brilliant,” Sebastian observes after you get redressed and pace the length of the room together. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

You shoot him a withering look. “You know precisely why, Sallow.”

He laughs brightly and bumps his shoulder against yours.

“Regardless, good luck separating them now,” he murmurs. “What’s mine is yours, love.”

“What’s mine is yours,” you agree, a content smile on your lips.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #my fic #enemies to lovers #rivals with benefits c'mon now!!!#also it's late and i'm sleeby but i wanted to post this for the lovely anon who requested it #i hope it's coherent it's unbeta'd as always

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 8 months

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Hello my stupid brain rot about yanquing twin sibling reader and about thier encounter with jing liu and how reader and yanquing remindes her of for explain jing Yuan and blade and I don't know why but post lofu I can see jing liu telling the general that she will take the reader as her new student but reader is like NO! I will not leave my bro alone and says how yanquing can't be left alone becose well after how yanquing left the reader to be beaten up by blade amd Dan henga they will never leave thier bro alone....NEVER!

I think I get what you're request, @zardas75 ! I'll try my best for this request :)

Ohohoho...It's Aboutta Go Down.

(Warning: Might be OOC! All Relationships are STRICTLY Platonic!)

The moment you and Yanqing saw Jingliu just stroll on in so chillaxed, you both brought out your swords and nearly launched.

Had it not been for Jing Yuan being present, and giving you the look that says "Not now," you both would've probably gotten straight into battle.

And the moment Jingliu opens her mouth and say she wants to take you for a disciple, you were two milliseconds away from sending out an entire paragraph filled with the verbal middle finger—which was very unprofessional, but hey, does it look like you care? Absolutely not!

Jing Yuan is glaring down at his former master and Yanqing is fuming. And honestly, you don't blame either of them. You and Yanqing had to constantly hold each other back by the absolute nonsense Jingliu was spewing out her throat.

"You are not taking one of my disciples...Master." Jing Yuan glares down at the former Sword Champion. "You are not taking them, regardless of their status as my retainer. I refuse to have my retainers separated."

He knew darn well the mayhem and bloodshed you both can cause if he agrees with this. And even looking over that part, he would never give you over to Jingliu. She was dangerous. She was mara-strucked and harsh. He would know—he's seen it all in his long life.

Yanqing is over and beyond furious that this woman is trying to take you—his twin sibling—away from him—your twin brother. And you share the same emotions so, what the hell, Jingliu!

"I'M NOT GOING WITH HER." You declare, seething and not afraid to show your hatred. "Why should I go with her anyway?! What's wrong with how I do things now, huh?"

"You have potential. Even more so than your fellow disciple." "Says who, you? Why should I listen?" "I can help you hone your skills. You can be the next greatest sword wielder of the Xianzhou Luofu." "I'll start listening to you when I start seeing rocks grow wings and fly, or mechanical cranes start laying eggs out of their non-existent a—" Yanqing covers your mouth.

Jingliu tilts her head. "Why are you so persistent in staying with them? Your fellow friend here has proved to need much improvement—" You both narrow your eyes at that comment. "—while it's clear that you have the means to go further than the level he is playing at. Do you truly not wish to exceed your swordsmanship further?"

Just as Jing Yuan was about to talk in his ever serious general voice, you pried off Yanqing's hand and say. "Why should I work with someone who likes to beat up my twin? Are you stupid?! At least have the manners to be apologetic about it, like that Dan Heng guy! You're just as bad as Blade at this point—"

Yanqing quickly covers your mouth again. You two made eye contact, remembering what you two swore not to speak of when in front of Jing Yuan—Don't talk about Dan Heng or Blade in front of the General. Looks like you got too caught up in your emotions, but you were still standing strong in your statement.

Jing Yuan sighs. He was aware of the entire situation, but he hadn't really expected for you to still hold a grudge for that Yanqing got beat by his old friends. Nevertheless, he looks over at Jingliu. "As you can see, Master, they are showing great reluctance to participate to train with you. I advise you leave, or we will have to...contain you, so to speak." You and Yanqing raise your swords, ready for the fight and the chase.

Yes, Jingliu escaped in the end. Girlie is fast fr.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: N/A

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thatbloodymuggle · 5 months

Text

READY TO RUN (vi)

SIX - PIANISSIMO

SUMMARY: in a world where everyone has a predetermined match, JJ Maybank and Y/N Montgomery want nothing to do with theirs. it has to be a cruel joke; the universe forcing two people to love each other when they don’t know how.

PAIRING: jj maybank x reader / soulmate au

WORD COUNT: 7.8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: implied abuse

✰✰✰

"Bravo, Y/N! Much, much improved!" Madame Mercier applauded enthusiastically as you removed your hands from the keys and returned them to your lap.

You exhaled in relief and a proud grin tugged at your lips.

"Did you do something different during your practices this week? At this rate we may be able to sneak in another piece for your exposition," the old woman praised you.

I got dicked down by JJ Maybank, you thought.

"I did a lot of chunked repetitions," you said.

Madame placed her wrinkled hands on your shoulders, "Well keep doing that, chérie. My only criticism is measures--"

"64-68. I know," you finished your teacher's sentence. The woman nodded once sharply before placing your notebook down, silently dismissing you from your lesson.

Just as you rose from the bench, the front doorbell rang followed by a sharp knock. Madame Mercier's brows cinched and she mumbled under her breath, "Qui est là?"

You continued your work packing up your things as Madame went to answer the door. You nearly dropped your books when you heard your father's distinct voice sound through the house.

"It's nice to see you, Madame. I'm not interrupting, am I?"

You scrambled to finish packing your bag and rushed out of the room, nearly tripping over your clumsy feet. You slid into the front room with a frazzled look as you stared wide-eyed at Clyde Montgomery. He stood with his hands on his hips as he spoke with your teacher with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his stern eyes. His gaze shifted to you and he cocked his head, beckoning you over.

"I apologize for showing up unannounced," he addressed Madame, "I simply wanted to check in on Y/N’s progress. I trust she communicated with you our deal?"

Madame pushed her wire-framed glasses onto her head as she squinted up at the tall man in confusion. Clyde shot you a hard look as it was evident the older woman had no idea what he was talking about.

"Y/N, go wait outside in the car. I'll be there shortly," he sighed, running a hand over his face.

Your lips dipped and you shrank in on herself at his tone. You felt like a child. Nevertheless, you nodded obediently and scurried out of the house, avoiding Madame's watchful eye. You clambered into the front seat of the Rolls-Royce and slammed the door shut behind you with a groan. You shouldn't have been surprised by your father's lack of trust. He had actually been giving you more freedom than expected. But it still frustrated you, nonetheless. You leaned your head against the window and shut your eyes with a sigh. While you waited, you drummed measures 64-68 on your thigh, hoping to imprint the problem area in your muscle memory.

You were jolted from your ghost playing by the opening of the driver's side door as Clyde climbed into the expensive car beside you. You tensed at your father's presence, subconsciously sitting up a little bit straighter.

"Well, I'm disappointed that you didn't inform your teacher of our arrangement," your father spoke gruffly as he turned the keys in the ignition. You shrunk in on yourself. "But she had nothing but praises to sing of you," he continued while pulling the car from the curb.

Your shoulders slumped with relief.

"We briefly spoke about the Juilliard scout's visit. I'll arrange to have the clubhouse reserved for the event, as well as catering," he added as he drove down the street.

You nodded, "Thank you, Dad. I really appreciate it."

While you truly did appreciate the support, it was a double-edged sword; now Clyde had put a stake in your success at the showcase. If God forbid, something went wrong, you would never be allowed to forget all that your father did to make it possible only for you to screw it up.

You stared out of the window and diverted your focus toward the passing white houses to prevent your thoughts from spiraling. You jolted as your phone buzzed in your lap.

4:17 PM Kate: what time for movie night?

You gnawed on your bottom lip as you were reminded of the friends you had been avoiding for over a week now. You couldn't possibly push this off any longer.

"Hey, Dad?" you looked at your father. His eyes remained trained on the road ahead, but he grunted, signaling you to continue, "Is it okay if I sleep over at Kate's tonight?"

Clyde mulled over your question for a moment before replying, "Considering you've been on top of your responsibilities I suppose that would be alright. But I expect you to be back in time for Georgia's tennis tournament. We'll be leaving the house at 10 A.M."

You nodded, "Yes, Sir,” and quickly typed a response to Kate.

to Kate:

how about 8? delivered 4:19 PM

You sighed and rested your head back against the window. Now you just had to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kate; surely easier said than done. You wondered if JJ could feel the anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach. He surely felt the aching of your hands from your grueling practice session. Your lips quirked as you thought of Madame's remark about your drastic improvement. If JJ ever found out that fucking your senseless had such an effect on your piano performance, you would never live it down.

Before you could stop yourself, your mind drifted to him. You pictured yourself on the back of his dirt bike again, the wind tickling your skin. It almost felt sinful, indulging in the memory of it. And as you wondered when you would see him next, you savored the impurity of it all.

✰✰✰

"You're such a freak," Dixie's grating voice jostled you from your ghost practicing.

You huffed at the disturbance and narrowed your eyes at your older sister. Convincing Dixie to drive you to Kate's house, although only 10 minutes away, was like pulling teeth. You weren't in the mood to argue with her in the car, but it seemed nearly impossible as you felt the annoyance seeping from Dixie at your incessant finger drumming.

You rolled your eyes, "At least I have career aspirations beyond whacking a ball around with a stick."

"Career aspirations, my ass," your older sister scoffed at your insult as she sped down the state road, "You forget that I already have a job lined up at Fox after graduation," she added smugly.

You snorted at this, "Yeah, 'cause the world needs another Banana Republican to tell them all about everything wrong with the snowflake liberals."

Dixie gripped the steering wheel and seethed, "Watch your mouth, Y/N. If you're not careful, I might just accidentally slip up in front of Mom and share all about your little display at Topper's birthday."

Your face paled and you snapped your head toward your older sister, "How the hell did you find out about that?"

"You weren't exactly subtle, little sis," Dixie quipped with an eye roll.

You huffed but relented and slumped back into the passenger seat. You knew nearly every Kook on the island was at Topper's party, but you foolishly never considered the possibility that Dixie and her friends were there. You remained silent for the rest of the drive and nearly leaped out of the car when Dixie finally stopped in front of Kate's house. You didn't so much as wave Dixie goodbye as your older sister zipped away.

You shuddered as you shook off your annoyance and turned to face the walkway to the front door. With each step closer, your heart beat a little bit faster. You rang the doorbell before you could talk yourself out of it, and your breathing hitched as your head pounded in anticipation. You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. Just as you exhaled, the door swung open and you were enveloped in a hug. You stumbled backward as you were suffocated by the smell of Kate's vanilla shampoo. You wrapped your arms around your friend once you had recovered from the initial shock, and a small weight was lifted from your shoulders at the sign of affection.

"I missed you so much," Kate cried, tightening her hold.

"Me too," you gasped, "But I can't breathe."

Kate quickly unraveled herself and opted to place her hands on your shoulders instead, as you struggled to catch your breath. Kate stared at you with wide eyes, "Are you okay?"

You nodded with a soft smile. You leaned forward and wrapped her in a hug once more, and Kate made sure to be more gentle with her grip this time.

"You done suffocating her?"

Kate released you once again at the sound of Topper's voice.

You grinned up at your best guy friend, "You jealous?" youquipped.

Topper grunted and placed his hand on top of your head, rustling your around. You squealed, pulling away from him with a glare.

"Missed you, Montgomery," he smiled, satisfied at the mess he'd made of your hair, "Life was getting kind of boring without someone to bully."

"I'm so glad you see me as more than a punching bag," you retorted, sarcasm dripping from your lips.

Kate rolled her eyes at the interaction and grabbed your hand, dragging you to the living room. You smiled softly as you saw that the couple had laid out a huge bowl of popcorn alongside a variety of candy. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, as you realized how much you had missed your friends.

"As much as I've missed you, you do have some explaining to do," Kate spoke tenderly as she settled onto the couch and draped a throw blanket over her legs. Topper sat beside his girlfriend and stretched his legs out onto an ottoman. He remained silent but quirked his eyebrows in question.

You sighed but nodded. The anxiety you had felt before entering the house had returned with a vengeance. "I assume Anna hasn't said anything?"

Kate and Topper shook their heads.

"She hasn't even mentioned your name, but we've barely seen her. She’s been hanging around Charlie and Will's crowd," Kate replied.

You frowned, and you felt a sharp pang in your heart. Anna was one of your oldest friends. Surely she couldn’t just be moving on like nothing happened.

"Well," you started, but paused, unsure of how to continue. You wet your lips and took a deep breath before continuing. "I met my soulmate a couple of weeks ago," you ripped off the bandaid.

Kate's eyes bulged and she choked on her popcorn.

"You what?" she shrieked, and you winced at her volume. "How come you didn't tell us sooner? Who is it? When did you meet? What was it like-" Kate rambled out question after question but stopped herself as Topper squeezed her thigh, kindly telling her to shut up.

You laughed dryly, "It's complicated," Kate's lips dipped into a frown, but allowed you to continue, "And to be honest, I'm not ready to share who it is yet."

Kate couldn't stop herself from protesting, "Seriously, Y/N? So Anna can know but not me? She’s literally not speaking to you, and you still won't tell me?"

Guilt flooded you as you heard the hurt in her tone.

"I didn't tell Anna," you tried to defend herself, "Anna figured it out herself. And I promise I'll tell you as soon as I'm ready, but I'm still processing it myself."

You looked at Topper, who was yet to contribute to the conversation. His brows were cinched together in thought, and an indiscernible look clouded his eyes. Kate sighed, and reluctantly nodded in acceptance of your answer, "Okay. But please don't be scared to confide in me. I promise I won't just ditch you like Anna, no matter who it is."

Your lips quirked into a hesitant smile at Kate's promise. You could only hope that she would stay true to her word.

"But just don't go all MIA on us again, okay?" Kate added.

You didn't hesitate to nod in agreement, "I promise I won't."

Kate seemed satisfied enough with your response as she tackled you with one more hug, "We forgive you, you. Right, Top?"

Your eyes met Topper's. He was still clearly deep in thought, but even so, he gave you a sincere nod. You could’ve cried in relief at how well your talk had gone. You knew that this was all temporary and you would have to share the identity of your soulmate eventually; still, you relished the feeling.

Kate retreated to her position underneath the blanket and grabbed the TV remote, "So what are we watching?"

The trio ended up settling on Clueless, despite Topper's groans of protest. You relaxed on the couch and made your way through a bag of M&M's as you watched the story of Cher Horowitz and drooled over young Paul Rudd.

Your attention was diverted from the movie as your phone buzzed in your lap. You furrowed your brows as you set your candy aside to check it.

9:26 PM Unknown: wyd

Your nose scrunched in confusion. Who the hell was texting you at 9 PM on a Thursday? Shivers danced up your arms and your jaw fell slack as realization dawned on you. You had hastily given JJ your number for the purposes of your arrangement when he dropped you off at your house the other night. It had to have been him. Your face paled and your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, your mind drawing a blank as you tried to respond. You weren’t sure why you were so surprised by his text; you had willingly given him your number.

A minute or so passed before the shock settled, and you frowned as you read over his short message again. 'wyd'? Seriously? You scoffed at the douchiest text you’d ever received from a man.

You started typing out a response, before deleting it. You typed again, deleted, and typed again before giving up completely and shutting off your phone for the time being. You were not about to let JJ ruin movie night, you decided.

You felt blunt nails dig harshly into the side of your thigh, and you winced. You rolled your eyes as if JJ could see you. He must have seen that you had begun to type a response but never sent it. You tried to ignore him, but he was relentless. No more than a minute would pass before you would feel the sinking of his nails into your thigh. You ground your teeth and jumped out of your seat, sick of his antics. Topper and Kate both glanced at you curiously.

"Gonna get some water," you mumbled, quickly making your exit.

You gave yourself a harsh slap in the same spot on your thigh as you entered the kitchen, hopefully keeping JJ at bay at least for a little bit while you collected yourself. You pulled your phone out and opened his message once again, biting the inside of your cheek as your fingers once again hovered blankly over the keyboard. Finally, you formulated a lame response.

to Unknown:

can't tonight delivered 9:43 PM

You could literally feel his irritation at your response. Before you could finish pouring yourself a glass of water, your phone buzzed yet again. Just as you finished filling the glass and reached for your phone from the counter, a voice startled you.

"It's a Pogue, isn't it?"

You squeaked and clutched your chest, nearly dropping the water glass. You whipped around and looked at Topper, wide-eyed.

"Jesus, Topper, don't sneak up on me like that!"

He merely cocked a brow in response, waiting patiently for a response. You frowned at the look on his face and set your glass down with a sigh.

"How'd you figure?"

He shrugged, "Wasn't all that hard. You've been acting weird ever since the kegger. And that would explain what I heard from your argument with Anna. I'm surprised Kate didn't put two and two together, but you know how she can be gullible."

You looked down at your feet and slumped against the counter. There was no use denying it. Topper leaned on the counter beside you before continuing, "You don't have to tell me who it is yet. But can you just promise me you won't ditch us?"

You diverted your gaze up to meet his. His eyes were wide with sincerity, and your lips twitched downwards in confusion, "Of course, I would never ditch you guys, why on Earth would you think that?"

Topper shrugged, crossing his arms, "Well I never thought Sarah would completely cut me out of her life."

Your face fell at his response. He had been deeply hurt by her disappearance, and even though he had Kate, he surely missed her as a friend. You immediately felt bad that you hadn't thought of this, and you looped your arm through his, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Top. I know it may be hard for you to trust me when I say this, but I promise I will never leave you guys behind like that," you paused before continuing, "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

He chuckled at that, and wrapped an arm around your side, squeezing you softly before releasing you. "I think you're, like, in love with me or something," he teased.

You snorted, "I'd rather kiss a frog."

"You better get back in there, Kate may be gullible but she's not dumb," Topper cocked his head towards the living room while he grabbed his own drink.

You nodded and swiped your phone and water glass from the kitchen counter before striding back into the living room. Kate was completely immersed in the movie, oblivious to your disappearance. You smiled to yourself at the sight and returned to your position on the couch.

You couldn't even put into words the comfort the short chat with Topper bestowed upon you. You knew he wouldn't be thrilled when he found out the identity of your Pogue soulmate. But at least you knew you wouldn't lose him as a friend.

As the thought of the blond Pogue crossed your mind, you pulled out your phone once more and opened your messages.

9:44 PM Unknown: don't be a tease

You quickly typed out a simple, yet effective response and sent it before you could think twice about it. You turned your phone off and settled back into your seat, intent on paying attention to the rest of the movie. You tried your best to ignore the giddy feeling creeping up on you in anticipation of his response.

to Unknown:

tomorrow delivered 9:58 PM

✰✰✰

Your heart pounded as you placed your room. You double-checked that you had locked your door for the 6th time. You smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on your throw blanket. You fluffed your pillows, checked your makeup, and picked at your hair, all the while unable to take your eyes off of the ticking clock.

11:44 P.M.

He was supposed to be here by now.

You groaned as you desperately tried to find something to busy yourself with and calm your nerves, but to no avail. Why wasn't he here yet?

You checked your phone again. His lack of communication was not surprising, but that didn't stop your heart from dropping yet again at the sight of your empty lock screen. You read through the texts you’d exchanged for the dozenth time with a frown. With each minute that passed, you could feel yourself drifting closer to the conclusion you desperately hoped to avoid: JJ had stood you up.

You trudged towards the windows of the French doors leading to your balcony. You pulled back the curtains and just as you peered outside to the dark yard below, you felt a searing, blinding pain across your cheek.

It happened so fast, you could barely process it.

You stumbled backward as a violent force shoved you. You crumpled onto the ground in a heap. The first kick to your gut took you by surprise, and you cried out in pain. You grabbed a knocked-over pillow just in time to muffle your scream as the second kick came. You wheezed through muffled sobs but were given no reprieve. Kick after kick, you felt like someone was trying to rearrange your insides. You lay in a fetal position, clenching your fists so hard you were sure you were drawing blood. You waited for the familiar feeling of bone crunching underneath your knuckles, but it never came.

Finally, and suddenly it stopped.

You cautiously removed the tear-stained pillow from your mouth. Your gut throbbed so violently that you felt nauseous, and the stinging, invisible cut on your face sent waves of shooting pain to your head each time you blinked. But just when you thought it was over, an unrelenting force squeezed you by the throat.

Your tearful eyes shot wide open. You clawed desperately at your neck, but there was nothing there.

It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, you repeated to yourself in your head like a mantra.

But it was real. It just wasn't yours.

Just when you were beginning to see stars, the pressure constricting your throat disappeared. You spluttered and coughed violently as you gasped for breath, unable to contain the vicious sobs from escaping you.

But worse than the blinding pain plaguing your body was the visceral image of JJ lying crumpled on the ground somewhere, unable to fight back.

You used every ounce of will you had to shut your eyes tight and force yourself to breathe.

In, and out. Do it for him. He needs you.

You unfurled yourself from your position on the ground, fighting against your protesting body.

In, and out.

Your trembling hands reached for the water bottle on your bedside table. You forced the liquid down your aching throat, soothing the burning.

Do it for him.

You forced herself to your feet, continuing with your deep breathing. You slowly stumbled, one foot in front of the next, towards your door. You used the wall to support your weight as you wobbled down the stairs at an agonizingly slow pace.

He needs you.

You felt light headed by the time you had reached the kitchen. You swung open the freezer and blindly grabbed a handful of ice packs. Halfway there, you told yourself. You willed your mind to another place and focused on your breathing as you once again stumbled up the stairs and back to your room. Your hand fumbled with the lock behind you, and you used the last bit of adrenaline coursing through your to collapse onto your bed. Carefully, you laid on your left side, draped one ice pack over your right, and held another against your burning abdomen.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted at the relief of the cooling sensation. You could only hope it was enough for him to find the strength to get to safety. Your head spun as the adrenaline fueling you had run out. You couldn't find the strength to keep your eyes open, let alone reach for your phone. Your world went black as you gave into the exhaustion, despite your protesting mind.

✰✰✰

TAP TAP

You were shaken awake by a sudden noise.

Your groggy eyes blinked open, and you were instantly reminded of the now dull, throbbing pain in your gut.

TAP TAP

Despite your protesting body, you pushed yourself up. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you looked out the window and found a pair of familiar ocean blues staring back at you. You scrambled to your feet, flinging the now melted ice packs from your body. You moved as quickly as your body allowed to the French doors, swiftly unlocking and swinging them wide open.

your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you.

JJ was leaning against the balcony railing, masking the pain you knew was searing his side. Dried blood was smeared across the right side of his face, covering the cut you knew was underneath. The skin surrounding his neck was red, in the early stages of bruising.

But what pained you most was the clash between the boyish, lopsided grin painted on his lips and the agony swimming in his puffy eyes.

"Sorry I'm late, princess," he rasped.

Your bottom lip wobbled, and you launched herself towards him.

JJ stumbled as you buried your tear-stained face in his shoulder and wrapped your shaky arms around his neck. The two teenagers ignored the dull pain in their bodies, as the feeling of being wrapped up in each other provided a cure that rivaled even the strongest of painkillers. He snaked his arms around your waist and held onto your for dear life as you stumbled into your room.

"I'm gonna get blood all over your pretty little silk robe," his gasping breath tickled your ear.

"Shut up," you mumbled into the crook of his neck.

You threaded your trembling fingers through his blond locks, and JJ melted into your healing touch. You stood tangled together for what felt like hours, but were, in reality, mere minutes, each afraid to be the one to pull away.

You shifted in his hold, and pressed your lips against the side of his neck as you barely spoke above a whisper, "Please, let me help you."

He shivered at the feeling of your shaky breath on his bruised skin. JJ swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, before nodding once. You reluctantly untangled yourself from him and threaded your fingers between his, gently tugging him towards your ensuite bathroom. He avoided his reflection in the mirror as you guided him, pushing his shoulders so he sat on the closed toilet.

JJ watched as you crouched down and grabbed a first-aid kit from underneath the sink, alongside a container of cotton balls. You pulled out a small stepping stool and maneuvered it so it sat right in front of him. With all of your tools in place, you sat down on the small stool and assessed the damage. Your hands were gentle as you brushed his hair back. You felt a sharp pang in your heart as you looked closely at the injury on his face.

You bit back the question on the tip of your tongue: Who the hell did this to you?

"Do I still look pretty?" JJ half-heartedly quipped with a grin that didn't reach his tormented eyes.

You gave him a soft, sullen smile as you gently dabbed a wet washcloth around the cut on his face, "You'll be the belle of the ball when I'm done with you."

JJ couldn't help but stare at the way your brows cinched and the tip of your tongue poked out of your mouth as you cleaned the area, careful not to press too hard against his open wound.

"You're really beautiful, you know?" he whispered.

You flushed and you shook your head, "Even at your worst you're still pulling all the stops," you tried to joke off his compliment.

"No stops, just stating the truth."

You tried your best to ignore his beating stare and willed away the blush creeping up your neck. You sighed in relief as you saw that the cut on his cheek, while long, was not deep. You grabbed a cotton ball from your side and doused it with isopropyl.

"This might hurt," you mumbled before dabbing the soaked cotton ball along the site of the wound.

JJ hissed at the burning sensation and jerked away from your touch. You gritted your teeth and squinted as you shared the feeling. You gently intertwined your free hand with his and pulled him back wordlessly. He sucked in a breath as you went back to cleaning the area, forcing himself to remain steady.

You tossed the used cotton ball into the bin beside you. Your eyes trailed down from his cheek to his bruising neck. You pursed your lips at the developing bruises, and he squirmed under your scrutiny. JJ flinched as you delicately brushed the back of your hand over the affected area with a featherlike touch.

"I don't think I can do anything about these, but I can show you how to cover them up," you tried your best to speak in a steady, even tone, but the quiver of your voice at the horrific sight was undeniable. JJ gulped and nodded.

You stood from your seat and rummaged through your makeup drawer. You returned with a tube of concealer in hand. You held it out for him, and JJ cautiously grabbed it from you, examining its contents.

"Start with a little, and blend it out with your fingers until it looks like part of your skin. You can then keep adding more until it's completely covered," you explained softly. He pocketed the makeup, which he would likely be using the next day.

JJ watched as your hands trailed down to the hem of his shirt. He nearly melted when your eyes flicked up to meet his.

"Can I take this off?" you whispered.

His mouth was parched, unable to reply. He nodded again.

You swallowed down a gasp as you inched the material up, revealing a mess of purple and blue painted across his torso. Your heart shattered at the sight and you gulped, willing yourself to maintain composure. He raised his arms with a wince and pulled his shirt over his head, giving you a full view of the damage. You pressed softly against his abdomen and felt the sharp pain in your own.

JJ cleared his throat, "I don't think there's much you can do about that," he referred to the bruises.

You gnawed your lip in thought, and your heart skipped a beat as JJ pressed his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it out from between your teeth, "That's a really awful habit you have, you know."

You sucked in a breath as he ran his thumb along your lip, speechless.

"Compression can help with the swelling," you whispered, "If you'll let me wrap you up."

He nodded once.

You rummaged through your supply kit once more, pulling out a roll of elastic bandage. You worked slowly to not impose any unwanted pressure and ensure the bandage was wrapped with the proper amount of tension. JJ glanced down at the mess of bruises, instantly regretting his decision. He diverted his gaze to the white wall behind you.

"You can ask me," he broke the silence.

You paused your work, before slowly continuing, "Ask you what?"

He quickly replied, "What you've been dying to ask me since I showed up at your window."

You slowed as we neared the end of the area you needed to cover. You gently attached the velcro, careful not to press too hard against his side. Finally, your eyes flicked up to meet his, which were still trained on the wall behind.

"Who did this to you?" you rasped, your voice strained.

Unshed tears glossed over the ocean blues you were quickly growing to love. His lips curled into an eerie grin, "My old man's always been a mean drunk."

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and the roll of bandage fell from your hand.

For years, you’d felt the consequences of JJ's lifestyle. You were no stranger to the feeling of broken noses, bruised ribs, and black eyes. But you’d always chopped it up to your soulmate's reckless lifestyle. They were constantly getting themselves into trouble, and you were the poor bystander. You'd built up this image of them, an image of a soldier fresh out of war, battered but victorious. Never had you considered that they may be victim to a wickedness like no other.

A flood of emotions engulfed you. Shame, for assuming the worst of your other half. Anger, that a father could inflict such pain on his son. But most of all, heartache.

Your jaw fell slack and you watched as a single tear escaped the corner of JJ's right eye, trailing down the crevices of his face before finding refuge in the wrinkle of his sinister smile.

With a trembling hand, you caressed his jaw and delicately wiped the tear from his face. He shook his head violently as he buried his face in his hands.

You clambered onto his lap and snaked your arms around him. You tried with all your might to maintain composure as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His body trembled as you wrapped your legs around him. You used one hand to rub soothing circles into his back, while the other gently threaded through his hair.

"Please, don't pity me," he choked out, his breath tickling the nape of your neck.

You shook your head as you felt tears pricking at your eyes, "I don't pity you, JJ," you whispered into his ear, "You're so strong. Stronger than I ever really knew." His grip around your waist tightened.

You propped your chin on top of his head as he fell limp against you, relinquishing control and giving in to your embrace. You sat entangled on the porcelain toilet, unmoving. The two of you remained wrapped around each other until you lost feeling in your legs. You reluctantly unraveled your legs from around him so they dangled off his lap. You loosened your grip enough so you could rest your forehead against his.

You sat there, nose to nose, bloodshot eyes trained on one another, lips parted with bated breaths. You ran your fingers through his hair as you spoke softly, "Will you stay here tonight?"

JJ's puffy eyes shot down and he lurched forward in one swift motion. You gasped as he molded his lips against yours. The kiss was languid, but intoxicating all the same. The salty taste of his tears made it all the more electrifying as your lips moved together in sync. Your elegant fingers were gentle against the roughness of his jaw as you held him impossibly closer. And as your lips moved against JJ's, you realized that his pain had vanished, even if just for a moment. The fractured teenagers remained like this, glued together until their lips were swollen and they could no longer breathe.

"As much as I'd love to stay like this all night," JJ gasped, blue eyes swimming with desire, "I think I lost feeling in my legs 10 minutes ago."

His lips quirked into a smile as he watched you scramble from your seat on his lap, muttering apologies along the way. He couldn't help but indulge in the sight of you like this: wide-eyed, tousled hair, and robe askew, revealing a lacy bralette underneath. JJ pulled himself to his feet with a wince, now towering over you.

He ran the back of his fingers down the curve of your breast against the exposed lace, "You put on this pretty little number for me?"

You flushed and hastily readjusted your robe. You rolled your eyes in a pitiful attempt to conceal the effect he had on you.

"You know women don't always dress for men," you spoke with little conviction. But you certainly had.

As you cleaned up your discarded supplies, JJ finally looked at his reflection in the mirror. His breath hitched as he took in your handiwork; aside from the thin cut along his cheek and his puffy eyes, his face looked normal. His neck, on the other hand, was another case entirely. He gulped at the sight of the developing bruises and diverted his gaze elsewhere. While you continued with your tidying, he wandered towards the bedroom.

His jaw clicked as he took in his surroundings for the first time. Your bedroom was obscenely large. A fluffy, white carpet covered the polished wooden floors, and a king-sized bed stood proudly in the middle of the area. The dozens of pillows against the elaborate headboard elicited a scoff from JJ. Two pillows were a luxury for him, let alone 12. He kicked off his mud-caked boots and walked towards the bed, running his hand along the silk sheets peeking out from underneath the duvet. It looked like something straight out of The Princess and the Pea. He snorted at the thought; with all your pillows and silk sheets, you probably did sleep like the princess from the old fairy tale.

JJ found himself drawn to the upright piano. He ran his fingers across the pristine, white keys of the instrument, and pressed one finger down slowly onto an F. He felt the tension of the hammer hitting the string inside the instrument and listened in awe to the crisp tone that filled the room. His eyes wandered to the book propped open on the stand, battered and bent so that the pages wouldn't flip. His brows furrowed at the mess of tiny little notes and narrow measures, filled with pencil scribbles here and there.

JJ felt your presence creep up behind him. He glanced at you briefly, before returning to the piece of sheet music, "How the hell do you make sense of this shit? I think I'd have better luck reading in Chinese."

Your lips quirked and you hummed in amusement, "I never really thought of it that way, but I guess it kind of is like a different language."

He pressed down on another key.

"That's middle C," you commented.

"Middle who?" JJ questioned.

You couldn't help but giggle softly, "Each key has a name. They go from A to F, and middle C is the 4th C from the left," you explained.

JJ sat down on the bench as he pressed the same note again, "So how do you find the other C's?"

You sat beside him, "You can think of the whole piano in chunks, and each chunk is this thing called an octave," youplayed C5, "This is the next C key, so from middle C to here is an octave," youplayed C6, "And from where I just was to here is another octave."

He nodded, still perplexed by the instrument. "What about all the keys in between?"

You gracefully placed your hand on middle C, and made your way up the keyboard, naming each note as you played it, "C, D, E, F, G, A, B, and then back to C."

"What about the black keys?" JJ questioned, now playing an E.

"Don't worry about those, for now," you laughed airily.

You gently grabbed his right hand and guided it onto the keyboard. You positioned his thumb on middle C, his middle finger on E, and his pinky on G. You then placed your hand over his, and gently pushed down on these three fingers, indicating to him which ones to play. JJ watched in awe as the aurally pleasing combination of keys rang through the air.

"That's a C major chord," you explained, and he played it again. You guided his hand down an octave, and positioned his fingers in the same manner, instructing him to push down again, "And you can play it on any octave."

JJ was mesmerized by the instrument as you continued to show up the basics. You taught him how to play an arpeggio, albeit slowly, and after his unrelenting questioning about the mysterious black keys, you explained sharps and flats. He was so entranced by your knowledge of the instrument that the pain in his gut merely felt like a distant ache.

"Can you play something for me?" he asked, watching as the left corner of your pink lips twitched upwards.

You hummed in thought and shifted closer towards him so you sat on the center of the bench. JJ watched intently as you took a deep breath, shut your eyes, and let your hands fall onto the keys as you exhaled. Your eyes flicked open, and your fingers moved on their own accord as you played the opening sequence of Chopin's Nocturne in E flat major, a piece you had memorized for years now. JJ's ears perked at the familiar melody he must have heard in a movie before.

The sound your nimble fingers produced was captivating, and he found himself drunk off of the gentle, soothing melody. What captivated him most was not the nocturne itself, but rather, the ease with which you played. He watched, awestruck, as your hands glided across the keys with a fluidity he didn't know the human body possessed. your elbows never dipped and your back remained straight, but you still moved with the melody in a way that both unsettled and mesmerized him. your eyes fluttered shut as you played the last note. you waited until the tone had completely dissipated before opening them and removing your hands from the instrument.

You turned to JJ to find his eyes already trained on you. His lips parted and he rasped, "Do it again."

You released an airy laugh and shook your head, "Maybe another time," your eyes flit up to the clock hanging on the wall above, "It's almost 2 AM."

JJ shrugged, "The night's still young."

"And you're still injured," you retorted.

He huffed but relented as he knew he was on the losing end of this battle. You stood from the bench and pad towards your walk-in closet. Your cheeks flushed as you untied the front of your robe, and looked down at your lingerie. You hadn't known what a turn the night would take, but you still couldn't help but feel silly in your outfit. You didn't dare glance at JJ as you kept your back turned and dropped the robe, leaving you in a matching bralette and panties. you reached behind your to undo the clasp but jumped as JJ's hands covered yours and his breath tickled your neck. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

"Let me do it."

You relented and dropped your arms. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your back. He swiftly unclasped the bra and guided it down your arms. He groaned at the sight of your bare breasts, and you shivered at the sound. His rough hands snaked around your waist and roamed up your body as he pressed his lips against your collarbone. You gasped as he flicked your nipples with his thumbs, and they pebbled under his touch. You whined as he thrust his hips against your ass. You could feel his arousal both in the pit of your own stomach and poking behind you.

"You're so sexy when you play," he rasped against your neck, "I'd do anything to have you play one more song for me like this."

It took everything in you not to melt under his electrifying touch. Despite your protesting body, you pulled herself forward from his gasp and turned to face him, forcing his gaze upwards to meet your eyes.

"You're hurt and you need sleep," you spoke sternly.

You reached behind him to grab an oversized t-shirt, but he swiftly took it from your hands. "I'm all better now. Please," he pleaded, dipping his head back down towards you.

You stepped back and snatched the shirt back from his hands, pulling it over your head before he could protest. "No, you're not. Don't try to bullshit me; you forget that I can literally feel that you're lying."

JJ groaned, but yet again relented, as he knew you were right; as much as it irritated him.

He followed you to the bed and watched as you tossed aside the majority of the pillow mountain and pulled back the covers. He followed your lead and removed his shorts, leaving him in his boxers. JJ crawled underneath the covers as you turned off the lights, leaving only your bedside lamp. He nearly moaned at the soothing feeling of your plush mattress. He felt like he was being enveloped by a cloud, completely weightless. JJ slowly turned himself onto his good side and waited patiently for his other half.

You fought back a smile at the sight of JJ wrapped up in the fluffy confines of your bed. You crawled in beside him and turned to face him, your noses just inches apart. You lay there studying each other, neither of you wanting to be the first to break the comfortable silence.

Finally, JJ cleared his throat, "Thank you."

A sad smile graced your lips, "Don't thank me."

JJ's mind screamed at him to run. He barely knew you, and frankly, didn't like you. He had let you in on the darkest, most vulnerable piece of himself, and the thought alone terrified him. But his body relished in the comfort of you--the comfort of your healing touch and soothing words. There was something so captivating about you that made him want to open himself up completely, and let you read every page of his book.

You also had a million thoughts racing through your mind. You wanted so badly to plead with him to stay--stay in the safety of your arms, and never return to his broken home. But you couldn't find the words to say this, and you were terrified of overstepping and pushing him away.

You let out a shaky sigh, and spoke slowly, "If this ever happens again," you both knew the 'if' was a 'when', but you didn't want to admit that, "Or if you just need an escape, please come back here."

JJ knew that wasn't what you really wanted to say, but he feigned ignorance. Instead, he nodded and wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging your closer. JJ pressed his lips against yours softly in a fleeting kiss.

"You're too good to me, Montgomery," he mumbled against you, sending a shiver up your spine.

You pressed your lips firmly against his once more before turning your body and shutting off the light, leaving you in darkness. You leaned back against him and pressed your back against his front as he wrapped an arm around your waist and rested his chin in the crook of your shoulder. You fluttered your eyes as you relished in the undeniable comfort of his arms. The rhythmic sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart lulled you into a calmness like none you had ever experienced before.

And while you knew that this was the calm before the storm, you gave yourself to naivety, and slipped from consciousness completely.

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