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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 1 year ago

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I’ve been playing a lot of Super Mario Galaxy lately, and there’s a mechanic in a certain galaxy where, if you land in the water, you lose health due to how cold it is. But, even if he regained all his health, I’m sure the frigid temperatures would soon catch up with him.

That’s a very long way of saying - here’s a small, self-indulgent drabble! Though I absolutely love doing commissions, it’s nice to write something of my own accord every now and again. :)

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Mario had been gone for a few days. Usually, this wouldn’t be a reason for concern — after all, inter-galaxy travel took time.

But Luigi’s brotherly senses were tingling. Or, maybe it was just indigestion. Whatever the case, though, he had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that even anti-acids couldn’t solve. As many “bad feelings” as he had, this one seemed different. Like something he should listen to.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Rosalina had said, trying to placate him. “This particular mission may just need more time. Your brother wouldn’t want you to risk your life simply to ease your worry. But, if he doesn’t return in a few days, I’ll send both Lumas and Toads to guide him to a safe re-entry into our galaxy.”

Luigi couldn’t wait that long. There was definitely something wrong, he could feel it. He gathered up a few Toads that were wiling away the hours on the starship, hoping to find some semblance of a search party. But, as they often did, the Toads became distracted, and soon Luigi only had the scholarly blue Toad left. Luckily, they were more helpful than twenty of their fellow Toads.

“I remember,” they said, adjusting their glasses, “that his next stop was the FreezeFlame galaxy — one of the harshest in the universe. Especially its tundra.”

With this in mind, Luigi set off with the Toad in tow. Their knowledge of the starship allowed him to choose the route to the Freezeflame galaxy with little trouble and a starbit bribe for the guard Lumas.

Soon, the pair were shooting into space, with no knowledge what lay ahead of them.

Only now, in the frigid cold wearing nothing but his overalls, Luigi wondered if he made the right decision.

But he still had searched the frozen landscape, hands rubbing together and teeth chattering. Luigi was lucky he had Toad with him, who showed him the routed that had previously been discovered on Toad expeditions.

And they were even more lucky that they didn’t have to search for long.

“Mario?!”

A heap of red and blue floated on a nearby iceberg, unmoving. Luigi leapt from ice to drift to ice drift, trying not to slide into the frigid water as he got closer to his brother.

“Mario! It’s-a me, Luigi! I have come to rescue you!”

Despite himself, Luigi beamed. That felt good to say.

The figure shifted a little, and Mario’s flushed, round face peeked out from his cap.

“B-Bro…?” he croaked.

Luigi put his jumping ability to good use, as he bounded onto Mario’s iceberg in record time. He landed on his knees, sliding into an embrace with his brother.

“I am-a so glad to see you! I thought…I mean, I didn’t think…you…I…”

“It’s-a alright, L-Luigi, I’m here,” Mario said, rubbing Luigi’s back. “I - snf! - just got-a s-stuck on this iceberg. I can’t jump as f-f-far as you can…”

“Why didn’t-a you just swim back?”

Mario stretched out his arms. A thin layer of frost covered every inch of fabric, making the sleeves of his shirt sag.

“I t-t-tried. I c-can’t-a stay in there that-a long before…I…”

Mario’s mustache quivered, and his red nostrils flared. He patted his pockets, finally retrieving a handkerchief that was frozen solid. Luigi took out his own, green with yellow stars, and held it out to him.

“Th-Thank…wahhah-!”

He buried his nose into it.

“WAH’CHOOOOO!”

The mountains rumbled in the distance. Luigi got on one knee.

“C’mere, I’ll-a take you back to the starship.”

Luigi put his hands behind him, and Mario, with a sniffle, climbed onto his back, laying his head on Luigi’s shoulder. Despite the extra weight, he still managed to traverse the trail of icebergs with little trouble.

After reuniting with the dumbfounded Toad, they traveled back to the starship with a star they had brought along with them. Even after escaping the dismal galaxy, every inch of Mario’s body shivered.

“Are you okay, bro?” Luigi asked, keeping his brother steady as they soared through the stars.

“I’m-a little - snf! - c-cold, that’s-a all.”

Mario barely kept his footing as they landed in Rosalina’s bedroom. His face wasn’t nearly as red, but beneath the windburn was a weak paleness. Luigi felt Mario’s forehead as an Advisor Luma went to go tell their princess of their return.

“Marone! You-a feel like a hot plate of spaghetti!”

“I f-f-feel more-a like a p-panna cotta.”

Luigi took a blanket from Rosalina’s bed and draped it over his shivering brother’s shoulders.

“Let’s-a get you to bed, bro.”

“B-But Rosalina -”

“Rosalina can wait.”

Mario looked down, closing the blanket tighter around himself.

“I-I mean,” Luigi stammered, “I’m-a sure she won’t mind if-a you rest first.”

Mario nodded, his great mustache suddenly quivering. Luigi bent down, trying to look him in the eye.

“Mario?”

Mario covered his face with his gloved hands, turning away. His shoulders began to shudder. Luigi quickly took of his hat, squeezing it in his hands.

“N-No, I - don’t-a cry, bro! I didn’t mean to…I mean, Rosalina didn’t-a want to send a search party for you, and if I didn’t find you, I don’t-a know what would’ve happened! Oh, Mario, please don’t-a cry, I’m sorry…”

“W-What-a was I th-th-thinking?”

Mario buried his face in Luigi’s handkerchief, which was still in his pocket.

“I should-a have-a kn-known it was too f-far to j-jump…it n-never would have-a happened if I…hic! A-And you-a were s-so worried…”

Mario sniffled, then blew his nose with a loud honk. Luigi hadn’t seen him cry like this since they were kids. Usually he cried like their Papa, with only a small quiver of his mustache and a shiny look in their eyes.

Seeing him like this broke Luigi’s heart.

He embraced him from behind, running a hand through his hair.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s-a okay, bro. I’ve-a gotten stuck in plenty of places, remember? And you always saved me, right? It’s-a only fair I save you for a change.”

“I-I sh-sh-should have-a…hic-!…known b-better.”

“Just-a because you are the big brother doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes. Besides, if-a you would have stayed there much longer, you-a would have frozen into a Mario-sicle!”

Through his tears, Mario laughed. It was a weak chuckle, but it was enough for his sobs to partly subside. Luigi gave his brother one last squeeze before standing up again.

“Let’s-a get you to bed. It’s-a in the study, right?”

Mario nodded, shifting from one foot to the other.

“L-Luigi…?”

“Yeah, bro?”

Mario rubbed a finger under his nose.

“I kn-know it isn’t that far away, b-but…I don’t know if I…”

Luigi lifted his hand. “Say no more, bro.”

Luigi lifted Mario onto his back again, blanket and all. It wasn’t long after they made their way out of Rosalina’s bedroom that Rosalina herself hurried towards them with her entourage of Lumas.

“Luigi-!”

Luigi gave the princess a glare that not only stopped her in her tracks, but her advising Lumas as well. Without a word, he turned away and walked toward the study.

He would talk to her later. Right now, he had a brother to take care of.

#ohnosart #ohnos fics #snz #snz kink #snzblr #snz things #snezblr #snzario #snez kink #snz scenario #snezario #whump

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whumble-beeee · 1 year ago

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Whumptember 2023, Day One

"Did I do good?"

Mentor Whumper | Young Hero | Blood Loss

@whumptember

The Bee's Whumptember Masterlist

I wasn't planning on even doing Whumptember, but the first prompt was so perfect for a story that I'm writing, I just had to :) I will very likely continue with these prompts.

(This would take place as an epilogue to the main story which I will start uploading soon, several years after. Not sure if this'll be canon yet)

~910 words

CW: Blood, Manhandling

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Destron raced through the city streets on his motorbike, the usually calming roar of the engine now doing absolutely nothing to quiet the erratic beating of his anxious heart.

A distress call was to be expected of his young protégé; she was still new to hero work, as much as she had trained for it. He even told her to use it if she needed anything at all during her first lone patrol, be it a snack or lifesaving aid. He just didn't expect the fiercely independent hero-in-training to actually use the damn thing.

He skidded up to the given coordinates and leaped off the bike before it came to a full stop. An alleyway. Of course, what better place for a hero-in-training to have her first fight? But it wasn't the alleyway that commanded his attention. No, the alley was simply background, something to smear across his sight as his eyes locked on the young hero laying on the ground in a heap, covered in a gushing crimson red, and surrounded by a slowly growing pool of her own blood.

Someone was standing over her, trying to help. Or at least they were until Destron appeared, their face blanching as they recognized the villain. They breathed out, frozen, “Destron–…”

"JENNA!" Destron cried out. He shouldn't disclose her name in public, especially in front of a civilian. He didn't care. He didn't care. He needed her to hear him.

He was by Jenna's side before he even realized it, crouching over her, assessing the damage after unceremoniously shoving the person out of the way. He tapped hard on her shoulder and eventually her cheek. "Jenna, Jenna, please be okay, are you okay? You're okay, you’re okay, please be okay, WAKE UP!" His voice cracked, tears slipping down his face and into the fabric of Jenna’s tattered uniform.

Jenna opened her eyes tiredly to look at Destron, and Destron could have collapsed with relief.

He could vaguely hear the civilian moving behind him, pleading with him, but it didn’t register in his panicked mind. That was until the civilian grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him away.

"Please don't hurt her, PLEASE! Take me instead, she saved m–"

Destron instinctively grabbed the offending arm and rammed the connected body into the grimy alleyway wall by their collarbone, gazing into their eyes with righteous fury.

"Who did this?" He hissed.

The civilian trembled under his grasp, shaking their head and failing to stutter out any form of answer.

“Look at me,” Destron growled, grabbing them by the jaw, forcing their wandering gaze into his. “I’m trying to save my kid. Save her. Not hurt you. BUT, I will not hesitate to dispose of you–” he jolted the person to accentuate the point. “–If you get in my way again. So leave well enough alone. Understood?”

The civilian nodded fervently, eyes the size of teacups. "But– but… you're a-a villain–"

Destron dropped the civilian and turned back to attend to the young hero. The long gash across her stomach looked bad. He pressed down on the wound to help staunch the bleeding, and Jenna's muscles tensed under the pressure. She opened her eyes again, then cracked a wide smile when she tiredly looked up to see her mentor pressing on the wound.

"Destron…" she said gleefully, quietly, grabbing onto his lapel. He pulled her hand off and set it down by her side. Her murmurs were a sorry excuse for her usually boisterous inflection. "I– I saved… someone."

"Yeah, I saw kiddo…" he muttered, half distracted by looking around for something to bandage the bleeding, anything to keep her conscious enough to transport her back to base.

"D-did I do good?"

Destron paused for a second, before looking his protégé straight in the eyes.

"You did better than that. You saved someone. You did amazing." He tapped her cheek lightly, snd her slowely closing eyes opened wide again. "Now you just need to stay with me."

He whirled around to address the civilian who had stood up to him, the one who he now knew was the cause of Jenna's injuries. The one she had saved.

The one who was still cowering in the corner instead of helping. "Don't just stand there!" Destron yelled angrily. "Get a first aid kit, some bandages, SOMETHING! Be useful!"

The civilian curled into themself further before they seemed to register that they weren't being attacked by the city's most dangerous villain, and they quickly fumbled out of their 'safe' spot to look around for supplies to help. They couldn’t find anything useful in the dank alleyway. Terrified to defy orders and wanting to help their savior in any way possible, they ripped off their shirt and tossed it at a very confused Destron.

"Uh, use that for bandages," they explained urgently. "I'll-I'll go find a first aid kit!"

They ran off, presumably to find a first aid kit. Destron narrowed his eyes at the shirt next to him, the thin material half-draped where it landed over Jenna's body. He decided not to question the behavior, tearing the shirt into strips and bandaging the wound, acknowledging the pained grunts of his kid with reassurances. He kept going until he was pretty sure Jenna would survive the motorbike trip back to the base.

"You did so good…" Destron said again. Jenna couldn’t help but grin triumphantly through a grimace as she slowly drifted into unconciousness.

#whumptember2023 #villain #villains and heroes #did i do good?#whump #whumper #whumptember day 1 #day one: mentor whumper #day one: young hero #day one: did i do good?#day one: blood loss #villain whump #hero whump

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solar-halos · 6 months ago

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"you're gonna be wearing that?"

aka a silly odesta one shot. 900 words, no plot just vibes

No one talks about the psychological repercussions of being so hot all the time.

Annie examines herself in the mirror. One wrong move and it’s fucking over for her ass (literally).

Annie loves flashy clothing, but not the way the Capitol does it. Instead of obscene sparkles and absolutely unethical fur coats, Annie prefers the linen materials and natural sea glass from District 4’s markets. And, since it’s Halloween today, she goes all out.

She practices how she needs to walk. She’ll have more leeway when she’s finally reunited with her friends, but for right now, she does not want to flash the entirety of the Victor’s Village as soon as she walks out of the door.

The hem of her skirt (made from her own two hands, with nothing but two knitting needles and a heap of yarn) has a scalloped edge along the hemline, which provides some extra coverage. She even managed to manipulate a scrap of shiny fabric into a seashell-shaped blur.

She was a mermaid, obviously. If she really wanted to get accurate with it, then she wouldn’t be wearing a top at all, but Annie (unfortunately) isn’t a mermaid. It’s why she’s putting so much thought into what shoes she should wear. Hitting the beach was a must, but this was a special occasion. Should she break out the strappy sandals? She even replaced all the strings with seafoam green ribbon.

She reaches up to clip her hair back while she thinks about it. The knot holding up her shirt loosens. She huffs.

“Finnick? Will you help me tie this?” She plops down at the foot of the bed. Finnick was writing in his journal while she got ready, but after hearing his name, he glances at her. Annie smiles at him.

His pretty green eyes travel all the way down to her bare feet. She wonders if he’s gonna call her divine. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She leans forward, entranced by his palpable love. He’s so sweet to her all the time.

“You’re gonna be wearing that?”

She frowns. Scrap what she said about his palpable love.

“Why’d you say it like that?” she demands. Doesn’t he think her costume is pretty? “I’ve been working on this for weeks!”

Seriously. If she had a nickel for every time she raveled and unraveled the yarn to get every aspect of the design exactly right, she’d be financially compensated for all those tears she shed.

“And it looks good!” he assures her, but Annie shakes her head. He can’t backtrack now.

“No, I get it,” she insists, because she does. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate—”

“No, it’s cool,” she insists, even though it’s not. “Lying to me is worse than hating on me.”

“Annie.” His voice goes impossibly soft. He leans forward, inching his hand toward hers, and she takes it. Maybe hate was too strong of a word. “You look beautiful. Drop-dead gorgeous. I’m just saying…”

He pauses, eyes drifting toward the ceiling like he’s crunching numbers in his head. Annie raises her eyebrows at him, imploring him to keep going. What now?

“I’m just saying it might get cold, is all.”

Seriously? That was his first thought? She’s covered in ribbons and bows and he’s thinking about the weather?

“Whatever. I can’t believe you’d try and tell me what to do.”

His eyes bug out again. He opens his mouth to reply, but the doorbell cuts him off. That must be the girls.

“Annie.” He trails after her. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’d never tell you what to do. It’s just freezing out right now.”

Well, yeah. It’s Halloween. “But I look good.” What part of that doesn’t he get? “Besides, we’ll be indoors for most of it.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

They make it to the foot of the stairs. Mags throws the both of them a strange glance, probably not used to Finnick being so fucking bossy.

“Finnick hates what I’m wearing,” she explains.

“I’m just saying it’ll be cold!”

Whatever. Annie flings the door open. She and her friends start trading hugs (and compliments, because they all look unbelievably stunning).

“Dude!” Her best friend has Annie do a 360 so everyone can survey her look. “You look so fucking pretty!”

“Thank you!” Annie says, shooting a pointed glance toward Finnick. His eyebrows knit together.

“I think so, too,” he tells her. “Otherworldly.”

Otherworldly. Finnick calls her a lot of things—smart, sweet, beautiful—but otherworldly is a new one. That makes her ease up on all the teasing.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” she asks, even though they both know he shouldn’t. Finnick being at a party wouldn’t be unusual, but they have to avoid being seen together in the public eye. District 4 has a severe gossiping problem.

“I’m okay,” he says, hugging her close. She melts into him, giving him a kiss on the cheek as an olive branch. He kisses her back, being mindful of the blush on her cheeks and the highlighter on the tip of her nose. She admires the bright red lipstick stain on his face. “You have fun. And try not to get too cold.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not gonna get cold!”

#writings and musings #odesta #annie cresta #i was gonna save this for halloween until i realized this literally has nothing to fucking do w halloween #also guys i think i have a problem where if a character is wearing lipstick they HAVE to smooch their partner #like there’s just something abt it that’s so fucking cute

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volunteerfelinedetectives · 2 years ago

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Wrote this chaotic little piece for @cherrycokeisnice, basically everyone gets snowed in together. Cleo/Jake, all the friendships, and Moxie/Ellington if you choose to read it that way. Huge thanks to @asouefanworkevent for organising the exchange

The first day went off without a hitch. Moxie and Kellar were of course the first to arrive, Moxie bright and eager as always as she stepped out of the Bellerophon taxi, typewriter for once not in her hand.

Instead she was helping Pip and Squeak carry in all the admittedly rather surprising stuff Cleo had sent them out to find over the previous week, blankets and houseplants and cooking utensils and lamps and absolutely anything colourful, to match with Cleo’s rebellious addition of more and more bright clothes to her wardrobe. Kellar had somehow obtained an enormous antique metal umbrella stand which he was trying, without much luck, to haul up the front steps. Ornette Lost and Lizzie Haines arrived last together, Ornette dragging a sledge loaded with wallpaper and paint through the quickly falling snow and Lizzie staggering under the weight of a heap of curtains and canopies in a rainbow of colours and fabrics.

“Is that everyone?” asked a slightly exasperated Jake, his clothes covered in flour from a mishap involving Moxie, an overfilled storage cupboard and an enormous high-tech blender they were trying to carry.

“Not quite,” replied Cleo calmly once the entirely responsible journalist was out of sight, reaching up a slender hand to brush some additional flour from Jake’s cheek. “I have an associate coming to live with us for a while. In fact, I need to go and meet her in the library now.” And with that she grabbed her coat and bolted out the door, leaving her sweetheart bewildered and suspicious in her wake. Jake shrugged, and went to help Moxie out in the kitchen.

The morning was a blur of constant activity and almost as constant accidents, and by the time everyone settled down to lunch (stuffed mushrooms involving more herbs and spices that anyone in the group apart from Jake could even name) they were all regretting not arriving in more casual clothes. The source of all the chaos was not incompetence on the part of any of them, indeed the living room was looking far more beautiful than it ever had from the work of endless interior designers hired by Ignatius Knight. Instead the problem was, bizarrely, that the place was overrun with stray cats. Yes, you read that correctly: glassware was crashing to the ground everywhere, wallpaper had been scratched down as soon as put up, and a particularly large ginger moggy seemed to have decided Moxie’s typewriter was a bed. This was the last straw. Moxie had her suspicions about who was behind this, and fortunately one of the troublemakers had left a convenient trail of painted paw prints for her to follow. She grinned to herself as she trailed them up the stairs and along the corridor to the study door; mysteries were almost never this easy to solve.

The door to the study was slightly ajar, and it the creak it let out as she pushed it open was loud enough to make her jump back before tentatively making her way in. All four walls were lined with huge and heavy-looking books, and at the back of the room a leather-cushioned chair faced a massive desk carved from a disturbingly familiar dark wood. Slowly, the chair begun to swivel round, and Moxie’s heart threw itself against her chest as she saw who was sitting there. Hair so dark it made the blackest of ink look grey, eyes almost luminescently green. She wore a long, luxurious black silk dress Moxie was pretty sure was Cleo’s, and her long fingers were resting on the head of a white Persian cat with electric blue eyes, which bared its teeth at Moxie as she tentatively approached.

“Hello, Moxie,” Ellington greeted in a slow, honeyed voice, smiling a smile that might have meant anything.

Out of all the people Cleo could have been inviting over? (She had overheard, of course). Ellington?

Moxie did her best to disguise a grimace as she looked the older girl in the eyes. She cut straight to the chase.

“What are you planning this time?” Ellington’s smile faded and her brows furrowed as she began to slowly steer the chair away from Moxie. “I don’t know what you mean. I needed a place to hide from the police, that’s all.”

“You’ve completely flooded the house with every stray cat in town, Ellington.”

She grimaced at the interruption, but carried on speaking.

“I was looking after all of them when I was living in Black Cat Coffee and I don’t know where else they could go. Cleo invited all of them here with me, she told me we’d be safe.”

“After everything that happened? She still trusts you?”

“Listen, Moxie. I’m not another story to be told or case to be unravelled. I’m not here to hurt anyone or sabotage anything. I’m just trying to live, like we all are. The only difference is that I don’t want to simply forget it all.” To Moxie’s horror, there were tears welling up in Ellington’s eyes.

“Wait!” Moxie called out, but she simply pushed past her and ran out of the room, feline draped round her shoulders like a living, breathing fur collar. Moxie wanted to be here, she really did, but she was still uncertain of Ellington and whether she really did mean well. She drifted towards the window and watched the snow that had begun to fall outside, concealing all of Stain’d-by-the-sea’s secrets and dangers beneath an unassuming canopy of white. Part of her imagined that once the snow melted away the town would be rewritten, all of its dark history washed away as it emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon. She knew that made no sense, but what was it that Lemony had once said? ‘There’s nothing wrong with occasionally staring out of a window and thinking nonsense, as long as the nonsense is yours.” Something like that, at least.

She was startled out of her meditation by Cleo’s voice calling her up to the guest bedrooms, sounding more than a little exasperated. She found Cleo sitting just outside a huge, empty room, furniture cluttering the hallway around her.

“I’m sorry if I worried you, I just need someone strong to help me get all this stuff in here. “

Moxie nodded, ready for the task. She was used to carrying things, and any opportunity to spend more time with Cleo was an opportunity she was willing to take. They were in reality very distant cousins, but Cleo seemed like a sister to her nonetheless. They got to work, Moxie carrying or pushing the furniture to the right place and Cleo stringing up fairy lights and heaping blankets and pillows onto the bed, chatting all the while about their universally agreed favourite subject, literature.

“You need to read Fahrenheit 451 if you haven’t, it’s a masterpiece of dystopian fiction,” Cleo was saying as she attached a hanging basket of ferns to a hook at the top of the wardrobe.

“I have,” Moxie replied, bending down to tighten a loose screw on the desk. “I know it’s unfair to compare two completely different writers but when it comes to classic dystopia I’ll always prefer 1984.”

“Much as I love 1984 as well, Fahrenheit 451 feels so much more real to me, like that’s slowly becoming our world.“

A good natured argument does indeed firm up a friendship, and this particular one became so engaging that Moxie completely forgot to ask who the room was being prepared for until dinner that evening. Crab linguine, to be precise. Moxie spent a long while thanking Jake for preparing the food, as well as helping to lay the table, so by the time she could sit down there was only one remaining seat between Kellar and Ellington. She reluctantly took it, avoiding the older girl’s gaze until she felt a tap on the shoulder.

“Thank you for helping with my room,” Ellington whispered, twirling the pasta absentmindedly round her fork.

“That was yours?” Moxie asked, a little too loud for her liking. She wasn’t too keen on the fact that she’d unwittingly done a large favour for Ellington, but thought that perhaps at least appearing to trust her would be the best way of finding out what she was planning. So she lowered her voice, leaned in and said, “Look. I’m sorry about accusing you of doing something bad earlier, I just find it hard not to question everything after all that business with— with your father.”

Ellington shivered; actually trembled despite the warm fire burning in the hearth, and for a moment Moxie was afraid she’d said the wrong thing entirely. But then Ellington turned to her and their eyes locked together as she replied.

“I know exactly how you feel. I spend most of my time afraid I’ll never be able to trust anyone ever again. If even the kindest man I knew was capable of such treacherous things…,” She didn’t finish her sentence, but the second clause hung in the air between them like an echo. …then there is no telling what anyone will do.

They ate the rest of the meal in an amiable silence, trying to keep track of the others’ conversations but finding that they faded in and out, the mingling voices unable to compete with the endless questions and contradictions swimming through their minds. The plan was for everyone to stay the night, and they did, but for reasons unique to each person nobody went upstairs to bed. Instead those who managed to sleep at all did so on couches and chairs in the lounge, books still open on chests that rose and fell like an untroubled sea.

“It’s… 5 o’clock in the morning…” Jake blearily checked his watch then turned to face Pecuchet ‘Squeak’ Bellerophon, who had been vigorously shaking his shoulders for the past three minutes.

“It’s the snow!” Squeak exclaimed without so much as an apology or a ‘good morning’. “It’s too thick and the doors won’t open. We’re snowed in!”

Jake grimaced as he pulled himself up to look; he was hoping to tend to the garden that day, but it seemed like that would be impossible. Sure enough, the snow outside was several feet deep, and so dense it was impossible to even open the door to shovel a path. He tried the other doors and found it exactly the same. They were well and truly trapped. He sighed and went to get the others up from the numerous pieces of furniture they were draped over, with the exception of Cleo who hadn’t slept a wink that night and was now standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in one hand, slathering concealer over the dark circles beneath her eyes. She headed for the door the moment she saw him, not even giving him the chance to say good morning before she disappeared up the stairs. No doubt she was extremely busy with something, he thought; he’d get her a bit of breakfast, something to keep her going during the day. He brought the omelette up to the study and poked his head round the door; she was writing furiously in a black notebook and seemingly didn’t even see him as he placed the food on the desk and a kiss on her cheek. Cleo worked so unbelievably hard; he acknowledged that fact with that rare, perfectly balanced mix of admiration and dread.

“105…106…107…” Cleo wasn’t the only one already going stir-crazy from being stuck inside. Ornette had seen potential in the endless scraps of wastepaper left behind from the previous day’s activities and was now attempting the age-old tradition of folding a thousand origami cranes. Once they were done, she decided, she would string them together into a huge canopy of folded paper birds, her most ambitious project yet and a symbol of all the hopes and wishes she had for her re-emerging town. Already there were birds made from every possible type of paper in every nook and cranny of the house, and Kellar Haines, who had been watching with eager curiosity and gathering the creations together for her, could see that she wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon.

And Moxie was sitting at her desk in the guest room that had been specially set up for her, just writing and writing and writing. Getting everything from the day before down in great detail before typing out an impulsive opinion piece on Lemony Snicket, which had very few good things to say. She was right in the middle of a particularly scathing paragraph when she heard a knock on the door connecting her room to Ellington’s. Ellington herself breezed in without waiting for Moxie to answer, brushing a stack of books carelessly aside as she perched herself on the end of the desk. Moxie wished she could be annoyed at the way Ellington treated the world like she owned it, but the truth was that everything in her vicinity did seem to suddenly revolve around her like the Earth’s gravity pulling meteors into orbit.

“Sorry to intrude,” Ellington said after an awkwardly long period of Moxie looking up at her in silence. “But window in my bedroom is tiny and I needed somewhere well-lit to read without going downstairs and waking anyone up.”

Despite it being seven in the morning, everyone was already awake, although Ellington had no way of knowing that.

“What are you reading?” Moxie asked, eager to strengthen the bond that was growing between them. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But was she an enemy? Whatever she was reading, it was obviously good, as she didn’t seem to hear what Moxie had said. So she moved her typewriter onto the bed, keen not to disturb her for some reason she couldn’t possibly understand.

The Associates were quieter than they had ever been in one another’s company, as if the snow had buried all their memories, their shared aspirations and dreams. But one thing that couldn’t be buried was how safe they felt around each other, the knowledge that they could make mistakes without everything they had built together falling apart. Which was why Jake hadn’t bothered Cleo in her study at all that day, however much he yearned for her company. He understood her need to always be working hard, always striving to compensate for everything her parents did. But sometimes she forgot that she too was worth something, and when 4 o’clock in the afternoon struck and she still hadn’t come out or said a word to anyone, he decided to finally knock on the door. She opened it and her hands were deathly pale and trembling, exhaustion in her icy blue eyes which she had been trying to fight with the five or six now empty coffee cups scattered around the room. She pulled him inside and kissed him almost desperately, and he leaned into her, keen to give her the support and affection she clearly needed so much. Cleo was on one side of him and the study wall was on the other, and in the moment the whole world seemed that small, that perfect. She pulled away, a rare sheepish smile creeping up her face. “Sorry, sorry, I just— I really needed that,” she whispered breathlessly, running a hand through Jake’s hair as she pulled him down onto an ottoman in the corner of the room.

“Don’t worry,” he replied equally breathlessly. “You don’t have to apologise for anything with me, I’m here when you need me, here because you need me here.” Cleo was chaotic sometimes, troubled and secretive, but Jake knew he could never love anyone else as much as he loved her.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured, resting his head on Cleo’s shoulder as she picked up a book from a nearby table, taking the break she needed at last.

While the two of them sat together in silence and Kellar was still trying to gather the folded paper birds scattered all over the building, something rather exciting had been unearthed in a suitcase upstairs.

“You have what?” Ornette shouted, gazing at Ellington bug-eyed. “You could sell that for enough money to get you safely out of the country for the rest of your life!”

“Well, maybe I love these songs too much to do that. It’s nice to have music almost nobody else has heard, something I’ll only share with the right people.”

“She’s right,” Lizzie chimed in. “If everything can be bought or sold or invested then it loses its original purpose entirely. Auction that CD off and it’ll never be played again, just sold off to richer and richer people at higher and higher prices.”

Ellington reached out a long fingernail to press the button on the CD player, and placed the iridescent disc in its slot, and Ornette was overcome with a rush of endorphins as she heard a familiar voice sing new melodies, new words.

“Hold on, I know someone else who might want to hear this,” Ornette interrupted, moving towards the telephone, picking it up and dialling a number.

“Moxie, come up here! You won’t believe what Ellington has! No, not a weapon, not anything even remotely sinister. Illegal, yes, but purely noble in its intentions. Yep, a pirated CD containing Melanie Martinez songs that were never officially released and might not be found anywhere else in the world. Yes, I’m serious.” Ornette hung up the phone and spun to face Ellington and Lizzie with a thrilled expression.

“She’s coming!”

“So his name actually was Lemony?”

“I couldn’t believe it either until his sister told me. It always sounded made-up, like the kind of name you’d tell a company to avoid getting newsletters.”

She was always going to mess this up, Moxie thought to herself. The plan was to keep a close eye on Ellington and prevent her from getting into any mischief, and it wasn’t supposed to involve sitting cross-legged on Ellington’s bed with her hands temporarily incapacitated by the black varnish drying on her nails, courtesy of Ellington. It definitely wasn’t supposed to involve Moxie having the time of her life hanging out with her. Maybe it was just the excitement of her first proper sleepover, but she was finding Ellington surprisingly fun to be around when they weren’t directly in the midst of intrigue. The evening so far had been a blur of music and games and conversation, over the course of which they had all ended up with completely new hairstyles. Ellington’s hair had been plaited and wound into a spiral at the back of her head, Moxie’s straightened into a chin-length bob, Lizzie had a new fringe which cast her eyes in shadow and Ornette’s was let down from its usual yellow scrunchie and pulled into row upon row of tight braids decorated with colourful beads. Moxie thought they all looked transformed, shifting rapidly from the uncertain girls they were six months ago to the wilder, freer ones they were becoming. The connection she felt to them was new, unfamiliar and exciting, and even though she still had her doubts about Ellington her bed was so comfy and she was tired…

The rays of the sunrise shone through the curtains over the East Window, waking her up the next morning to see Ellington bringing over a tray on which were two steaming cups of coffee. Really, Moxie? Falling asleep in Ellington’s bed?

“Sorry I didn’t wake you up,” she said gently, brushing a lock of hair out of Moxie’s face. “You just looked so cosy there and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Don’t worry, I think the couch in here is even more comfortable than the bed!”

Moxie reluctantly took a sip of the coffee Ellington had handed her, and discovered with reluctant gratitude that she had prepared it with milk, sugar and cinnamon, adding a delightful mild sweetness to a normally bitter drink. The coffee reminded her somewhat of Ellington herself that morning, everything dark and sinister had somehow melted away and she seemed kinder and less villainous than she ever had before.

Meanwhile, Cleo awoke to the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, something that would be comforting to most people but made Cleo’s heartbeat quicken and her breathing stop. Here she was, in her bedroom in the family home, the familiar smell of cinnamon rolls that were never for her wafting up at her from the kitchen. Had she only dreamed all the friendships she had made over the past six months, or that she was free from her parents at last? Without stopping to get slippers or a dressing gown, she bolted down the stairs to the kitchen where she was greeted by a rather bemused Jake.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?” he enquired with a nervous smile. “I made you breakfast.” Cleo managed an equally nervous smile back as she hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter and pulled Jake closer to her, kissing him softly on the forehead.

“Everything’s alright, Jake,” her voice tapered off ever so slightly. “It’s just that I’ve never actually had a cinnamon roll before. Zada and Zora always made them, but my parents had me on this ridiculous diet. I wasn’t even allowed a slice of cake on my birthday.”

“That’s dreadful, Cleo! We need to fix that, right now.” With mock solemnity, he fetched the tray from the other end of the room and handed her one of the warm pastries, oozing with cinnamon and cream cheese frosting. She bit in, and in that moment she could have sworn she had never tasted anything quite as heavenly.

“I can make them for you more often if you’d like,” Jake told her, grabbing one for himself from the tray. And this, she always said, was the moment the full extent of her newfound freedom hit her. It was also the moment she ran to the window and discovered the snow had melted just enough for them to go outside again.

Back upstairs, Moxie and Ellington had almost finished their coffee.

“You know,” Ellington declared suddenly, “I might actually try and sneak out today given the snow’s melted.”

“It has?”

“Not completely, but enough for us to leave the building.”

Ellington pulled on a black trench coat that was draped over a chair in the corner, and half-ran, half-leaped down the main stairs in the centre of the building, landing in the hallway with cat-like precision and gliding towards the door.

She knew that this was a rather silly idea, but she was never the kind of girl to allow herself to be contained for long. The world, or at least Stain’d-by-the-sea, was beckoning. As she turned the handle on the door she felt Moxie come up behind her.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, and Ellington smiled deviously to herself.

“Of course you can, a walk is almost never any fun when you’re alone,” Ellington replied, doing her best to sound casual. “But I’m not carrying that typewriter.”

Moxie laughed, flinging open the door with her typical enthusiasm and taking off running down the path towards the town while Ellington lingered behind, bunching up snow in her gloved hands.

The snowball hit Moxie on the back of the head, almost knocking her hat off. She rapidly turned around.

“What was that for?” she shouted.

“What was what for?” Ellington replied innocently, hurling another snowball in Moxie’s direction. To Ellington’s utter astonishment she caught it and threw it right back, hitting Ellington before she had time to recover from the surprise and dodge it. Of course, there was now no way of deescalating the situation, and of course, like with most snowball fights, others began to join in. Namely, Pip and Squeak, who had observed the action from a window and had jumped at the opportunity to cause mischief. Much to Ellington’s chagrin they were fighting firmly on Moxie’s side, and she didn’t stand a chance until Ornette dashed in front of her out of nowhere, carrying a small arsenal of snowballs she had been surreptitiously preparing in the yard. Soon everyone was involved; Jake and Kellar joining Moxie’s side and Cleo and Lizzie teaming up with Ellington. It was the first snowball fight any of them had had in years, and it was wonderful just to play like the children who they’d never been allowed to be, all system of teams and sides quickly forgotten as they ran shouting and laughing down the slightly less empty streets, much further than Ellington was technically supposed to go from her hiding place in Cleo’s home. Many years later, Moxie and Ellington would always say this was the moment that any trace of a rivalry between them disappeared, and they were just two girls on a winter morning, holding hands as they ran to catch up with the others by the sea.

Cleo drew her coat around her as she sat down on the pier overlooking the restored sea, the dams holding it back from the town’s edge having been long since destroyed. She shook the remaining snow from her hair, accidentally elbowing Jake who had come to sit down next to her. He rested his head on her shoulder and took her hand in his. “You’ve done so much more for the world this year than most people do in their lifetimes, and you’re still just sixteen. Look around at what you’ve made, Cleo,” She turned and saw Ellington smiling shyly, drenched through from the still-raging snowball fight, and Moxie draping a coat over her shoulders, their faces illuminated by the golden dawn. She saw the cobbled road cutting through the houses to the town square, and the empty pedestal awaiting the planned memorial to a great sub-librarian they once knew. And she saw the pen-shaped building she once looked upon with shame rising high above the town, no longer looking like it intended to cross it out, but instead poised ready to write a new beginning. “We’ve got whole lives ahead of us. Let’s go live them.”

#asoue #lemony snicket #a series of unfortunate events #all the wrong questions #atwq #ellington feint #jake hix #cleo knight #ornette lost #kellar haines #pip bellerophon #squeak bellerophon #lizzie haines #wicked way exchange

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joels6string · 2 years ago

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and since I already asked for something presumably spicy, how about something a little sweet?

Joel Miller on a first date not during the apocalypse. what’s he like? is he nervous? are his hands all sweaty? did he drop the bouquet of flowers walking up to the door cause he was nervous?

only you can let us know. 🖤

Oh I didn’t make it very spicy. And now I feel shame. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Joel Miller will get detailed spicy when she’s in his shirt before long. It’s a staple of his whole personality, really.

First date Joel?! Ahem?! AHEM??! Yeah he’s nervous as hell. Since I held out on the last one…

“This ain’t right…” he mumbled to himself as the iron he’d just pulled out of its packaging began to steam, his hands quickly pulling it up from the fabric of the shirt he’d dug out of the back of his closet from a wrinkled heap.

At 51 years old, old-old, he was going on a date. You’d met at Ellie’s school a few months back and had frequent interactions with him as the aunt and caretaker to one of Ellie’s friends, and yeah, he was here at her urging. You were nice enough, not nosy which he liked, easy on the eyes and even easier to be around. But he’d left it there, until the two girls had formulated some dastardly plan to set you both up and somehow, it had worked.

“You have to go, Joel!” Ellie had insisted, “I finally just started fitting in and I don’t need to be shunned again because you refuse to leave the damn house. It’s dinner!”

“I don’t refuse to leave the house…” he’d mumbled before giving in, “Yeah, all right. fine! I’ll go to your damn dinner. But this is it, understood?”

Now he was here, pressing permanent creases out of a shirt he was certain would be too small, the clock ticking closer to departure time as he continued to struggle. Ellie had done the rest, made the reservation at some restaurant he probably wouldn’t even be able to decipher the menu of, picked up a bouquet of flowers, and filled his flask with the liquid courage they both knew he’d need.

“Eh, fuck it.” He’d go wrinkled. This was pointless. All of it was.

After a comforting approval from Ellie, who had absolutely eyed the large crease distorting the left side of his chest, he was on his way to your place after clearing the trash from the passenger side floor. Your house was nice, small and cozy from the outside, lots of greenery outside. That was a plus. Not that he’d be here again, but at least he didn’t need to worry about keeping up with someone well out of his social class.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, his palms sweaty against the old leather of his steering wheel, eyes drifting over to peek at the bouquet in the seat beside him, “You better thank me later, kid.”

Butterflies erupted in his stomach as he closed the truck door behind him, it had been years…decades since he felt these. Where you waiting right on the other side of that door? Still getting ready? He was 10 minutes early, should he wait? Was it rude to assume you’d already be waiting on him? That felt narcissistic.

With a few minutes of deliberation, it was now five minutes until the planned time and that was the compromise he’d given himself. The boots he refused to swap for dressier shoes were heavy on your stone-worked steps, his feet tangling together and sending him lurching forward just two from the top, the flowers he was holding smashing between his chest and the pavement.

“Christ’s sake.” This was not going as planned.

His palm stung as he righted himself, no doubt scraped from catching his fall, the sound of your door swinging open averting his attention.

“Are you all right?” you fretted, your voice was so sweet, he’d never noticed before. “I’m so sorry. These stairs are so steep, I should warn people—”

“I’m fine,” he assured, “These uh…were for you.”

This was going great. Superb. He’d tried to warn Ellie that him going would be more disastrous than him refusing but she hadn’t listened. And now look at it, just as he’d predicted.

“Oh!” The stems were bent, petals crushed, but your face still lit up like the damn sun as you pulled them from his hands. “Thank you. I haven’t gotten flowers in…God, couldn’t tell you how long.”

“Not much of ‘em left.”

“No look, this one is perfect. See?”

And it was. A single rose was left unscathed, it’s pink shade resembling the one spreading across his cheeks as you smiled up into your eyes that had begun to sparkle in the setting sun.

“Come in,” you beckoned, “let me just get it in some water. Just…no shoes past the mat…”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled as he passed the threshold, “I’ll stay put.”

“Or you could just…take them off. I prefer takeout anyway.”

I wrote this on my phone if there’s typos I own them entirely and will fix later 😂

#katfish sleepover #katfish over and out #joel miller thots #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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thejuliawhitewrites · 1 year ago

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Excerpt from "What is a King to Fate?" - Haou's Tattoos

“What’s the catch? Jehu asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Haou sucked his teeth and rocked back on his feet. “You have to get tattoos of servitude.”

~“No fucking way!”~ Jehu cried, tossing the clothes on the ground. ~“Absolutely not! I refuse to bar myself from my afterlife by sullying my body with tattoos. You are not worth it!”~

~“I’m tattooed! Does that make me sullied?!”~ Haou spat, glaring daggers at his companion. He had no idea what caused this sudden drastic shift in his attitude but Haou was ready to curtail it.

~“The gods teach that a clean body means a clean soul and marring your skin damages your soul,”~ Jehu explained through gritted teeth. He didn’t think he would have to teach his future king the basics of his religion. He’d assumed, obviously wrongly, that Haou already knew them. ~“So, yes, to answer your question, all these. . . things all over your body have irreparable scared your soul. I hope pretty decorations were worth it.”~

~“Decorations?! Everyone single one of my tattoos honor the gods!” Haou stripped off his belts, tabards, tunic, and bracers, letting the fabric heap on the floor by his feet. His tattoos were full on display, the gold ink glistening in the afternoon light. He pointed to the triangles around his eye first. “These mark me as a member of the royal family! A sunburst because the day I was born the sun was so bright that it was blinding and the priests thought it a sign of prosperity.” Next he pointed to the sun that encased his left shoulder and it’s rays the zigzagged across his chest and back. “This is a holy symbol of Arim, our sun god. Kido has this tattooed over his heart because he’s the crown prince. On my left shoulder is asking the goddess to strengthen me when I weaken. The rays are her support holding me up when I fail.” He then pointed to the orange octagon on his right forearm. “This! This is my sacred pact with my brother. That my strength is his and his is mine whenever we need it! And these!” He pointed to now two victory bands across his left bicep, the second one being brand new. “These are for the victories you’re proudest of or were significant in your life. They’re usually used for military victories but I’m not allowed to go to war so these are my victories that I made happen. Finally. . .” He kicked his leg up on the table to more easily show off the angled bands and triangles around his calf. “The princes of Atlantis have had these for thousands of years because where we walk, our people follow. It’s a reminder to us not to falter in our duties because we aren’t just responsible for ourselves but everyone in the kingdom.” He let his foot fall back on the ground and caught Jehu’s gaze. “The gods teach us that our bodies are temples and that we are to ink onto it’s walls that which we hold most sacred. Now tell me again how I’m sullied.”

Jehu swallowed and averted his eyes, ashamed. He’d never thought to ask about Haou’s tattoos. When he’d come to this land and saw that everyone was tattooed, he’d assumed them as low class as he’d been taught that tattooed people are. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that each line on their bodies had such a deeply religious meaning. Never in his life had he thought that there was another religion beside his own. What a fool he’d been. He had so much to learn about the world.

When Jehu didn’t respond, Haou pulled his tunic back over his head. “The tattoos of servitude only sound bad. Alto has them, the ones around his neck and on his hands. They are a sacred pact between a liege and those he trusts the most. Between you and me. The neck bands mean your voice is my voice, the triangles on the hands mean your hands are my hands. Your words and your actions hold the same power as mine do because, symbolically, I move through you. Now if you don’t want them, I won’t make you. I’ll fight for you not to get them if that’s what you really want.”

“You trust me?” Jehu sneered, knowing damn well he’d done nothing to endear any trust between them.

“Only about as far as I can throw you,” Haou sneered right back. “You’re nasty, brash, and arrogant. An absolute monstrosity.” Then a sly smile came to his lips as he said, “And wouldn’t it be great if those courtiers you insult think your words are coming from me?”

An idea dawned on Jehu so suddenly that he couldn’t keep it contained. “You hate this place as much as I do.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn't need to be. Haou knew he was right. Atlantis was his home, but it hardly felt welcoming with the people who talked about him behind his back and a family who usually ignored him. The happiest he’d been was over the last month with Jehu at his side, even if they did take constant pot shots at each other. He had someone who cared even if all he cared about was a mutually assured destruction.

#my fanfiction #yugioh #yugioh fanart #yugioh fanfiction #my writing #fanfic #my fanart

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elonasblog · 1 year ago

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Seen more than one gym bag dream

A fantasy where you end up seeing a duffel bag signifies that, you are lamented and miserable, and have chosen to zip this up and continue on with your own personal business.

A duffel bag is typically round and hollow in shape, made of fabric material and has a top conclusion. It is ordinarily weighty and significant because of the items conveyed there for exercise center use. The kind of material which is full inside a duffel bag generally relies upon what you need to involve it for; there are those loaded down with nylon, calfskin, and material and the material decide the cost of the sack.

You need to leave the miserable occasions of your past and push ahead, organizing your life from the present onwards. You have promised that you will not be burdened by what has happened rather, you are prepared to open another page in your life.

Seen more than one gym bag dream

On the off chance that you end up seeing the duffel bag which is worn out in your fantasy, it can demonstrate that the personal disturbance you have gone through is weighing vigorously on you, making it unimaginable for you to do anything significant in your life.

Assuming the duffel bag is completely stacked with litter, it emblematically predicts that you are focused on and are having such countless complexities in your day to day existence. To save what is going on, you should search for a method for offloading the load on your shoulder through imparting to loved ones. They could have gone through comparative issues and would more than prepared to assist you with tracking down an answer for your concerns.

Lost your storage key to get sufficiently close to the sack. Definite dream translation A circumstance where you can't find your duffel bag in your fantasy means that, you are going through misery and despondency, yet it appears to be that no one around you appears to take note. You are experiencing peacefully and this could be troublesome throughout everyday life. The initial step to take is to ensure you dealt with what is causing the pity since it will become inconceivable for others to help you.

Assuming you see more than one duffel bag in your fantasy, it recommends that you are overpowered by close to home pressure, which is confusing your life and making it unthinkable for you to connect with others. The time has come to push ahead. You must areas of strength for be manage obstacles in life. Try not to attempt to heap them until you become incapable to deal with them. At the point when you are focused on inwardly, it turns out to be difficult to think straight, accordingly it is absolutely impossible that you will contend well with people around you.

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brethaneh898 · 2 years ago

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Home Laundry Helps Your Busy

The Benefits of utilization a Home Laundry Washing Solution along with West Coast Laundry

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gainingfiction · 2 years ago

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Lifetime Supply: Chapter 7

(read chapter 6 by gainerstories here)

Ryan awoke to find his gut smeared with frosting, cake crumbs littering his chest hair, and Antoine’s body wrapped around his. He reached for his phone and instinctively opened Instagram, frustrated to see that Luke still hadn’t replied to his DM.

Are you someone I can talk to about getting my snack needs met? Ryan read over his message, wondering if he should have said something different. Two weeks had passed, and his message was just hanging there, crying out for attention. Sort of like Ryan’s big, fat belly.

Ryan slowly extricated himself from Antoine’s determined cuddling, careful not to wake his sleeping fuckbuddy. Once again, the sex wasn’t anything special, but Antoine was an enthusiastic lay, and very generous with the food. In fact, he had coaxed an entire supermarket sheet cake into Ryan’s hungry gut.

Of course, sex had become a pretty different experience from what Ryan was used to. Jason was an exclusive top, and as obnoxious as he could be, he knew what he was doing in bed. Antoine, on the other hand, was a strict bottom. An eager, sniff-poppers-and-cross-your-fingers kind of bottom. Ryan had topped guys before, but the extra pounds were more of a challenge—and a turn-on—than he had anticipated. For starters, he’d lost some length to his growing fat pad. And all the weight around his hips gave each thrust more power. But he couldn’t deny enjoying the feeling of his own buttocks jiggling as he railed slender Antoine.

It was hardly the sort of sex Ryan fantasized about, but it was still a good enough release. He was surprised by the sharp contrast between their bodies. Antoine had skinny hips but a nice ass, round and firm. As he went to work, Ryan couldn’t help but notice how much wider he was, and the way his gut bounced and slapped against Antoine’s toned back. By the time the two men came, Ryan was sweating bullets and practically winded from the exertion. After that, he leaned back and let Antoine hand-feed him the rest of the cake, a messy experience that was basically as enjoyable as the fucking itself.

Once he was on his feet, Ryan stepped over the bare plastic cake tray, picking up his clothes from Antoine’s messy bedroom floor. He pulled on his underwear, the meshy fabric stretched to near-transparency over his bulging rear-end. And then he started the process—and it really was a process—of getting into his pants. Heaving, tugging, pleading, swearing, panting, sucking, and finally, after what felt like an almost biblical struggle, closing the button just below his ballooning belly.

Ryan regretted wearing a button-down. He was still bloated from the night before, and even on an empty stomach, his patterned shirt was starting to collapse under the pressure of so much flesh. He shrugged it on, feeling it pull taut over his broad back. He sucked in as hard as he could, and it buttoned, but it was a desperate sight. It was a made-in-Cambodia fast fashion shirt, and the buttons looked to be at their absolute limit. One wrong move and that thing would pop open like a can of biscuit dough. I could go for some biscuits, Ryan thought, in spite of himself.

Once he was dressed—“decent” would be an overstatement—Ryan quietly eased open the bedroom door and slipped out. Antoine’s roommate looked at him with thinly-veiled disgust over his morning bowl of granola, but Ryan ignored him, slipping out the front door. He was in the mood for some breakfast of his own.

He loaded up on fast food to tide him over on his way home, before striding into his apartment with a spring in his step. He felt good—sexed up, well fed, and ready for the day. He was pleased to see Cory making what looked like a nice, big breakfast, and he made a point of asking him to make enough for three. Or four, really, since Ryan usually ate for two.

“Damn, Ry, you’re gonna eat all of that?” Ahmed asked, when he saw Ryan’s heaping portion of waffles, pancakes, sausages and bacon. “Maybe save some for the rest of us!”

“I’m a growing boy,” Ryan said, through a mouthful of waffle. That was becoming a bit of a catchphrase, at this point. “And I—urp—worked up quite an appetite last night.” He neglected to mention that that appetite had been more than satisfied by an entire sheet cake.

“Obviously,” Ahmed said, arching an eyebrow. “You’re gonna scare off this Antoine guy if you keep this up, though.”

Ryan shrugged, taking a large bite of sausage. He pawed at his belly, conscious of how far apart the buttons gaped, revealing thick slabs of hairy fat. “He’s got some pretty specific tastes. Good taste, clearly.”

Cory chuckled, “I guess Ryan’s big appetite has an admirer.”

Ryan got a kick out of that. Clearly Cory was catching on, even if Ahmed was still in the dark about Antoine’s “unique” preferences.

“Speaking of big appetites, another box arrived for you today,” Ahmed said. “This one’s even bigger than the last one. And it’s only been a week! I thought you told them to ease up?”

“Yeah, I told him to hit the brakes. And then I got hungry, so I told him to floor it. Bigger boxes, more often.”

Ahmed’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, are you serious? Damn, you’re gonna be a whale.”

Ryan felt a little stirring. He shifted in his seat, acutely aware of how much he was starting to like comments about his expanding size.

“Well, don’t expect any more help from me,” Ahmed added. “I really gotta cool it with this bulk.”

Ryan glanced at his roommate, noticing how tight his shirt looked—and not just around his now-prominent pecs and increasingly impressive biceps. He poked Ahmed’s little beer gut. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. Besides, I don’t think Cory minds, am I right?” He looked at the slender guy across the breakfast table.

Cory blushed a little, glancing down at his own plate, which sported a single piece of toast. “I don’t mind,” he agreed.

After breakfast, Ryan tore into his Adesco box while he started on a freelance programming project. Coding was so much more enjoyable with food.

And Luke was making sure he had plenty to eat. The new boxes were twice the size of the old ones, and they arrived twice as often. Ryan felt like he was drowning in delicious, mass-produced snacks.

It wasn’t like he was trying to gain weight. He just liked food. And he was hungry all the damn time! When he and Jason had completely cut out refined sugar, he remembered Jason explaining that sugar was addictive. The more you eat, the more you crave. “And besides,” Jason had said, “Carbs aren’t filling. They’re just empty calories.” And so their relationship had been an endless parade of baked chicken breast, stir-fried tofu and other lean proteins.

Not anymore, though. Now that Ryan had started down that sugary road, paved with countless Adesco boxes, all of those restrictions and limitations were a thing of the past. He liked sugar. He liked refined carbs. He wanted more of them, all the time, as much as he could eat. And he could eat a lot.

Packing on the pounds was an inevitable side-effect. He didn’t sit down and do the math properly, but he guessed that if he was gaining almost two pounds a week with the old boxes, that number was bound to go up. But he didn’t care—clearly dreamy Luke enjoyed what he was doing to Ryan’s body, and if a guy like Luke wanted him bigger and fatter, Ryan was happy to oblige. Especially if all he had to do was sit around and eat his favourite foods from dawn until dusk.

He adapted to the new boxes quickly. At first, finishing so much food before the next box arrived was impossible. Then, it was a challenge. And after a couple of weeks, it was just a part of Ryan’s lifestyle.

Ahmed and Cory seemed stunned at how much Ryan was eating. Every waking moment he had food in his hands, and yet he still went in on whatever takeout order Ahmed was craving. And now that he had his degree, he didn’t need to go to campus anymore, which meant that his lifestyle was more sedentary than ever. He just sat on his ass, on his computer, eating and eating, gaining and gaining, month after month.

And tantalizing Luke with tales of his gluttony and growth. He was still bitter that Luke had never gotten back to his DM—so this guy would break up his relationship, but he was too high and mighty to stray from his own? But whenever Ryan’s phone lit up with that familiar 800 number, Ryan was happy to hop on and paint an increasingly lewd picture of just what Adesco was doing to him.

“Just checking in to confirm that you were satisfied with your most recent delivery,” Luke said, one day.

“Oh, man, was I ever, Luke,” Ryan said. He loved laying it on thick. He imagined Luke perched on his perfect ass in some drab little office, practically drooling into the handset of his office phone. “Those kettle chips? Mmh, better than sex.”

“Ah—um, that’s great. And you liked our new product, the hazelnut cream cakes?”

“Liked them? Luke, if you keep sending me those, I’m gonna need to reinforce my chair,” he said. “I swear, I’m like an eating machine when it comes to those boxes. You should see me going to town on those hazelnut things. Cream everywhere.”

A sharp intake of breath. “We’re so glad to hear that. And tell me about the fudge sandwich cookies, do you enjoy those?”

Ryan gave a little moan. He was glad these calls weren’t being recorded for training purposes. “Those are some of my favourites, man. Sometimes I’ll just crack open a package, and it’ll be empty in 20 minutes, flat. It’s not easy to fill this gut, you know?”

Another gasp. Ryan grinned. This kinky little fucker really did like mixing business and pleasure.

“I—that’s—sure. Right. And, uh, you’ve…” Ryan could sense Luke searching for words. “You’ve noticed your capacity has increased?”

Ryan’s grin widened, and he trailed a hand across his bountiful gut. It was firm from all the snacks he’d stuffed into it. “My capacity?”

Luke hesitated. “I mean, uh, you’re eating more? Of the snacks we send you?”

“Is that a question you normally ask?”

Luke cleared his throat. “Well, we haven’t done a prize giveaway like this since 1977. So this is uncharted territory for both of us.”

I bet it is, Ryan thought. “Yeah, my ‘capacity’ is crazy now. Before I used to have a bit of an appetite, but since I won this damn contest… I swear, Luke, I feel like I’ve eaten more this past year than I have in my whole life. And I don’t see that changing any time soon, not with the way my appetite is expanding.”

Ryan could hear Luke’s breathing through the phone. He imagined him ending the call and dashing off to the bathroom in a horny daze. “Well, we’re so glad you’re enjoying it. I’ll get a thank-you box sent to your address as soon as possible. Thank you. Good day.”

And then the call was disconnected. Ryan grinned, and reached for another bag of chips, acutely aware of the way his dick was throbbing against the underside of his belly.

#weight gain #male weight gain #gay #gaining fiction #gainer stories #realistic gain #belly #bhm #lifetime supply

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elis-corner · 2 years ago

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hi hi! i havent requested before but here goes- i was wondering if you could do a hermitcraft x reader where the reader is just entirely stupid, and just kinda climbs anything and everything. i was hoping they might be a bit younger and their relationship to the hermits is almost a parent/guardian figure thing? thank you!

p.s. could i be snail anon? 🐌🐌

Hey there 🐌! I apologise for the wait, been a bit rough the last few months. I love this idea, and it literally instantly put a cartoony image of some tired hermit with the reader just flung over their shoulder, maybe trying to test how edible their clothing is... Hermits parenting? Absolutely. I could go on and on about Dadsuma. It turned a bit more into a mischievous/childish reader, and climbing became being reckless, but I’ve tried my best. Kids aren’t exactly my strong suit. And I had to break down “Hermitcraft” to specifically a group with an easy dynamic, so I went with Mumbo, Scar, and Grian. Hope that’s alright!

Alright, enough stalling, here it is!

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

What Goes Around Comes Around

‘Come on!’ you yell, sprinting ahead of the trio of chaos behind you. You can feel bits of fragile endstone splintering off as your shoes slam against it, sending the fragments tumbling, on occasion floating for a moment before remembering their need to fall.

‘How do you run that fast?’ Mumbo stared at you as your form slowly shrunk on the horizon. ‘The gravity in the End is not normal, and yet you treat it like nothing! And for goodness sake, hold a Totem, y/n.’

‘Because it isn’t. Now hurry up,’ you whine, stopping to face them. ‘The End Cities aren’t going to raid themselves.’

Scar bit into an Elven Kiss, each bite slowly bringing him closer and closer to where you stood waiting. ‘Wait up,’ he chuckled, despite being so out of breath from trying to catch up without any elven assistance. ‘I need to fix my elytra, and we’re already heading in the direction of the enderman farm. Let’s just- stop off there first.’

You reluctantly agree, trudging at a slower pace for the short distance to your detour. ‘Are you done yet? This is taking forever,’ you whined.

‘Alright,’ Grian exclaimed. ‘You can go ahead if you want. We’re going as fast as we can.’

‘But I don’t want to go alone,’ you grumbled. Slowly, you made your way towards the edge of the platform. The void looms below you, a single misstep, and it would envelop you and everything you owned, obliterating so much time and effort, and put you through so much pain. ‘It’s only fun with you guys.’

Grian crossed his arms as he turned to face you again. ‘Well I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait don’t do that y/n–.’ But his warning came too late. You leaned backwards, letting the void take you within its grasp. Its icy fingers clawed at your shoulders as you fell further and further into oblivion.

This wasn’t right–the farm was further down than you remembered; you had already fallen too far. You could feel the excruciating pain of the void freezing you, slowly devouring you. Your hands fumbled as you tried to light your rockets to fly out of there and emerge from your joke victorious, but the cold of the void rendered you immobile, and the rockets slipped from your grasp.

You feel a sudden force jolting you upwards, the fabric of your shirt wrapped tightly around your back and sides, and yet not your chest. Your head rolled backwards, and your limbs hung by your sides. Lifting your head with a great effort by your neck, you could make out a small figure with large, vibrant wings, attempting to drag you away from your self-induced demise. Grian tossed you onto the platform, collapsing in a heap beside you.

‘Why do you do this to us,’ he breathed heavily. Despite his hair falling messily in front of his eyes, you could see him staring you down as he bit his lip in order not to say anything more.

‘It was just a bit of fun,’ you defended your actions, ‘and it’s not my fault I fell too far and lost my rockets.’

Mumbo laughed airily in that tone of disbelief usually saved for a certain persky bird. ‘That’s entirely your fault! Whose else would it be?’

You shrug. ‘I dunno… Scar’s, for making us stop here?’

‘Well now, I think that’s a bit of a harsh assumption to put on a poor elf, just tryin’ to make his way in the world!’

You jump to your feet. ‘Doesn’t matter anyway. You done?’

‘Done with what?’

‘Fixing your elytra so we can go!’ You shake your head in misplaced disbelief. ‘I’ll see you guys there.’ You glide towards the Gateway, your own elytra breaking suddenly, damaged from your previous fall. You hit the ground with a thud, white particles exploding around you. Your items scattered everywhere, a few items tumbling off the edge into the Void.

Mumbo choked at the sight. ‘Do we help them, or…?’

Grian laughed and spread his wings. ‘We’ll gather their items and leave them in a shulker box. I’m not waiting any longer. It’s their own fault, and what goes around comes around.’

#my writing #🐌 anon #hermitcraft x reader #platonic writing #grian x reader #mumbo jumbo x reader #mumbo x reader #goodtimeswithscar x reader #GTWScar x Reader #gtws x reader #hc x reader #those days where you just hate your writing #mcyt x reader #the anon gang

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lizzybeth1986 · 2 years ago

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Fashion Faux Pas

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 3

Character: Kiara Theron (featuring a couple...AHEM...OCs). No pairing except for a hint of Hana x Kiara if you look really hard.

Rating: PG (a bit of cussing)

Word Count: 1,844+ words

Summary: You'd think the daughter of one of the most fashionable duchies in the country would be given the absolute best of haute couture. But alas...

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW

A/N: A thing just about every Kiara stan agrees on is that the outfit the team gave her for the Costume Gala was a fucking travesty. Ngl this fic was an opportunity to show off the gown I'd hc'd she would wear instead, to explore a bit of how Kiara was faring at the time, and to snark at the narrative a bit. It is set in the time between the Homecoming Ball and the Unity Tour visit to Castelserraillan, in my Petals and Thornes universe.

"This..." Kiara whispers, trying very very hard not to make it sound like a hiss, "this is what you want me to wear for the Costume Gala?"

This season's most favoured designers for the event ("the Gilded Three", Ana de Luca had called them in a recent interview) stare back at her, quite inexplicably impressed with themselves.

"Yes, Lady Kiara - look at this!" titters Karina L., running a seemingly-reverant hand over the dress, her words and manner of speaking fast and impatient. You can tell by the rapid flow of her sentences that this woman is a Lythikan. "The best fabrics money can buy - and all in your house colours!"

Kiara doesn't have to touch the dress to know Karina is lying through her teeth. The fabric feels scratchy and rough beneath her fingers - she might as well have been touching the fabric-equivalent of plastic. Cloth so cheap, Kiara is sure they have cleaning rags more luxuriant lying around in the estate.

"And not just your House Colours! See, my Lady, the feathers placed strategically over your sleeves. A fitting tribute to your House Crest, and to the Duchy of Haute Couture!" chirps Jenna Y., her repetitive flicking of her hair behind her right ear a clear sign that even she isn't quite convinced of what she's saying.

Keep those words out of your mouth! Kiara wants to yell, the smile she'd initially greeted the designers with now a thin grimace. Haute couture indeed. It's one thing if your feathers are faux - it's another if the ones you chose make faux feathers look like masterpieces! These, on the other hand, look like they'd been picked out of the garbage heap of a neglected owlery.

If she hadn't already seen samples of Team JKJ's work in secret, she'd have come to the conclusion that none of these people would know haute couture if it danced in front of them naked. But Maman had procured leaked sketches and photographs of Olivia's outfit - resplendent in satiny red, black lines weaving in and out of the fabric like a spider's web, glittering with shining beadwork and intricate detailing. And now these fuckers are standing here, in her estate, enjoying her lemon cakes and profiteroles and hospitality, shamelessly disguising their mothbitten leftovers as fashion befitting a lady of a Great House.

She can tell from their goddamned faces that they fully expect her to lie down and take this disrespect.

It's one thing to be disappointed in the result yet imagine that it was the result of sincere, heartfelt work. She's seen lesser-known designers provided with half their budget, who have showcased far greater work. This effort is about as sincere as Countess Madeleine's press-friendly "patriotism".

Rhythmically, Kiara taps a fingernail each onto the mound-of-Venus on her palm. The light sting on her soft skin is a welcome diversion. It's a calming technique she's been using since she turned 18, and right now she needs all the tranquility she can bring back on her face. An Olivia Nevrakis can throw a hissy fit and have the national papers gently laugh and gloss over her tantrums. She can't.

Jeff H., the final designer, truly pushes his luck when he pipes up. "I would have gotten the best hat to go with this outfit too - but I've heard that here in Castelserraillan there's scant appreciation for headgear." He sniffs in clear annoyance. Kiara briefly closes her eyes against the image of those dreadful faux feathers atop her head. She's heard enough about this man's obsession for hats - the perfect kind, according to him, is the kind that will render the subject's head invisible ("Heads are overrated!" She can just imagine Jeff say). No wonder Queen Mother Regina was always annoyed around him.

She wonders what dress Jeff would've had in mind for the Countess of Fydelia. It's been long known that the blonde "Two-Time Almost-Queen" (merci, Duchess Esther) has been his muse and inspiration, and he will undoubtedly save his best work for her. Already she's heard through the grapevine that he made orders for at least a hundred lookalikes of pine-tree needles, as authentic as he could possibly get them, to be artfully placed over her bodice in gold thread. One may claim that plans for the gown were in place before King Liam broke off his engagement to the Countess...but Kiara doubts that any of that would have made much of a difference to Jeff.

Kiara is hopeful that they've brought other options with them, but they seem far too confident that this outfit would automatically win the heart of the Lady of Castelserraillan. Or at least that she'll sigh and take it, fearing backlash and censure. This awful dress really was the only one they'd planned to bring for her. A disappointment she doesn't often feel settles deep in her stomach, but she pushes it away, pasting on her most genuine-looking smile.

"Give me a moment. Maman is at Côte d'Or at the moment...she insisted she see pictures of the outfit as soon as I got to see it."

The Gilded Three shift uncomfortably on their feet. "Is that completely necessary?" Karina's pacing of words sounds eerily slower.

"Of course! She'd think something was wrong if I didn't."

Pictures give way to frenetic messaging, the messages result in a fifteen minute phone call with the designers included. The trio leave barely twenty-three minutes after that phone call, polyester outfit in tow. Kiara is rather impressed at how well Maman handled that; she picked her words, and the rare fake compliment on their expertise, carefully...but you could tell from the look in her eyes and the way she pressed her fingers together that she was seething inside.

Kiara knows this, because Maman asks her to look around to see if anyone but their most trusted staff is around, and then asks her to move the call to where the wine cellars are.

Maman has to be really done with everyone's bullshit, to want to move a call to the cellar.

Kiara is getting a dressing-change done when Maman returns from Côte d'Or. She doesn't actually hear her mother come in; when they're changing the bandages and inspecting how far her knife wound has close, Kiara would much rather close her eyes and shut the world out.

If she focuses too much, thinks too much about what the medical staff is doing...she is bound to remember. The image of the split-second that that knife was hurtling towards her...no. No. She won't think of this. Already it's hard enough to handle the nightmares that will follow.

So she closes her eyes and thinks of the trip to Switzerland Baba promised for the entire family. Thinks of the clear, almost mirrorlike, waters of Lake Titisee, of feeding swans and sampling chocolate in Zurich. The fresh air is bound to clear her mind.

She knows Maman has arrived when she feels a trembling, manicured hand over hers, squeezing lightly when Kiara holds on. It stays that way till the medical staff leaves.

"Maman," Kiara gets up gingerly, giving her mother a weak smile.

"Doudou," her mother whispers back, engulfing her in a light, cautious embrace. "Did those miscreants leave our house with that dreadful excuse of a dress?"

A small smile plays on Kiara's lips as she nods. "I was rather impressed with your composure, Maman, that much I can tell you."

"Psh. It's a good thing I wasn't physically there. That garbage deserved to be doused in rubbing alcohol and set on fire!* And those "Gilded Three" would never be allowed to set foot in Castelserraillan again."

Kiara laughs. "I doubt Baba would be comfortable with things getting that far."

Maman shakes her head. "That man has the patience of a saint. I'm glad you didn't inherit all of that from him. Some of the time we do need to put up a bit more of a fight."

Kiara sighs, the resignation in her voice already sending frissons of apprehension down her mother's spine. "We have to learn to pick our battles, Maman."

She doesn't meet her mother's eyes. To her mother none of what Kiara says about court sounds like her fitting in. To her it sounds like too much compromise. To see her mother hurt for her like that, over something she'd made her peace with a long time ago...right now, after everything that's happened, after Homecoming Ball - it's too much.

Maman looks away. Kiara is grateful for this kindness, knowing how much it costs her mother. "Well. I'm glad this is a battle your father was prepared for."

Kiara looks up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

She smiles. "Do you really think we'd bank on designers we barely had a relationship with like that? For our daughter? Just because they're hot this season? We had to make sure we had backup, just in case."

Speechless, Kiara follows Maman to one of the many rooms in her bedroom.

Mon Dieu, to call this gown beautiful would be an understatement. She knows without even trying it on that its one-shouldered, heart-shape neckline would show off her shoulders, her collarbone, the cocoa-butter-enhanced smoothness of her skin in the most flattering way. The mermaid skirt is a vision in midnight black tulle; she can already feel its swish around her feet as she twirls around in a Cordonian Waltz (she tries, desperately, not to imagine the small, the golden-bronze-skinned hands that will spin her around, the brown eyes that she can only hope will return her gaze, the pink skirts floating as if they're on the clouds, together. But the image of her is relentless. It grabs her flush to itself, and won't let her go)

And their coat of arms! Weaved over the bodice in gold and silver thread, swirling into intricately interlaced patterns before descending into thin licks of golden flame just short of the mermaid skirt. The silhouette is designed specifically to mould her hips into their most desirable shape, making her voluptuousness impossible to avoid.

The last outfit would, at best, have spectators claim in a voice most nonchalant how cleverly chosen it is. This one will grab their attention and make it impossible to look away.

The owl is prominent on the design but now overwhelming. It's such a perfect representation of her home, of her...that she begins to feel something she rarely felt for a Costume Gala - breathless anticipation.

"Nothing like our local designers," Maman says, "Our lore, our traditions, our heritage...it all means the world to them."

"Maman," she breathes, "it's beautiful."

Her hand takes a playful chuck at Kiara's chin. "Nothing but the best for our Kiki," she says, "no matter what the rest of the world has to say."

As she often does when she feels emotional but doesn't want to express too much, Kiara wraps her arms around her mother, resting her chin on her shoulder. Even now, the idea of returning to that palace ballroom makes her stomach churn. But she's never felt more ready to go there, no matter when they're expected to leave for Switzerland.

Her family will be there. The people she loves will be there. She will be dressed in the most beautiful, most luxuriant fabric she has ever had the good fortune of wearing, crafted by the artisans of her home, weaved by her people. You bet she's going to feel like a million Cordonian drachmas.

For that one day, she's sure she can forget everything else. Nothing - and no one - will succeed in dimming her shine.

Notes:

1. Côte d'Or has never been mentioned in TRR, but it was very much present in RoE's version of Cordonia. It is one of the first places Leo takes the RoE MC for an outing, and is meant to be a more luxuriant version of Vegas.

2. * - This line absolutely came from the amazing @mand-delemonde, when I mentioned this point in the story. Many thanks to @cassiopeiacorvus for helping me figure out fabrics for Kiara's dreadful OG Costume Gala outfit too!

3. Drachmas was the currency used in Greece until they began using the Euro, so I just had the Cordonians use a version of it seeing as they hadn't fully entered the EU yet (tho I hc that they do later).

4. Reference for the Gown Joëlle shows Kiara:

5. I chose the names for the designers on purpose hdhshshsh

#kiara theron #kiaratheronappreciationweek #KTAW #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #KTAW Day 7 #KTAW Day 7: Fashion #lizzybeth1986 #content: fanfic

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fatefulfaerie · 2 years ago

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Rituals

Zelink Week 2022 Day 6/7 @zelinkweekofficial

Word Count: 1,173

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild (pre-calamity)

Trigger Warnings: one bad language word

“This is insane,” Zelda said as she pulled the hooded white fabric over her head, the lacy ends adorning her shoulders. “Where did you even get this stuff?”

“The laundry room, of course,” Impa said.

Zelda scoffed and looked behind her.

“You stole it?” Zelda asked. “What if someone needs it? You know, for their job?”

“Hylia above, Your Highness, I didn’t steal them,” Impa clarified. “I asked for the extras. Now…”

Impa carefully laid the ruby-featuring golden chain atop Zelda’s head, her blonde hair hidden so well it wouldn’t be seen the rest of the day.

“You’re the spitting image of one of your attendants.”

Impa wasn’t wrong. Royalty really was all in the superficial things, the crown, the intricate garb. This was much simpler, a more faded blue, a leather belt made from a farmer’s cow, simple patterns along the hem of the dress, and red chords that had no purpose other than to announce to the world that they had to wear them.

“This isn’t going to work,” Zelda said anyway. “Link won’t approve. He’s too by-the-books.”

“Is he now?” Impa prompted as she made sure all of Zelda’s hair was concealed. “You can come in now, Link. She’s decent.”

Zelda stammered, and continued to do so as Link walked in.

“Impa!” Zelda finally got out. “Now he’s seen me in my disguise! He’s going to report me!”

“I-I’m not,” Link interjected, awfully nervously for someone who was always so sure of his actions, his words. “I’m here to protect you, actually. Impa approached me yesterday about your plan and I had to agree with her. You need a break, even if it’s just for a day.”

He lifted up one of those terrible soldier helmets with the unflattering red tufts of fake hair.

“I even have my own disguise,” Link said. “I left the Master Sword in my room, too. They won’t recognize us. There’s no way.”

“See?” Impa said, prodding Zelda excitedly with her elbow. “Your day of prayer hookie is guaranteed. You have a perfect disguise and lo and behold your knight in shining armor is at your service, equipped with the next best thing to the Master Sword, a standard soldier’s broadsword.”

Zelda couldn’t help but begin to smile. She nodded, letting herself finally be excited for this.

“Let’s do this.”

Today was the royal festival, an annual ritual where the King himself graced the streets of Hyrule Castle Town as if he were just another citizen. He still wore royal attire of course, but he smiled and held babies and pet dogs and asked people questions they could only ever have positive answers to. When he was asked about the Calamity, he got to say with full confidence and not an ounce of worry leaking out from his brain, that his daughter was praying as they spoke.

Not this year.

Zelda refused to be cooped up in the cathedral while vendors from all over Hyrule congregated to sell their wares, steaming heaps of fabulously rare meats and armies of braided string and linked beads crafted into jewelry. She always heard distant music playing from the cathedral where she prayed and she hated every minute of it.

Today would be different.

Link and Zelda held hands so as not to lose each other, and soon they were off, managing crowds and ending up at whatever stand that fate funneled them into.

“A seafood rice ball?” A Lurelin salesman asked. They took two.

“A beautiful necklace for the little miss?”

“Smell this one of a kind bar of soap and instantly be transported to...”

“Can I interest you in this?”

“How about that?”

“Fifteen percent discount.”

“Buy one get one free.”

It was chaos, and Zelda loved it.

She was being absolutely pampered by her knight attendant, but the fun stopped whenever there was a doozy pertaining to the King. Any breath of him approaching and Link and Zelda would purposefully dive out of the way, hiding behind a corner or going to a different street. Their disguises were good, but nothing could hide Zelda’s green eyes if the King got close enough.

“The King! The King!”

Everyone else around them straightened themselves up, brushing their hair with their figures, putting their best wares upfront, straightening the creases on their simple garb.

Link took Zelda’s hand and made his way quickly to an archway that connected to another street, but it seemed that street also heard the King’s approach, a whole stampede forcing Link and Zelda to the forefront of the King’s greetings and well wishes.

“Shit,” Link cursed under his breath, quickly stealing a glance behind him and then back to Zelda. “We’re trapped.”

Zelda’s eyes swam with panic as she looked at her father, making his way with a jolly smile through his citizens. An idea struck her. She returned her gaze to Link, and grabbed him by his collar.

“Kiss me,” she insisted.

Link blinked with a slight twitch of his head, as if he must not have heard her right.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Zelda explained. “Kiss me.”

He hesitated, like any by-the-book knight would, and so she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and planted a kiss on his lips for him, one that lasted, and yet remained chaste. Zelda closed her eyes, and yet with her ears followed the footsteps of the King, ones she could track anywhere, amongst any bustle, any clamor of noise.

It was an entire minute until she was sure her father had passed them. Yet, the term ‘minute’ doesn’t do the time justice. In the expanse of a hundred years, a minute is practically nothing, but this minute in particular was sixty whole seconds. Sixty of

These

Kind

Seconds

“I think he’s passed,” Zelda said, rescinding to look behind her. When she returned her gaze to Link, he was beet red. She let go of his collar.

“Oh come on,” Zelda said. “Don’t act like I’m the first girl you’ve ever kissed.”

Link was too frozen to even stammer. Zelda gave him a couple light slaps.

“Hey,” she prompted. “Wake up. You’re no use to me like this. What if the Yiga attack?”

Link had only been breathing, if that, and so without acknowledging what she was saying he breathed a

“Wow,” still reeling and swooning from the kiss.

“Ugh come on,” Zelda said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to where she wanted to go next.

“Your Highness, wait,” Link said, Zelda stopping and turning to him.

“You…” Link started, but hesitated. “You didn’t feel that?

“Feel what?” Zelda asked, genuinely asking, looking him up and down. Link put a hand over his heart and massaged it lightly when she looked to have no clue. He winced, before admitting untruthfully,

“N-nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

He knitted his brow as she continued on through the square. She prattled on about the history of the fountain while he found himself questioning why he wanted to kiss her again.

#zelink week 2022 #zelink #botw #link #zelda #king rhoam

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

tied up. (m) jjk.

pairing. biker!jk x reader genre. smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship word count. 6k of just filth <3 warnings. light bondage, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, spanking, begging, sweet dirty talk, cum play/stuffing, oc tries to be in control hehe summary. jungkook would do absolutely anything you asked. which is how he found himself on his back, arms tied up above his head, with you perched on his lap and a look on your face that meant trouble. note. little valentine’s day special for deep six!couple (it’s a pwp so no need to read the original story) i hope you enjoy it, lmk what you think ❣️

Never in a million years did Jungkook expect to be in this position. He’s a tough man, always clad in leather and thick rings, covered in dark tattoos, riding around on a loud bike with his club patch adorning his back.

Yet here he was, laying on his back with his arms above his head, while your cute self sat perched on his hips, eyes sparkling and a giddy smile on your red coated lips. All because he was so inexplicably weak for you.

“This is what you want?” Jungkook questions for the first time in the span of ten minutes.

When he arrived home earlier, hands holding a giant plush teddy bear with a bouquet of sunflowers and baby’s breath between it’s paws, his attention was momentarily on the two dogs at his feet yapping for him to acknowledge. Jungkook had been too focused on petting the tiny furballs to notice you weren’t in the room, but when the usual feeling of your hands sliding around him in greeting was missing, he stood back up with a look of confusion.

It wasn’t until he wandered further into the house, following a small trail of rose petals that lead from the front door all the way to the bedroom, that he finally spotted you. Sitting on the center of the bed in the dimly lit room, a few candles scattered on the dresser and nightstands, flames dancing and illuminating the scene in a warm glow, casting your form in a golden hue that left you looking unreal.

A silk ribbon lingerie set that matched your lipstick hugged your curves, tied up bows covering your nipples, completed by a matching garter belt hugging your waist with gold detailed chains dangling down to your thighs. It was as if you had taken a screenshot of Jungkook’s deepest desires and brought them to life, placed right in front of him, positioned perfectly in order to pull him in.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” you had murmured so sweetly, hands placed delicately over your thighs with your legs tucked under your butt, slowly beckoning him over when he had stood in a state of shock at the door.

It didn’t take much to get Jungkook wired when it came to you, but seeing you covered in silk ribbons, looking like the perfect present he wanted to unwrap, made his mind blank. It’s that same horndog dazed look on his face that you knew so well, roping him in with your tender kisses and roaming hands, marking his skin in shades of red in a trail from his neck to his ear. This is not entirely how he thought the night would go, his earlier plans blanking from his mind, the teddy bear he held now placed on the nightstand while you lured him in.

“I wanna try something,” you had suggested, soft breath tickling his skin and turning him into a puddle at your feet.

“Anything.” Jungkook meant it, always willing to do whatever you wanted with unmatched enthusiasm. So when you brought out a jute rope and used your sultry voice to ease him onto his back, slowly undressing him until his top half was bare, he could feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest.

The question he had asked minutes prior continues to hang in the air as you loop the rope under a final time and pull the bight through, pulling tight to lock the knot in and tugging gently to double check that it wasn’t pinching his skin. The red rope compliments his skin, the double-column tie keeping his hands snug against the bed frame in the perfect position.

“This is what I want,” you confirm, fingers trailing from his bound wrists, down the veins that covered his arms, and the black ink that painted his skin. Jungkook felt a trail of fire that followed your touch, burning his skin with molten pleasure while you continued down onto his chest, fingertips feeling the bumps of the golden chain he always wore with your initial on it. You admire it for a brief moment, loving the way it glimmers on his chest before your hands continue their path, sliding down until you reach his sides, hands cupped over his ribs and feeling the racing of his heart.

“Nervous?” you tease, teeth biting down onto your lower lip, your thumb gently soothing his skin. You had half the mind to be a brat and tickle him, knowing he had no way to swat you away like he always did now that his hands were tied to the bed frame, but you could see the small shivers racking his body from being in this position. Jungkook was horny, and a little intimidated by you.

“You make me nervous. Always look so pretty,” he trails off softly, eyes glazed over as he observes you. There would never be a time where Jungkook wouldn’t stare at you like you were the reason the sun came up every morning, your scattered kisses mimicking the constellations you swore he placed in the sky. Everything on this earth reminded him of you and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Yeah, you like this?” you wonder, hands coming up to trace along the straps of your lingerie with a knowing smile. He takes another minute to admire the silk fabric, eyes focused on the caged bralette hugging your boobs, ends of the ribbon covering your nipples and bouncing when you lean back to give him a better view. The matching underwear with a tiny heart cut out of the front was the cherry on top, silky material felt along his skin from your position. “I bought it just for you.”

A small groan escapes him, tongue coming out to swipe at his piercing before he’s biting down on the soft flesh. Jungkook loved you in absolutely anything you wore, but knowing you had gone out of your way to pick this out had him wondering just how many other options you had hidden away. He’d definitely be bringing that up once he wasn’t focused on the sweet sound of your voice.

“That makes me feel special.” His hands move to touch you, so accustomed to gripping your hips whenever you’re on top of him, he forgets he’s currently restrained until the bed frame rattles and a small burn is felt around his wrists. A wince reaches your ear before he’s relaxing once more, briefly looking up to remind himself that he was tied up before looking back at you with those doe eyes that always swoon you, just now understanding what a compromising position he’s in.

“Nuh uh,” you tsk, wagging a finger at him playfully. “You can’t use your hands today.”

Jungkook honestly didn’t think this through before accepting, not realizing just how much he loved to grope and hold on to you at all times. “What's your plan? Tie me up and use me until you’re satisfied? Because that sounds like one of my fantasies.”

A sly smirk curls your lips, eyes clouding with lust, and it makes his stomach flip. He knew you meant trouble whenever you had that look on your face, and the current situation leaves him a little wary—and excited—for what you have planned.

“Should I blind fold you too then?”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you, a small frown turning down his lips, clearly displeased with the suggestion. “Alright, that's taking it too far. You know I love staring at you, baby.”

Jungkook slowly ruts his hips up, cool belt buckle felt along your clothed core, pushing against you when he repeats the motion once more. It makes you shiver while you lean forward, resting more of your weight against him and seeing the teasing grin on his face. Tie him up all you want, he’d even let you contort him into a pretzel if that's what you were into, but blindfolding him and preventing him from seeing the pretty faces you make as you moan over his cock? That was sick torture.

Thankfully you weren’t totally cynical, agreeing that Jungkook bound to the bed frame with his muscular arms held up was more than enough. “I’m just teasing, Guk. You look good like this though.”

Wiggling a perfectly shaped brow at you, he already feels his cock hardening underneath you, the small ruts of your hips joining his only spurring him on further until he’s aching in his jeans. “C’mon, do whatever you want to me baby.”

Jungkook holds his breath when you lift your hand up, slowly reaching across to tuck a strand of his long hair behind his ear, thumb gently tracing the tiny scar marking his skin with a smile on your face.

“I will,” you whisper with mischief in your eyes as you shuffle off his lap, nimble fingers undoing his belt clasp with ease, enjoying the way his stomach tenses with anticipation while you unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper. His impatience shows when he lifts his hips, eager to have you yanking the denim from his thick thighs, not satisfied until you’re tossing the material aside, landing in a heap right beside his leather jacket on the floor.

The black briefs he has on do a good job showcasing his growing bulge, slowly tenting the fabric when you gently trace your finger along his thighs, following the bold lines of ink on his skin. Almost like a ritual, you place a soft kiss to the double-headed wolf shaded in black before your fingertips dip beneath the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down his hips smoothly.

Jungkook audibly groans at being released, hard cock bobbing in the air slightly with small beads of precum collecting at his tip, already hard and heavy just from looking at you. The prettiest veins line the underneath of it, guiding your eyes all the way up until you reach the pink mushroom head, just waiting to find its way into your mouth.

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you marvel, pulling his underwear down all the way and letting it join his pile of clothes on the floor. He lay completely naked now, chiseled body out in the open for you to drool over, and he’s not opposed to it. The fiery look in your eyes while you trailed your gaze over every inch of him only made him squirm, desperate for you to touch him, to show him just why you wanted to have him tied up.

“Show me how much you love it,” he rasps, teeth sinking down on his lip when you stare up at him, slowly lowering yourself until he could feel your breath hitting his skin. Your eyes are trained to detect any of his movements, from the bob in his throat when he swallows as you wrap your hands around his cock, to the tensing of his thighs when you place a teasing kiss to his swollen tip, taking note of his reactions to your touch.

A shuddering breath escapes him at the contact, once again forgetting about his limited range of motion when he goes to touch you and the headboard shakes behind him. It makes his wrists sting as the rope rubs against his skin in the same spot from before, but he couldn’t help it. The way you’re kneeling between his legs, back arched while you lean forward with your ass jutting into the air, he just wants to reach forward and give it a good smack like he always does.

You know Jungkook inside and out, so as much as he was trying to act like he was okay with not being in control, you can tell he’s edging closer to becoming a desperate, frustrated mess underneath you. The small whine he releases when he settles his arms back into place shows you that much, and another glance up at him allows you to see the tiny grimace painting his features now, brows pinched together while you continue to tease him.

“Wanna hear you beg for it,” you sigh, loosely pumping him in your hand, hovering your mouth above him when you stick your tongue out and let a thick trail of spit drip onto his cock. Jungkook hisses slightly at the visual, eyes focused on the way your spit mixes with his precum as you swipe your thumb along his slit.

“Baby,” he whines, rutting his hips up and frowning when you inch back to prevent his cock from nudging your lips. The wicked smile on your cherry coated lips sends his mind spinning, fingers clenching in his palm when you tilt your head at him innocently.

“Beg Jungkook. Wanna hear you.”

Your hands tighten around him, making his thighs tense as his hips rut up once more. “Fuck,” he cries out, raspy and desperate. “Please baby, make me feel good. Ah, just wanna feel your mouth please—“

His rambling gets stuck in his throat when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, gently flicking your tongue against him and having the salty taste of his precum fill your senses. Jungkook’s chest heaves when you hum around him, red lips circling his length as you slowly sink down, the warm wetness of your mouth making his blood simmer.

The weight of his cock on your tongue has you mewling, eyes fluttering shut when you take him an inch further, gently hollowing your cheeks to suck in time with your hand. Jungkook can’t form a coherent thought now, focusing on the messy way you suck his cock, leaving it nice and shiny each time you pull back. Strings of spit drip down his length and gather around your palm, the wet thump of your hand coming down mixing in with the obscene slurps of your mouth.

“I like you like this,” you breathe as you pop off his dick, hands gliding across his length with the help of your saliva. It’s a torturous rhythm you have going, knowing exactly what to do to make Jungkook writhe around, applying just the right pressure, focusing on all the parts that you know would drive him crazy.

“Yeah?” he manages to speak, arms flexing in their restraints when you lick a stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around his pink tip with a smile on your lips.

“Mhm, you sound pretty when you beg.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re lucky I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you hum, the familiar warmth filling your chest at his confession just as strongly as it did when he first said it. Although he’s being playful you know how deep his words go, you can tell by the look in his eye, and if that wasn’t enough then the mere fact that he was allowing you to tie him up said it all.

“How much more do I have to beg to get you to sink onto my cock?” The muscles in his neck tense when he throws his head back, gasping as you take him back into your mouth, sliding further down than before. His stomach hiccups once his cock nudges the back of your throat, muscle tightening around his length when you gag slightly at the feeling. Jungkook’s lungs forget how to function at the sight, your red lips pulled taut around his girth as you slurp back up only to repeat the motion again and again until he’s tensing underneath you, stomach caving in each time he hits the back of your throat.

The breathy whine that spills past his lips has your underwear dampening with arousal, thighs rubbing together when you lift off of him once more, feeling the lust growing inside of you with each moan he releases. Very rarely did you ever get to see Jungkook like this, pleading for you to make him feel good, nights like that typically reserved for the days where he was exhausted from the club, easily becoming a needy mess in search of a stress reliever. But this version of him was new, and you wanted to savor it a little longer.

“Beg a little more for me, yeah?” Your eyes sparkle while you speak, sitting back up between his legs. His cock is left alone when you bring your fingers to the sides of your underwear, gently tugging at the knotted silk on each side to undo the garment, allowing you to slip them off while keeping the golden garter chain attached.

Once Jungkook gets the view of your glistening folds, he doesn’t need you to ask twice. Instantly, he’s pleading to feel the warmth of your pussy around him, begging to see the look on your face once you sunk onto him, needing to hear the wet sound of his cock slipping into you. “P-please, wanna see my pretty baby use me. Wanna—fuck—wanna feel you cum around me.”

The soft skin of your thighs rub against his when you reposition yourself, straddling his lap with your pussy hovering a few inches above his length, and Jungkook can’t look away once you slowly lower yourself onto him. His lips press together at the sensation, the wetness coating your folds helping you grind against his cock, lower lips parting around it as you rock forward. It’s a teasing motion that tortures the both of you, the head of his cock just barely nudging against your clit each time, but it’s enough to have him groaning.

“Baby,” he whines again, jaw dropping open, brows furrowed together as his eyes move from the spot between your thighs, looking directly at you and seeing the sinfully evil smile you have on. The weight of you on him, keeping his cock pressed against his stomach while you grind against him, has a pool of precum gathering below his belly button, leaving a sticky mess on his warm skin.

“You wanna feel me?” you tease, letting your hands rest on his chest, tracing the skulls marking his skin and gasping when he ruts up in time with you. Your nails lightly dig into him when his cock rubs against your swollen clit with precision, biting down on your lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

“Please, let me feel you,” he whispers breathlessly, mind hazy with lust, skin tingling with each roll of your hips. You let his pleading go unanswered for a minute, enjoying the way his abs clench in time with your hips, smiling when his arms yank at the restraints in his dazed state, small moans leaving his swollen lips while he stares at you.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you smirk, bending forward to place a tender kiss to the edge of his lips, pulling back for a second as he chases your mouth before appeasing him and allowing your lips to meet in a heated kiss. Jungkook gasps into your mouth when your tongue slips past the seam of his lips, tangling with his while you reach between your bodies and grab his cock.

A slight raise from your hips allows you to lead him to your entrance, bulbous head prodding the tight ring of muscles, slowly breaching through in a familiar stretch. It didn’t matter how often Jungkook felt the warmth of your walls, his reaction was the same every time, moaning unabashedly into your mouth, the glide of your walls against his cock leaving him breathless. He’s patient as you ease onto him, continuing to kiss you, swallowing each other’s moans and pants until he bottoms out once you’re fully settled on top of him.

The full feeling of Jungkook’s cock would never fail to make you weak, curving just right inside of you, nudging the perfect spots like it was meant to be there. Your palms on his chest let you feel each rise and fall of his lungs, skin slightly sweaty to the touch, heart racing even faster than before. The wet smack of your lips separating fills the brief silence, faces inches from each other and the half lidded gaze Jungkook gives you makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

“You always feel so good,” you keen, lifting up slightly before sinking back down, becoming more fluid as you get used to his size. His body trembles slightly underneath you, rugged pants felt against your face when he groans at the feeling of your velvety walls wrapping around him beautifully.

“Don’t tease me,” he sighs, arms flexing and mind going foggy from the slow pace. The pretty pout on his lips when he whines makes it all worth it though, lets you relish in the small sense of control he’s given you.

You give in to him though, knowing just how bad he wanted this, allowing you to do what you pleased to him, and the least you could do was give him what he wanted too. With a soft smile, you’re bending forward and placing a kiss to the golden chain, not feeling the way his heart skips a beat as he stares at you, the warm light of the room casting you in an angelic glow that only made him fall for you further.

“Sorry,” you giggle, grabbing his chin before you kiss him, sweet and tender as if you didn’t have him bound to the bed frame. Jungkook can’t even make light of it all, a choked moan of your name reaching your ears when you pick up the pace of your hips, skin slapping together each time you come back down.

His hooded gaze meets yours, locked onto your every move: the bounce of your breasts while you ride him, still caged behind that bralette he couldn’t rip off with his hands, thighs tensing with the rise and fall of your hips, pussy sucking him in each time, arousal dripping down his length and staining the sheets below you.

“Fuck baby, just like that.” The husky drawl to his voice ignites a small fire within you, hot desire building inside you. The euphoric feeling spreads to every limb on your body, the thickness of his cock spreading you apart deliciously, taking over your rational thinking the way it always did, leaving you drunk off his cock as you succumb to the feeling of it all.

He smirks lightly when you quiver above him, core tightening each time the head of his cock nudges deep inside you, rubbing along the sweet bundle of nerves he knew all too well. Your hips continue to lead you back to that same spot, cursing each time the jolt of pleasure courses through you. A trembling moan blends in with the sounds around you, walls tightening around his cock when you lift up, resting more weight on his chest when you lean forward for leverage. The angled position has your clit brushing against his pelvis, delicious friction that makes your orgasm creep up on you.

“Fuck Guk,” you whimper above him with your eyes fluttering closed, missing the awed look he gives you, how his eyes trace the arch of your brows when you pull them together, following the curve of your mouth pushed into a pout with lips coated in a sheen of your saliva—something he desperately wants to feel against his own lips. Jungkook doesn’t fail to see how the table has turned, how easily you’ve become the whiny mess you were so determined to have him be. He loves it like this though, loves to see you shuddering with ecstasy, all because of him.

“You gonna cum?” he wonders, voice thick and dripping with want. No longer passive, his thighs tense as he starts to fuck up into you, chuckling when you lean fully over him, allowing him to do more of the work once you start to lose momentum. A strained moan is your only response, cheek pressing into his chest as he pistons his hips into you, the lewd sound of your skin slapping together louder than before. Jungkook smiles down at you, seeing the way your body rocks in time with his thrusts, mouth dropping open while you drool over his cock.

“C-close,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, half moon indents blending in with his chest piece while you try to find your bearings. With a bit of struggle, you lift your head once more, eyes glazed over with lust and you frown at him. “This was s-supposed to be about you.”

His hips speed up now, fingers itching to reach forward and cup your jaw, wanting to bring you closer to kiss the frown from your face. “This is about me. Love seeing you like this.” Jungkook groans as you get impossibly tighter around him. “Cum for me baby, please.”

His begging is what pushes you over the edge, wet gasp sticking to your throat once your climax washes over, incoherent mumbles of his name sounding like music to his ears. Your body trembles above him as your juices soak his cock, slurred curses spoken into the air while another gush of wetness escapes you, leaving his thighs wet with remnants of your orgasm.

“My pretty baby,” he coos, continuing to rut into you as you whimper, sensitive walls pulsing around him, sending light sparks of overstimulation through you. “Let my arms go angel, wanna make you feel special too.”

Still drunk off your high and vision spotty, you weakly nod, fingers slowly undoing the knot you made until his hands are finally free.

In a flash, he’s pushing you back onto the bed, messy cock slipping out of you in the process. Once his large hands are gripping your skin, everything feels right with the world, soft flesh between his fingers when he grabs your ass as he flips you over, exactly where they belonged.

Jungkook takes his time, allowing his palms to roam your skin, acting as if he hadn’t been in this exact position last night. He traces over the golden chains along your thighs, admiring them like you had admired the chain on his chest, following them to your waist, up your back until he’s unclasping your bra and finally discarding it to the side.

The sudden movement has you dazed, not even realizing when he had pushed you onto your knees with your hands holding you steady. The soft material of the sheets is felt beneath you, fingers gripping them while you whimper in anticipation.

“You had your fun baby,” he sighs, fisting his cock and leading it back towards your drenched entrance. “Let me have mine.”

“Jungkook,” you mewl, arching your back further for him. His palm soothes your skin once he gently sinks back into you with a wet squelch, both hands now gripping your hips when he starts the quick pace you were both accustomed to. Your thighs spread further apart for him, keening when he sinks deeper into you, fisting the sheets as he filled you up.

Jungkook is focused on the view of his cock stretching you open, how you’re creaming it each time he pulls back out, more of your arousal coating your thighs in a sinful mess. “Love this view,” he groans, one of his hands rearing back to deliver a rough smack against your ass, smirking when the flesh jiggles from the force. The sting spreads to your core, makes you squeal in surprise as your skin smarts and tingles, warmth intensifying when he swiftly delivers two more smacks to the same spot. “Love you.”

The sweet confession makes your walls tighten, a small cry released into his sheets as you rut back into him, meeting his thrusts in time with your own in a messy rhythm. “Love you too, so much—fuck.”

“Do you?” he jests, leaning over your body until his golden chain dangles against your shoulder, free hand clasping over yours and digging into the mattress. “Is that why you wanted to tie me up?”

A playful laugh escapes you, turning into a filthy gasp when he speeds up his thrusts, thighs smacking against yours, bed creaking under the movement. “Yes,” is all you can choke out, shivering at the ticklish feeling of his chain rocking along your skin.

“You gonna let me tie you up next time and do whatever I want to you?”

“God, yes. Whatever you want Jungkook.” He huffs out a laugh, knowing you mean it, knowing you would indulge every one of his desires with no questions asked. You were his match made in heaven, aligning perfectly with every one of his wants and needs, and he’d forever wonder how he got lucky enough to have you enter his life.

His right hand reaches for your face, cupping your jaw and turning you to face him, lips meeting yours in a frenzy. His fingers dig into your cheek, tongue slipping into your mouth with a shared moan, hips never losing their momentum. It leaves you in a haze, sighing into the kiss when his tongue tickles the roof of your mouth.

“Wanna fill you up,” he whispers between smacks of your lips, letting his tongue trail against the seam of your lips before kissing you again. “Leave you nice and messy.”

“Please,” you pant, jaw slack when he angles his hips, cock hitting your gspot with precision, your sensitive walls spasming around him. “H-harder.”

“Whatever you want baby,” he murmurs, giving you another kiss before straightening up, both hands tightly gripping your hips while he gives you the rough pace you asked for. Your upper body gives out on you, face burying into the sheets as your senses overflow with him, body jostling forward with each snap of his hips, nipples grazing the sheet beneath you and making you mewl.

The sweet moans of your name he lets out, fingers burning your skin as he holds on to you, cock filling you up perfectly, it's all you can think about. And when he sneaks a hand around your body, fingers meeting your sensitive clit, you nearly shriek at the stimulation.

Jungkook feels his own climax creeping up his spine, giving your ass another slap and groaning when you tighten around him. Your thighs tremble against his, hands yanking the sheets while you melt into his touch, moans getting breathier with each flick of his fingers. The pressure builds in your core, whole body tensing up when your second orgasm of the night makes itself known.

“Guk.” It’s a guttural moan, needy and drawn-out, your hand mindlessly reaching behind you in search for his. He grabs it instantly, lacing your fingers together and anchoring you to him as your mind starts to float, continuing to circle along your clit with his hips never slowing down their intoxicating pace.

With a final flick against your bundle of nerves, you’re pushed over the edge once more, falling head first into your orgasm so fast it shocks you. Your eyes slip shut, flashes of light displayed against your lids, goosebumps flaring across your skin while the white-hot pleasure consumes you.

Jungkook curses at your walls sucking him in, attempting to milk his orgasm out of him as he continued to fuck you through it. Your hand grips his tightly, soft mewls filling the air while your body twitches and shudders, breath hiccuping as you come down, knees barely able to hold yourself up. His strong hold keeps you steady, golden chains around your messy thighs swinging from the force of his thrusts.

“Shit baby,” he grunts, thrusting into you in quick bursts, desperate to feel his release. Your thumb gently rubs along his palm, quiet pleas begging him to fill you up, wanting to feel his cum drip out of you the way you loved. Jungkook’s hips lose their rhythm, fucking you with urgency, jaw clenched tightly when the familiar feeling overtakes him. With a few shallow thrusts and another quiet proclamation of love, he’s pushing deeper into you as he cums, warm bursts of white painting your walls, filling you up until it drips out of you around his length.

The harsh breaths of both of you fill the now silent room, the thrumming of your heart felt in your ears as everything settles around you. Your limbs feel sore already, ass aching from where he delivered the harsh slaps, but the dopey smile on your face shows no complaints.

You’re the first to move, gently prying your hands apart and allowing him to slide out of you. The slight gush of his cum escaping only makes you squirm, more so when his fingers stuff it back into you with a chuckle. He can’t look away though, focused on the thick globs of cum coating your folds, disappearing once more as he fills you up again. When you whine in protest he slips his fingers back out, smiling sweetly before he peppers kisses onto your back.

“I’m just trying to prevent the sheets from staining.”

“Yeah right,” you snort, flipping over onto your back and smiling up at him. These sheets were as good as ruined, they typically were whenever you two decided to roll around and make a mess. “You’re trying to knock me up aren’t you?”

He only rolls his eyes while he crawls over you, long hair framing his face while he gives you his boyish smile. “Maybe,” he shrugs, placing a tender kiss to your lips before kissing the tip of your nose.

When he pulls back, you let your hands cup his face, taking a good moment to admire your boyfriend, tracing every one of his features that you had memorize, your favorite being the slope of his nose leading to the curve of his lips, second favorite being the tiny mole below his mouth that you loved to kiss. Jungkook always let you take as long as you wanted, staring down at you with glimmering eyes and a sweet smile, taking his own moment to admire you as well.

“Did you even notice the gift I brought you?” he questions lightly, eyes looking over to the teddy bear and bouquet of flowers. Your head cranes back to see what he was talking about, letting out a delighted gasp when you spot it. He snickers when you twist around on the bed, scrambling over to grab the cute gift in your hands, sniffing the flowers once you do.

“I love them,” you beam, fondly staring down at the plush toy with the sewn on heart, both your initials embroidered onto it. “Sorry I ambushed you earlier.”

Jungkook grabs a pair of his sweats from his drawers, slipping them on before handing you one of his shirts once he stands beside you. He didn’t mind his own plans for the night being slightly derailed if it lead to this. “Ambush me all you want,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just remember, you told me I could do whatever I want next time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” His playful laugh fills the air when your elbow digs into his side, making him squirm, arms refusing to let go of you despite your attack. He only loosens his grip when you turn around, hands falling around your waist as your own hands settle around his shoulders.

“Happy Valentine’s day. I love you.” His smile is wide as he looks down at you, cheeks pushing out in a way that keeps his innocence and makes you want to pinch them until they’re pink and he’s giggling for you to stop.

“I love you more,” you breathe out with a matching smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He sighs into it, letting himself melt into the slow motion, hands bringing you closer to him as he deepens it. But before it could go any further, a yap and a few scratches to the door pull you apart.

“You sure you want kids?” you joke when he walks over to open the door, the two dogs rushing into the room for attention, stretching out their legs onto you as their tails wag.

Jungkook settles onto the floor, allowing the youngest dog to climb onto his lap, standing up to lick at his jaw. “If it's with you, I want twelve.”

You can’t hold back the loud laugh you let out and he joins in, turning to stare at you when you playfully nudge his shoulder with your foot. “Keep dreaming Six. You know you’re not ready to give up your bike just yet.”

He knew this, perfectly content with the two dogs you currently had, only enjoying teasing you with the ridiculous number of kids and dogs he suggested. But Jungkook also knew that when the time was right, things would fall into place. And as he stares at the room, seeing an abundance of photographs of the two of you, newer photos showing the puppies you had adopted, there's only one thing he’s certain about: as long as he's with you, nothing else matters.

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