#i know whom i trust enough to tell things to

[terrortwinz]

Consistency is so vitally important. Kids subconsciously crave the stability. That means follow through with what you said you’d do. That means stick to a schedule like it’s set in stone.

When they are tantruming, they are not at a place where they can listen so just be a safe person. Keep them safe. Help them calm if they allow it. Wait them out. When they finally calm, you can problem-solve. (“What happened?” - also don’t assume you know what happened because you witnessed it. Make them tell you what happened to set them off.)

Explain yourself to them. They can understand your reasoning. Don’t assume your directions or rules are clear and understandable to them. (“When you clean up your toys it makes it safe to walk in. It gives you room to play with other toys. We clean up so we can go to lunch.” Etc.)

Let them explain things to you that you already know about. Pretend you don’t know anything about their discovery. Let them talk. Remember that the world is still a place of wonder for them and don’t ruin it by being an adult piece of shit with only one perspective. Ask open-ended questions! It prompts their brains to critically think.

Don’t be afraid to pick the fight with kids but follow through and see it to the end. When you show up and set standards for them, they subconsciously know you’re a person whom they can trust because you care enough to not abandon them at their “worst”.

Don’t do everything for them - make them try first. Guide them.

Play with them. I cannot stress this enough. Kids learn through play. Play is how you spend quality time with them.

Let them get involved in what you’re doing - have them help with laundry (they can sort!), let them help with meals (science! Measuring!), let them help with cleaning. So much good learning happening while also getting in quality time.

Read books to them. Read the words. Examine the pictures. Identify the characters emotions. Explore problem-solving solutions. Try to remember what happens next. Act the book out. Go on a letter hunt. There’s no wrong way to read a book to kids except not doing it.

Remember, with kids, it’s not about you. It’s about them. Be present. Engage. Get to know them as people with interests and opinions that are all valid.

Their brains are little sponges - they pick up everything, so to reiterate the above, watch what you say.

How to talk to children

This is based on decades of experience as an uncle and as an older brother.

Never forget that children are just as much people as adults are.

Kids 10 years or younger (and sometimes older than that) don’t get sarcasm or irony, so don’t use them.

If a child has difficulty pronouncing a word, don’t copy their misprounciation when speaking to them. They can hear the word just fine. It could sound to them like you’re making fun of them.

(Yes, this means no babytalk)

Don’t be dismissive.

Listen to what they’re saying.

To get on the same eye-level, don’t bend over or squat: it seems condescending. Kneeling or sitting are better.

It should go without saying that you should respect children’s body autonomy. Don’t force affection on them.

Respect children’s emotional autonomy as well. Let them be angry. Let them be sad. Don’t force them to be happy.

Let children like things. Don’t run down the things they like just because you find them cringy.

Don’t think that you know better.

To children, adults are giants. Be a big friendly giant.

Don’t stifle children’s curiosity.

Don’t stifle children’s enthusiasm.

To quote Sondheim, “Be careful the words you say, children will listen.”

Don’t look down on children.

[cosmicdreamgrl]

lyric of the day? 'if i could take it all back, i wouldn't take it all back now'

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

dni.

[starcurtain]

I know everyone sees Itto as Genshin's comedic relief, but I'm telling you all, Alhaitham is actually the funniest character in Genshin Impact.

According to the fandom, he's hot, he's famous, he's the one in charge of the house...

But according to the people of Sumeru? Dude became grand sage and not a single NPC around the city had a thing to say about that. Sachin's son got his ass beat and he didn't even know who Alhaitham was; it was just "some guy in green." People on the streets are said to not even notice Alhaitham, let alone be able to identify him by appearance. The only time we ever hear NPCs directly commenting on Alhaitham, it's Siraj's collective who hate Alhaitham's guts. Dori refuses to work with him. Random Eremites call him a lunatic within two minutes of meeting him.

Alhaitham's reputation in Sumeru is "Who? Ah, that guy? I heard he's weird," and then everyone moves on.

Meanwhile, Kaveh is literally famous enough to have an epithet ("the Light of Kshahrewar"), is the lead architect on entire city redesigns, and was trusted before Alhaitham's take over to do work on the Akademiya itself. He built the most famous landmark in the rainforest outside of the Divine Tree. He's well-known enough that people bank on his reputation to start scams; people send their children to take courses with him in the belief that it will bless them with successful future careers. He's known for philanthropic endeavors to help the poor and disadvantaged. He won the Interdarshan Championship. This is the Sumeru equivalent of winning an Olympic gold medal!!

Kaveh is the Taylor Swift to Alhaitham's Travis Kelce. They might have independent success, but in every measurement of public sentiment, Kaveh vastly outshines Alhaitham, and the fandom should really take a step back and think about how hilarious this makes everything about their situation in canon.

For the few in Sumeru who are actually paying attention, sure, Alhaitham is the (former) acting grand sage who makes a pretty penny and owns the house Kaveh lives in. For the average majority of Sumeru's citizens who are way more likely to know Kaveh? Alhaitham is literally just "that guy who is shacked up with the Light of Kshahrewar."

Kaveh's efforts to keep where he lives a secret just makes him come across like one of those reclusive types of artists who value their privacy. Half the public in Sumeru probably think he just prefers to keep himself and his lover out of the limelight. Kaveh was so busy pretending not to be poor, he forgot that every ounce of pretending he does just helps him keep his own celebrity status. The harder he attempts to act secretive about where he lives and with whom, the more it comes across as "Please respect this famous person's privacy and stop asking about the details of his relationship."

And Alhaitham, for whom being "that guy who is shacked up with the Light of Kshahrewar" is THE life goal? Everything is going according to keikaku. Kaveh has convinced the entirety of Sumeru that he and Alhaitham are in a relationship, all without Alhaitham having to lift a finger. The more determined Alhaitham gets to fly under the radar, the more it looks like he's Kaveh's kept man. If you aren't living with him because you're broke, then why are you living with him, Kaveh? There's simply no way for Alhaitham to lose.

It's just... so funny.

[diamondcitydarlin]

Just fair warning- I said on my personal post about this that I wasn't going to talk about Neil Gaiman anymore, but as it's becoming clear that him and his publishers and anyone else who makes money off of him is circling the wagons and trying to bury these allegations, as well as some fans still defending and trying to 'rationalize' this information, I feel like, actually, we need to keep talking about him (as much as I cannot stand him and feel physically disgusted now when I so much as see his face somewhere). Specifically, the fact that he's a liar, master manipulator and should not, under any circumstances, be given access to his fans like he has in the past. At the very least. (And if you need to blacklist his name or even unfollow me so as to not be triggered, I completely understand, but I will always try to tag these posts accordingly and I think it's crucial right now that the truth be put where people can see)

This post specifically is in response to those 'rationalizations' I've seen, some that have gone as far as to blame the young fans/groupies that hooked up with him for being 'golddiggers' or just making a mountain out of a molehill for something they now regret. It's not that simple, yall. (And, again, this requires some amount of completely ignoring the story about him extorting his tenant for sex under threat of eviction of her and her three young children, I'm not sure how you 'rationalize' that under the best of circumstances)

So let's be clear here. What we know is that NG has routinely, for possibly an upwards of 30 years, pulled sexual 'partners' from his fan groups, most of whom are 18-22 year old young women (though possibly younger, accounts are coming forward of 16 year olds having allegedly been inappropriately touched/flirted/propositioned by him, which ig is the age of consent in the UK but still?? 16 year olds!!). This wasn't one or two times in the course of three decades, this was a constant pattern of behavior for him and for a very insidious reason.

This isn't to try to infantilize those fans or young women/young people in general or try to suggest that they couldn't have consented to sex with an older person or famous person. In fact, the onus isn't on them at all. This is about an older guy with a lot of fame, power and wealth choosing to sleep with people that he had already conditioned to idolize him and using that power imbalance to coerce them into doing things they didn't want to.

Regardless of one's age or gender identity, it can be difficult to impossible to say 'no' to someone like that. After all, you've been 'chosen' by the chosen one, you're special and not like everyone else, and if you don't do what the popular person everyone trusts is telling you to do you could end up ostracized. Alienated. Or worse. And you know what? Gaiman knew that! He knew it when he was crafting his 'approachable dad' persona on tumblr. He knew it when he was cultivating a fandom of personality. He knew it when he was having huge meetups to try to ensnare more victims. I hate to even think it, but I'm starting to believe he knew it when he was writing children's books too.

It's been talked about again and again in separate issues, but needless to say something not being strictly illegal does not make it inherently, morally okay. It does not erase the fact that this man has been essentially grooming his fandom to feel safe meeting/speaking with him so he can coerce those he can snare into sexual acts they're not comfortable with. That is predator behavior, whether strictly 'illegal' in the eyes of a court or not (but ofc I think he should be criminally punished even if I'm not naive enough to think he actually will be, because this IS rape and rape should be criminally punished)

I'm not personally advocating for anyone to give up being in his related fandoms, but what I am personally advocating for is that people don't forget who he is and what he's capable of, especially when he tries to crawl back to where he was (I'm almost certain he will eventually, as I've said).

Again, at the very least, we need to use what little influence we do have to keep him from infiltrating fan spaces again. He should not be on tumblr yukking it up with young people, he should not be at public appearances hitting on teenagers, he should not be given the unrestricted access to fans that he's 'enjoyed' for the past 30+ years because he is not a safe person. While I wish there was more in the way of restorative justice that could be done, I think at very, very least we should do what we can to limit his proximity to people he could hurt in the future. Make sure no one forgets, because sweeping this under the rug means Gaiman gets to hurt more people.

Lastly, no one is the wrong for having been manipulated by him. Let's make that very clear. What we're NOT gonna do is blame ourselves, each other, the victims, etc, for evil acts that Gaiman chose to do himself, time and time and time again. It doesn't help the situation and it certainly doesn't protect future potential victims. We were all duped because we're human and we attach and a lot of us want to believe there are good people out there, particularly those who make art that means so much to us.

And there are. But let's also use this a teaching/learning tool about how much faith we place in famous people in the future, regardless of how 'approachable' and 'safe' they might seem. Let's remember to have a healthy suspicion of creators/famous people that are oddly immersed in fandom spaces- yes, even the ones you still currently like that seem fine, as difficult as that may seem.

At the end of the day, we don't know them or what they're capable of doing or what they might be plotting to do to us. Support victims. Amplify their voices. Don't forget.

[emo-batboy]

Battinson and the JL ft. His Eventual Identity Reveal

(If you’re just here for the cutesy bits, skip to Attempt #2. Otherwise, STRAP IN CUZ IT’S A LOT)

Bruce Wayne of Matt Reeves’ The Batman is not the founder type.

He wouldn’t voluntarily join a book club, much less join a league of super powered vigilantes whom he does not know personally.

So in this universe, you probably wouldn’t call him one of the three Founding members.

But he’s still integral to the formation of the Justice League

It starts out with a friendly visit :)

Bruce is patrolling on a random night in Gotham when he notices a weird thing in the sky. It’s floating just far enough behind him that a less vigilant person wouldn’t have noticed, but Bruce is always watching his own back, and he takes it as a threat.

He strays from his usual path and then heads to a warehouse roof before turning to face the threat.

It’s Superman. All smiley and dressed in primary colors. The strongest, most powerful being on Earth just floating over like he wasn’t stalking Batman a second ago. Bruce does not like that.

“What do you want with Gotham?” He asks. “I don’t,” Superman says. “I wanted to talk to The Batman.” So this is some kind of fight? An intervention? A warning? Then Superman frowns. “You…are The Batman, right?”

Bruce only nods as he considers his options, but he can’t really do that when Superman has super speed, super sight, super strength, super breath, super lots-of-things-that-Batman-probably-doesn’t-know-of.

Then Superman surprises him by landing on the roof and giving him this pitch about a superhero group.

Superman and a few other vigilantes have been bouncing around the idea of teaming up together so they can help one another protect their cities. And The Batman was a “perfect candidate.”

“I’m not joining your club.” “It’s not a club. It’s a league.” “What’s your mission statement, then?” “A what?” Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He still doesn’t trust this guy. “Take your league idea back to the drawing board then we can talk.” He does not intend on talking.

But two months later, Superman is back. This time, he brings another super powered vigilante named Wonder Woman.

She smiles, politely approaches him, and says “Superman tells me you want to learn more about our league.” That is not what he said, but he doesn’t bite.

Bruce can’t decide which they remind him of more: college recruiters or cult leaders. But because Wonder Woman genuinely seems to care about seeing this project through, and the roster she has of current like-minded vigilantes is impressive, he lets her talk.

And to give her credit, she definitely thought out the logistics more. It almost makes up for the time they’re wasting.

Okay, fine. They’re still way behind on concept, and it’s pitiful. He actually feels bad.

They obviously care! They just have no idea how to run a business like he does. Is it a bit cynical to think of this league of Justice as a business? Yes, but that’s the only way he can even conceive this happening and working.

Bruce asks about their organization’s leadership structure, and that’s when Wonder Woman falters a bit. “We want to work with each other, not for.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks about their scope of work. “We want to help as many people as we can, but that can be ironed out later.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks “Who’s funding this?” She answers, “We have a few members willing to pitch in, but the majority will have to come from generous citizens.” And that’s when he just stops asking questions. Because what?

If he could cry the grease paint off, he would.

They can’t just think every super-powered vigilante is going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair. There needs to be checks and balances within the organization to avoid tyranny and corruption. They need a reliable source of donations (that doesn’t immediately out Bruce.) They need a proper chain of command. They need to map out their area of responsibility. They need to design a VERY strict vetting process. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard work!

So he says he’ll think about it again and complains to Alfred about the weird super stalkers.

But for SOME reason, Alfred doesn’t see the problem

Alfred encourages him to join so he can “make some friends.” But how can he trust these people if they can’t even make a half-decent pitch? It’s like a bad episode of Shark Tank.

And “make friends?” They’re all masked

But after a week of gentle nudging (read: very firm lectures), Bruce agrees. ONLY to keep tabs on the rest of the vigilante world and possible threats to Gotham

(And without his help, they’ll probably butt-dial Lex Luthor the nuclear codes or something)

And he is damn well going to figure out who these people really are before he helps them make a Super Organization.

Alfred figures out about half of their secret identities purely as a brain exercise while Bruce is out fighting crime and collecting head injuries like Pokémon cards. They figure out the rest together.

They also develop contingency plans for every single member. Just in case.

And after months of Batman being visited by random vigilantes, whom he has several choice words for about personal space—“This is my city. Go away.”—he accepts. On several conditions.

Not all of them are appreciated.

Attempt #1: “Making Friends”

After several scheduling conflicts, a lot of prep work, and a really good hype session in front of the mirror, Bruce heads on over to the first official meeting.

Batman arrives with a long list of things they need to do before going public. The first thing on the list?

Write A Mission Statement

What the fuck are they actually trying to do? Bruce thinks this is a great starting point.

And you’d think (you’d think) this Justice League thing would be easier to tolerate than the drawn-out exec meetings he has to sit through with boring, old businessmen who keep delaying things so they can hash out every little detail.

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he BECOMES the boring businessman who’s delaying things so they can hash out every little detail. He misses the boring, old businessmen. At least they knew what they were doing.

Every turn, he is argued with.

“Why do we need a mission statement?” “‘Power Structure’ feels authoritarian. Can’t we just share leadership duties?” “Do we really need this much paperwork?”

Bruce has the audacity to say, “We need to develop some sort of protocol that helps us analyze any possible threat.” But no. “Why can’t I just jump in? I have eyes.” “Jumping in without studying an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good,” he insists. “So what? I’m going to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?” “Yes. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce already regrets joining.

All he hears is the others gossiping. “Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” “He’s got a major stick up his ass.” “I knew we shouldn’t have let him join.” And if that doesn’t dissuade him, he doesn’t know what will.

“How was the first meeting?” Alfred asks. Bruce scowls. “I’m not making friends.”

Nonetheless, Bruce sticks it out for weeks until they have some semblance of an organization. And, to his shock and amazement, it…kind of works.

The Justice League makes its debut, and Wayne Enterprises generously donates some money “out of spite” after Lex Luthor publicly denounces the league. (Honestly, Bruce would too if he hadn’t personally duct-taped it together himself.)

But the league starts small, just like he told them, they respond to natural disasters and public safety threats first (as per the outreach initiative) and focus on protecting communities in need (as per the mission statement.)

Yes, they still think Batman has a stick up his ass because he’s a stickler for writing incident reports, but no one else reads them so he has the right to be pissed.

He’s almost kind of sort of content with how it’s going. Even his reputation as a vigilante is improving.

That’s when another glaring difference between him and the other members appears.

Despite looking the same age as the rest of the team, Bruce is actually much younger?? Even excluding the aliens, gods, etc.

Most of his teammates are in their late 30’s, early 40’s. Meanwhile, Bruce is at the ripe age of 29 and a half.

He is the youngest by ten years.

Everyone kind of just assumes he’s the same age, though, so they make references to 80’s kids stuff that he only vaguely understands through Alfred and his business partners. He just sits there in silence like a child who snuck over to the adult table and is waiting to get caught.

So on top of the rift he (accidentally) created when they started the organization, it’s even harder to connect through similar interests. Other than punching people together.

And Bruce Wayne has a bad case of imposter syndrome when it comes to their superpowers.

He’s always in the corner brooding, and everyone’s like ummm antisocial much?

But 50% of the time, it’s because he’s thinking “I’ll never amount to the incredible heroic feats everyone else has accomplished. How can I possibly make a difference to the world if I’m already struggling to save Gotham?” Like a little emo freak 🖤

(Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay those mf’s to step foot in Gotham. This Bat guy’s crazy and he’s human apparently?! No way. Nuh uh.)

The OTHER 50% of his “brooding” is Bruce standing to the side with a mixture of concern and judgment because his teammates’ competency in certain areas is…alarmingly low sometimes.

One week, he finds himself thinking, “How do these grown-ass adults not know their way around a digital map? They’re 40, not geriatric.”

Then like a week later, it’s “These fucking war fossils don’t even know Morse code. I gotta do everything around here.”

One of the final straws is when he says, “Did they just break another fucking Keurig? Who does that, Alfred? It’s the fifth one.”

Suffice it to say, he’s not very personable. But is it his fault? Well yeah, a little bit. Like……..65% his fault.

(The remaining 35% is their moaning and groaning whenever Batman calls a meeting.)

Bruce’s irritation is totally justified.

God, he just wants to go home.

Why is he doing this again?

Attempt #2: Actually Making Friends

The first JL member to break through his cold, black exterior is Wonder Woman. She needs help with search and rescue after a sinkhole opens up near an elementary school, but no one’s available until Batman responds to her call.

He’s on the scene in less than an hour and makes quick work in securing the area. Thankfully, she catches him once it’s over. (He always runs off without saying goodbye.)

“Thanks for helping. Everyone else was just so busy. I’m glad you could fly over.” Batman mumbles something that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks. “I was busy too,” he repeats. She gives him a weird look, and he freezes up for a second as he realizes that probably wasn’t appropriate to say. “I mean…this was more important. There were kids in danger so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Wonder Woman considers how awkward The Batman looks for a moment then smiles. So he really is human. “Well, thank you. The help was very much appreciated.”

Since then, several small acts of kindness and solidarity earn Batman some respect from the rest of the team.

One day, Flash complains about how boring their meetings are so Batman brings a massive bin of fidget toys. After placing them in front of the Flash, he mumbles, “These are for ADHD. They’re useful.” Flash almost cries with relief. He is very touched.

Another day, Green Arrow is severely injured in battle. Without a word, Batman leaves the fight, takes him to a safe location, stops the bleeding, and does it all while repeatedly making sure he’s awake and asking permission to remove certain pieces of clothing.

In another fight, Plastic Man’s mask is thrown off, and Batman sees his face. In a second, Batman tosses a smoke bomb, picks up the mask, and hands it back before anyone else can look. It costs them time and the element of surprise, and Plastic Man knows it, but Batman did it anyway.

A JL member’s stomach grumbles during one too many meetings. Suddenly, their little break room becomes a fully stocked kitchen with shelf-stable meal items and all the basic necessities. There’s a nut-free section, a gluten-free section, everything. The only reason they know it’s him is because anyone else would have admitted to it.

(He renovated the whole fucking thing. In one night. By himself.)

And they all see how gentle he is with children. Countless times, The Batman is spotted prioritizing young civilians at any given moment.

He has lollipops in his belt. And Bluey bandaids too.

It’s the little things that make them feel closer to him :)

And okay maybe his goddamn Mission Statement lecture wasn’t so bad

So they stop moaning and groaning

Okay, now it’s bonding time WOOHOO!!

Attempt #3: Kinda? Friends??

One day, Superman says he isn’t too fond of billionaires (because of Lex, obviously) and goes on a rant about capitalism. Bruce doesn’t dare contribute because 1) he’s the richest man in the world and 2) every other billionaire he’s met is insufferable.

(Including Oliver Queen who Bruce refuses to look at while Green Arrow “defends his city’s billionaire.”)

(And while we’re on the topic of Green Arrow, Bruce cannot forget the disappointing almost-fling two summers ago. He still holds a grudge.)

Green Arrow: “You’re all fashion nightmares. Who wears a cape in the 21st century?” Batman: “At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick.” GA: “What was that, Batman?” B: “What?”

Also Bruce is very attracted to Superman.

(He likes older men.)

(Yes, I am referring to Henry Cavill’s Superman.)

(Sue me.)

(But don’t get your hopes up. He does literally nothing about it.)

(Coward.)

One of the JL members complains about how sore they are after a few missions so Bruce cashes in his Monthly Attempt to Socialize and says, “Try yoga. It helps me.” “…Batman, you do yoga?” “Yes. My son got me into it….It’s good for you.” “You have a son?!” He is never socializing again.

They also learn that Batman has the smallest frame on the team. (Like yeah, he’s tall, but he’s also lanky, and everyone else is either an alien or a human dorito.)

One night, they need to sneak through the vents of some building so Bruce offers to do it. Someone says, “It’s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you can fit?” Then he just takes his cape and pauldrons and shoulder pads off and is suddenly like a foot skinnier

“Wait…is this why you’re so good at hiding in the shadows?” Bruce just glares at the Flash for a second before climbing into the vents.

(The answer is yes.)

A betting pool is started over whether or not Batman is part Bat.

In fact, several betting pools begin because no one knows anything about the guy??

Aquaman and Plastic Man go to great lengths to figure out what his hair color is.

They lose their shit once Bruce tells them he’s vegetarian.

Green Lantern: “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new. Next, he’s going to tell me he speaks Swahili!” Batman: “I do.” GL: “Oh, come on!”

Superman: “We need someone on the inside for this international operation to work, but that’ll take at least three months undercover.” Batman: “Don’t worry. I have connections.” S: “…In Shanghai?” B: “Yes.”

The Flash adds SHANGHAI?? to his conspiracy board

Bruce needs to stop trying to socialize. It’s better for everyone’s cardiovascular health.

A year or two in, they’re all introduced to Captain Marvel. Bruce is the first and only person to learn his true identity (kid Billy Batson) because Bruce is the only one with a kid. That way, he understands the weird Gen-Alpha humor and references.

Millennia-old deities don’t use the term Flop Era.

And, of course, they play FMK at some point.

(I mean, come on. There are like TWO mature adults on this team, but Martian Manhunter doesn’t know what’s going on until it’s too late, and Wonder Woman is busy at her day job.)

During that particular round, the celebrities are Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, and Kylie Jenner. Bruce does, in fact, want to kill himself, but he chooses Fuck instead because of this exact conversation:

Green Lantern: Come on, Bats. It’s just a game! Choose already. Batman: No. I’m against killing. GL: Oh, go fuck yourself. This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it. B: Fine! Fuck Bruce, Marry Kylie, Kill Lex. GL: See? That wasn’t so hard :) Bruce:

He tried

Attempt #4: Ah shit, FRIEND?

The identity reveal comes about three years after he joins. He’s 32, has three kids, he’s been on hundreds of missions with them, the team’s over twice its original size, and there are domestic terrorists overtaking Manhattan.

Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and The Batman try to extract as many civilians as possible, but now they’re being hunted. After hiding in a warehouse and considering their options, MM finally suggests that they pose as civilians, which immediately creates uproar.

Bruce, however, realizes this is the only way out.

But it’s not dramatic or badass like that one JL episode. No, instead, he thinks about it, swallows the regret, and just—

Takes off his cowl.

And the whole room falls dead fucking quiet.

Then, “Oh fuck.”

(That was Green Lantern.)

Bruce just shrugs and mumbles, “Martian is right. It’s the only way.” And really fucking hopes the grease paint hides his red face because he is not having a good time right now.

He would rather die, actually, but they need to get somewhere safe and Fast.

The others look him up and down then nod slowly. “Uh yeah.” “Okay, sure.” “This is fine.” “We’ll do that.”

The others begin slowly taking off their suits and changing into something more casual. Bruce takes his off, revealing the skin-tight compression suit underneath, and stuffs his armor in the roll-up duffel bag that’s kept in his belt.

He changes into his drifter outfit, wipes his face clean, and suddenly, The Batman’s just a normal guy. (A very pretty normal guy, mind you. His teammates have eyes.)

“We can head to my place,” Bruce says. “It’s closer, and I know the train system pretty well.” And yes, he’s pretty soft-spoken outside of the suit, but now it feels even more obvious.

Meanwhile, the others are like—

Oh. My. God.

Oh my god, he’s fucking shy. Batman is acting shy in front of us. Dear fucking god. Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Bruce is shy so Batman is fucking shy?? Bruce is pretty too. Holy fuck. He is very pretty.

And he’s so young?? Oh my god, he’s a BABY wtf?! He’s like four inches shorter. Four inches tall! They’re all towering over him without his massive boots and armor, and he just hunches over with the big duffel bag like he wants to sink into the floor, and he’s so small.

Wonder Woman wants to put him in her pocket.

Sue her.

They end up taking the train back. Bruce has on the mask and cap that hides his face (poor Superman, he really likes his jawline) and they all follow Bruce as he gets off and on several trains at seemingly random stops. THEN when they’re finally in Gotham, they head into an abandoned-looking subway station that leads them into a…cave?? WTF

And in the middle of the cave is an elderly man with a cane and a three-piece suit just lounging on a recliner. (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—)

He looks up from his crossword puzzle and says, “Ah! You’ve finally made friends, I see?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “This is not a sleepover,” he gripes. “Shame. I was about to grab your footie pajamas for you.”

The man smiles at them. “A pleasure to meet Master Wayne’s work friends in person. Would you like some coffee? Tea? If you’re like him, this is going to be a long night.”

No one dares to question why this man recognizes them in their civvies

They also can’t tell if the footie pajamas line was a joke or not. After tonight, nothing is off the table.

(This is a minefield of information. Barry is having flashbacks to his conspiracy board. No one is going to fucking believe him.)

They all settle into one corner of the cave. Bruce leaves to change and comes back looking like this:

(Goddamnit, Clark is having a meltdown. His hair looks so good wet.)

At one point while they’re plotting, Wonder Woman glances over his shoulder to see Bruce checking some sort of security camera. A boy, maybe nine or ten, is sleeping in bed. “Is that your son?” Bruce clearly doesn’t want to answer, but Alfred gives him a look, and Bruce sighs. “One of them. Yes.”

Later, they have to analyze some explosive samples in the cave, and Barry, forensic scientist extraordinaire, has some choice words about the non-sterile environment.

Barry: This doesn’t look safe. Bruce: My lab is perfectly clean and functional. *bat screeches* Don’t worry about that.

For the rest of the night, they use the evidence they have to track down the organization while the rest of the JL suits up and saves NYC.

After a few hours, they’re safe to return to NYC for damage control. But Alfred refuses to let Bruce go with them. “Your sons are worried. Drive them to school, then you’re coming home and sleeping.”

Bruce clearly wants to argue, but the mention of his kids stops him. He sighs and turns to the others who are already changed. “Let me know if you need anything. I can be there in ten minutes.”

They all nod, knowing full well they will not be doing that. The guy clearly needs rest.

(Also, he is a single father of three and still goes out every night to punch robbers and crime bosses? Is he doing okay?)

Then they head back to NYC with so many questions.

But a lot of it makes sense too, actually. Maybe they just weren’t thinking about the man behind the mask enough to see it.

They learned a lot about their friend that night.

And they have a lot of bets to cash in.

FIN

Okay :D that was a lot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. This has been simmering in the back of my head for months <3 Have a great day and drink some water :)

Hey bestie @bruciemilf

[kissitbttr]

miguel with a jealous fiance

-

“stare a little longer and you might actually kill her, y/n” jess chuckles as she follows your eyesight, spotting miguel being flirted by a woman whom you’ve never seen before.

you and miguel are attending a gala fundraiser. run by some rich bastard named ‘bruce wayne’. he didn’t want to go at first, but because mr. wayne had sent the invitations to you both himself, it would be rude not to attend. plus, it’s best if he’s out and try to socialize, make some new friends instead.

but now you’re starting to regret the decision when you see some red haired getting cozy with your man. she keeps touching his arm, giggling obnoxiously at something he said. which pisses you off because your fiancé is not that funny.

Ignoring jess’s comment, you twirl the wine glass softly, emerald green manicured nails clicking against it. you bite the inside of your cheek with cold eyes dead set on the girl. you wanted to laugh at how that woman had been trying too hard to catch his attention.

miguel isn’t doing anything rather than answering without holding an eye contact, casually sipping his whiskey on rock as he searches through the crowd. you could tell he’s annoyed. but it wouldn’t be polite for him to tell her to fuck off, would it?

god, you wish he had the balls to actually do it.

“you know he wouldn’t do such thing right?”

scoffing as if it’s the most stupid question ever, you nod. of course he wouldn’t. he’s too damn crazy about you.

“i know. it’s her i don’t trust” you mutter, almost growling. “that bitch could clearly see he has a ring on his finger. she fucking blind or something?!”

jess could only laugh while shaking her head. she thinks you and miguel are too much alike. a perfect pair. “then show her who’s the boss.”

“oh i will” you respond with hesitation, gulping down every last drop of your drink before setting the glass down on the table. “be right back”

with that, you flick your hair over your shoulder, adjusting the straps of your silky emerald green dress and begin walking towards your fiancé’. jess’s commentary about ‘try not to kill her’ from behind fall deaf upon your ears.

sorry, jess. no promises.

you could feel all eyes on you as you walk. it’s hard not to. men and women craning their shoulders to get a better look at the beautiful woman who looks like she’s invented class and beauty herself. the world completely stop when you walk through the crowd.

and not to be cocky or anything, but you’re fully aware of how gorgeous you are. with curves that look like built by the gods themselves, full plump soft lips and long, beautiful thick hair that cascade down to your back and eyes sharp enough to draw sailors if you were ever a siren.

it’s like looking at freyja the goddess whom paid a visit on earth.

as miguel’s eyes continues to scan through the busy evening filled with mindless chatters, his dark red irises then stop at you. a small grin creeps to his face when he sees you walking towards him with your head held up high.

but your eyes aren’t on him, it’s on the woman.

“i just think, that you are sooo-“

“so what?” you cut her off with a fake smile and arms crossed over your chest. standing beside your soon to be husband, you watch how the woman’s eyes then flicker to your figure. “making friends without me, my love? how impolite”

miguel shakes his head, his hand quick enough to snake around your waist pulling you close. “of course not, mi vida. this is—“

“not interested. so, you wanna fuck my husband?” your voice coming off venomous, glaring at the woman who seems to be shocked at your question.

a sigh escape from miguel’s mouth, one that implies ‘this is not going to be good’

the woman has her mouth hang wide open as she struggles to respond. she can’t exactly decide whether she’s intimidated by you or attracted to you.

“i—i’m so sorry… I didn’t know he had a wife—“

with a scoff, you roll your eyes. “you’ve been eyeing and talking to my man for at least twenty minutes. you’re saying that your eyesight is so fucking jacked you couldn’t even see the ring on his finger?!”

miguel could only stand there and listening to you scold the woman. because if there’s one thing he learned being with you? is that to not meddle or interrupt.

she shakes her head rapidly, stuttering out a nervous response, “n-no! i—i—I did see it, i j-just thought—“

“oh you did see it!” you exhale a sarcastic laugh. “and what, you think it’s okay to flirt with someone else’s husband when clearly he has no interest?! you really think he’s gonna go for you, sweetheart?”

the tone of your voice is far from polite. miguel could sense that, and he squeezes your waist in attempt for you to take it easy on the girl but you only shrug it off and pay no mind to it.

the woman look like she’s about to cry by how you’re scolding her. shaking quiet a bit and embarrassed that her flirty gesture had failed to steal someone else’s man.

“i’m s-sorry… I’m—i—“

“you” your raise your finger at her face. “need to get the fuck out of my sight before i drag you by the hair and beat your ass hard that no one will ever recognize that pretty face of yours again.”

she nods quickly at that, taking her champagne flute before walking away quickly. you’re still fuming on the inside. glaring at the back of that girl’s head until she’s fully disappears.

“damn, mami” miguel lowly whistles, a dark chuckle follows after as he moves to stand in front of you. hand around your waist still attached, pulling you close to him. “you’re so sexy when you get jealous.”

jealous. you hate that word.

everyone needs to know that you don’t take it lightly when it comes to miguel. he belongs to you and vice versa. and if you have to beat a bitch up to get your point across, then so be it.

“let’s get one thing straight, miguel. I don’t get jealous” You emphasize the word as you turn your focus on Miguel, giving him a stern look. “I get territorial. they need to know that you’re my man. I see a girl trying to take over my territory, then consider her fucking finished. you got that?”

miguel can’t argue with the fact that you just turned him on just by saying that. especially when you come off as demanding like this. It’s one of the reason why he fell in love with you.

bossy. ambitious. confident. and Independent. traits that miguel loves in a woman.

he smirks, looking down at you as he clicks his tongue against his bottom teeth. “yes, ma’am” he replies with a nod.

you nod back, crossing your arms. “good.”

“and just when i thought you couldn’t get any sexier” he shakes his head, squeezing your ass before leaning down a bit to give you a kiss on your cheek. “you do”

rolling your eyes, you lightly shove his shoulder. yet you can’t help but blush at the gesture. “easy there… we’re in public.”

he cocks an eyebrow, palm not leaving your ass. “and when has that ever stopped you before, mi amor?”

you bite your lower lip softly, remembering the times when you and miguel had done it over and over outside the comfort of your home.

yeah, both of you are pretty experimental.

“bathroom in 5. don’t keep me waiting”

[7ndipity]

"Tell Me You're Mine"

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi’s always been secure in his relationship with you, but what happens when you and your childhood friend, Jin, start spending a little too much time together after he moves in next door?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut, possessive dom Yoongi, subby reader, light choking, marking, oral(fem rec), unprotected sex(don’t do this pls), spanking, pregnancy mention,

A/n: Thanks to @bangtansmauyeondan for this request! I had a lot of fun writing this one, it got away from me and came out a lil more fluffy than angsty tho. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Yoongi quietly let himself in the front door, a sigh of relief slipping out involuntarily as the familiar scents and sounds of your home filled his senses. Your favorite scented candle, the faint hum of the washing machine down the hall, Holly’s tiny snores from his napping spot on the couch.

Tiredly making his way through the house, he finally felt himself relax as he found you in the kitchen, coming up behind you as you were washing ingredients for dinner and wrapping his arms around your waist tightly, tucking his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

“Hi.” He mumbled.

“Hey.” You giggled, turning enough to connect your lips to his in greeting, grinning at his tired expression. “Long day?”

“Mhm.” He hummed, rubbing face against the material of your shirt. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good, I went with Jin to help him pick out some new things for his place.” You said, missing the way Yoongi’s body tensed ever so faintly against yours, his mouth twitching down into a grimace.

Jin was an old friend of yours from school, whom he’d met once or twice over the years and who seemed like a really nice guy, but since he had moved in next door to the two of you, Yoongi had found himself disliking him more and more.

There was nothing wrong with him really, he was polite, funny, charming, you loved spending time with him.

Actually, that was what was wrong with him.

Yoongi had never really been the clingy type or easily jealous, it was something he had rather prided himself in, knowing that the two of you had complete faith and trust in each other. Which is why you hanging out with your old friend shouldn’t have bothered him so much, and originally it didn’t.

But then one afternoon had turned into another, and another.

Yoongi knew deep down that there was nothing to worry about, you and Jin were just friends, but he couldn’t help his growing sense of unease. It was starting to feel like you were spending more time with Jin than with your own husband.

As if to prove his point, your phone suddenly pinged next to you on the counter, the screen lighting up to show a text from Jin, followed by another, and then another.

Thanks again for today

I had a lot of fun

Yk I’d have been lost without you, lol💙

It was an insignificant little thing, but that little emoji caused something inside of Yoongi to snap.

Before you could even glance at your phone, Yoongi had spun you around, pinning you between him and the sink, his hands tightly gripping your waist.

He crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your muffled whimper of surprise. Immediately his hand came to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

You pushed back, gasping for breath. "Babe, what-”

"Come. Here." Yoongi's eyes bore into yours, almost black with lust, silencing any argument from you.

You went lax in his hold, allowing him to close the gap between you again, kissing you with all the passion he could muster.

He nipped at your bottom lip, making you gasp and giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, letting out a huff of satisfaction as he tasted you, tangling his tongue with yours.

As he roughly kneaded the soft flesh of your hip with one hand, the other slid from the back of your neck around to rest against your throat, squeezing just enough to make you let out a whimper, the sound muffled by his mouth still firmly glued to yours.

Yoongi pushed you up onto the counter, your legs spreading enough for him to slot between, his mouth only leaving yours to continue his assault on your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin and making you mewl as he ground his hardening length against your clothed core.

"I thought- thought you were tired?" You panted, struggling to catch your breath.

"Don’t care, need you." He groaned, sucking harshly on the spot below your ear that made your mind go hazy.

As his hands began to fumble with your shirt, your phone rang beside you on the counter, Jin’s name illuminated on the screen, making Yoongi’s blood boil.

Before you could ever process what was happening, Yoongi had grabbed the phone and accepted the call.

“We’re fucking busy right now.” He growled, hanging up and slamming the phone down on the counter again.

“Y-Yoongi, what the-” Your words were cut off by his mouth on yours again.

“I’ll make you forget his fucking name.” He swore, dropping to his knees in front of you.

He shoved your skirt up, yanking your underwear to the side before diving straight into your dripping cunt.

He groaned at how soaked you already were for him, dragging his tongue between your folds up to your clit to collect your arousal, his motions rapidly becoming hungrier, greedier, lapping you up like a man starved

"F-fuck, Yoongi!" You moaned out, the onslaught of sensations too much for your mind to keep up with.

You laced your fingers through his dark hair as you began to buck your hips against his skilled tongue, your motions becoming synchronized.

Yoongi steadied himself by grabbing onto your thighs, letting you grind on him, use him for your pleasure.

You looked down to see his eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked his mouth against you, the sight enough to cause the tension deep inside you to wind painfully tight, threatening to snap.

“Y-yoongi,” You gasped, your vision blurring at the edges. I’m-”

"Cum for me, Baby. Let go."

Like a command whispered into your bones, you unraveled almost instantly. Yoongi pressed his face closer onto you, letting you ride out your orgasm on his tongue until you slumped back, exhausted.

You’d barely come down when he was standing and pulling you down from the counter.

“Bedroom, now.” He growled, the way he looked at you setting your skin on fire.

He wrapped his arms around you, propelling you towards the bedroom, his lips never straying from your skin for more than a moment.

Once in the bedroom, he pushed you down onto the bed, climbing over you and connecting his mouth with yours again.

Pulling away to roughly remove both of your clothes, Yoongi’s eyes never left you, his gaze hypnotic like a predator with its prey, wanting to tear you apart and consume you entirely, causing you to squirm beneath him.

Now laid bare before him, Yoongi claimed his place between your legs, squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs as he did so.

"So pretty, and all mine.” He hummed, spreading your legs even further apart. “Mine. Isn’t that right?"

"Yours, only yours, Yoongi." You agreed, your head still spinning from your last high. “Please.”

He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, but didn’t push in yet, choosing instead to tease you by just tapping it against you, making you twitch in need. "Tell me you want it, Baby, wanna hear you say it."

"Please, Yoongi. Fuck me, please. Need to feel you." You begged.

He’d always been so good at this, making you desperate for him, your pleas sending blood rushing straight to his cock.

"Good girl." He pressed into you with the last word, causing you to let out a borderline pornographic moan, eyes rolling back in your head.

He quickly set a brutal pace, pounding into you relentlessly as he gripped your waist, your body jolting with every thrust, your hands clutching at his forearms for stability.

"Tell me you're mine." He panted out.

"I'm yours, Yoongi, all yours." You gasped out, you pussy clenching around him as you spoke, making him almost dizzy with need.

“Who’s making you feel this good? Who’s the only one that makes you like this?” He huffed.

But the way he was pounding into you was causing your mind to drift away, floating somewhere in the stratosphere until he brought you back down to earth and him with a firm slap to your ass.

“Say it!” He demanded.

“Yoongi!” You cried out, the sharp sting of pain blending with pleasure bringing tears to your eyes.

“Say it again!”

“Y-yoongi!” You sobbed.

He picked up his pace, well aware that the bedroom windows were open, but he couldn't care less. He needed to hear your pretty moans as you begged for him, he needed the world to hear it.

"Mine. My baby.” He groaned. “Fuck, ought to cum in you, get you pregnant, make sure everybody knows you’re mine.”

You broke at his words, shaking in his vice-like hold as your second orgasm crashed over you.

Feeling you come undone, squeezing his cock so hard he couldn’t breathe, sent him over the edge, his hips losing their rhythm as he collapsed on top of you, spilling deep inside your twitching heat.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by you and Yoongi’s shaky breaths as you tried to collect yourselves.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, his softening length still nested inside of you, gently stroking your hair. All of the earlier roughness and aggression was nowhere to be seen as he looked down at you softly, almost apprehensive.

“Yeah, are you?” You asked, voice now slightly hoarse.

“Mhm,” He nodded, tracing his fingers over the curve of your shoulder.

He carefully moved off of you, moving to lay next to you before pulling you gently to his chest.

You waited a few moments before asking. “You wanna tell me what brought all that on?”

He let out a breath. “It’s dumb.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You said, giving him a look as you waited for him to explain.

“It’s just-” He sighed. “You and Jin.”

You frowned. “What about me and Jin?”

“Nothing, you’ve just… You’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. And he’s nice and all, but… it’s just, you spent all day with him, and then he keeps fucking texting you.” He brought an arm up to cover his eyes as irritation began to bubble up in his stomach at the memory. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t know it bothered you that much.” You said quietly.

“It doesn’t,” He said, too quickly. “At least, not usually. I just...”

You sat up, turning to look at him properly.

“Yoongi, look at me,” You said softly. “Please?”

He let his arm fall away from his face, cautiously meeting your gaze.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel jealous. I like spending time with Jin, but my friendship with him could never even remotely compare to how much I love you.” You said, caressing his face. “You’re all I want forever.”

His heart stuttered as you leaned closer, pressing the softest of kisses to his swollen, love bruised lips.

It was almost funny, after everything that transpired in the past hour, the simple act of you kissing him was what made him feel the most unsteady.

You were his world, he couldn't imagine his life without you, or rather didn’t want to. He knew what it looked like, flat, bleak, nothingness.

You were what made life livable for him. Without you, it would just be surviving, and he’d had enough of that before the two of you met.

Drawing you back down to him, all his earlier insecurities faded out like a distant memory. The reassuring feeling of holding you in his arms, you sighing contentedly against his chest, was everything he needed and more.

“I love you.” He said, almost too quiet to hear.

“I love you too.” Your sleepy reply was the last thing he heard before he drifted off.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0o0o0ooo @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[pargolettasworld]

So, because I am incurably, morbidly curious, I watched Jessie Gender's four-hour-and-seventeen-minute-long video on . . . well, the title suggests "Zionism, Antisemitism, and the Left." To her credit, Gender does touch on all three of these topics, though not with the same degree of skill, graciousness, or understanding of the topics at hand. I've just had a very nice dinner, and I'm feeling generous, so let's see how this video stacks up. Strap in. This is going to get long.

I should admit right off the bat that I'm only a casual, occasional watcher of Jessie Gender. I'm not a deep fan, and I'm sure there is Jessie Gender Lore™ out there that I'm not aware of, but I think I've seen enough of her videos to get a general sense of her house style. This video hits a lot of the hallmarks of her style. She speaks very fast and very passionately, occasionally trips over her own words (something that I've done many a time, so I really do feel that), and is inordinately fond of nominalizations. She's especially fond of the word "ostracization," for some reason, which drives me nuts because "ostracism" is right there. So, in style, it appears to hew to the Jessie Gender House Style pretty well.

On to the video itself. The first thing I will observe about it is that it is in every possible way a meeting that could have been an email. There was no need for this to be the same length as the Extended Edition of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003). There's a lot of padding, significant digressions, and a certain degree of repetition. It's easy to forget the beginning of the video by the time you're an hour into the thing.

The major question that hangs over this opus is: Why, and for whom, was it made? I'm honestly not sure who the intended audience for this thing is, nor why Gender felt that she had to make it. She alludes in the first half hour to feeling like she's lost the trust and support of some of her Jewish fans/friends/acquaintances/Patreon patrons, and she chalks it up to a previous video that she made (which I have not seen, and which I am not inclined to seek out). But neither the structure nor the thesis nor the conclusion of the video seem like they would win back any of these folks.

I don't think that Jewish viewers are her intended audience -- certainly not with the way she talks about Jews throughout the video. I'm also having a hard time believing that really committed leftists are her audience, either, since I don't think she's really saying much that leftists haven't already heard, or offering new perspectives on her topic(s). And anyone who has made it this far into the year of 5784 and is still undecided about the contemporary iteration of The Jewish Question is probably not going to be interested in sitting through nearly four and a half hours of relentless lecture. So I'm still left wondering why, and for whom, did Jessie Gender make this video?

Gender assures us, her viewers, of several things that are meant to be reassuring. She's done lots and lots of research, for one thing. And she's asked some-of-her-best-friends-who-are-Jewish to be sensitivity readers. We're given to understand that we are hearing the nitpicked, edited, and polished version of the script. I'd hate to see what the first draft looked like . . .

She also tells us that there are going to be lots of Foreign Words And Names, and that she and her mouth-hole have A Hard Time pronouncing Foreign Words And Names. Her loyal staff have made her a pronunciation guide -- which appears to have been used perhaps as a drinks coaster, since there are some howlers here. The Jews originating from the MENA regions are the "Misrai" (Mizrahi) Jews, the first Prime Minister of Israel was "David Ben-Gron" (David Ben-Gurion), the Revisionist Zionist leader was "Zeeeeeeeeev Zarbinsky" (Ze'ev Jabotinsky), and the Palestinian uprisings of 1987 - 1993 and 2000 - 2005 go by the name "Infitada" (Intifada).

You know that phrase "If white people can learn to say Tchaikovsky and Schwarzenegger, they can learn to say [your name from an African or Asian language]?" I agree completely with the conclusion, but I question the premise. Jessie Gender makes me question the premise harder. If she had any real interest in the topic, she would have practiced those names, but I don't think she does, so she didn't.

Moving on to the actual content of the video. It's . . . weird. Jessie Gender begins the video believing that Zionism is an evil force for colonialism, White supremacy, oppression, and genocide. She ends the video believing that Zionism is an evil force for colonialism, White supremacy, oppression, and genocide. But along the way, she's confronted with quite a lot of inconvenient facts that threaten to complicate this perspective.

Gender devotes roughly two hours and fifteen minutes of her video, a smidge over half of the runtime, on three segments that offer a history of Zionism, the iterations of Zionism as a political ideology, and what she calls "Zionism as emotion," which is a condescending way to refer to the importance of Zionism to Jews. I'd guess that her research for these segments might have surprised her. It turns out, per Jessie Gender, that there is both a reason behind and a context for nineteenth-century Zionism, quite a lot of logic behind why the Jews wanted to go to Israel, and ample evidence that a majority of Jews have some kind of stake in both Israel and some variation of Zionism.

The reason I think that this research might have surprised her is that she ends each of these segments with a small diatribe about the evil colonialist, capitalist, oppressive, genocidal force that is Zionism, even as the segments suggest nuance, logic, and reason behind the philosophy. We can't have that on a good lefty video, though, can we? The more Gender confronts evidence that there is more to Zionism than meets her eyes, the more she doubles down, digs in her heels, and refuses to accept even the barest shreds of non-negativity about Zionism. Every now and then, she comes up with a lovely sentence or two that shows some understanding of a Jewish perspective on the world, but then furiously backpedals -- we mustn't forget that this Jewish perspective of oppression, mass murder, and international blame has only led to the Evil Of Zionism, after all.

What's really fascinating is how hard she works to avoid blaming actual Jews for all of this evil. I think she's doing this with the best of intentions. A for effort. C for effect. She wants to make a distinction between "Zionism" and "Judaism," in the sense of "Zionism does not equate to Judaism, so being antisemitic to Judaism because you hate Zionism is bad." She tries so hard that she loses sight of the actual people involved. There are a lot of places where she talks about "Judaism" where what she actually means is "the Jews." Or, as she calls us, "Jewish people." Which isn't bad, and it isn't really wrong, but it doesn't quite communicate the sense of Am Yisrael that is at the heart of Zionism.

In fact, she's so desperate to separate Zionism from Jewish people that she starts to talk about it almost as an individual character in the story, with agency, desires, wishes, and goals of its own, totally disconnected from the people who created it. Zionism demands the genocide of Palestinians, Zionism needs colonialism, Zionism has a nice lunch date with neoliberalism and spends the afternoon browsing department stores with capitalism. In effect, Zionism becomes the dragon, and Gender really wishes that the passive, easily-led Jewish people would unite behind some White Knight and slay the dragon so everyone could be happy and free and leftist. Despite the two hours she spent on her deep dive into the history and meaning of Zionism, she cannot fathom why the Jewish people don't just do this.

I said earlier that quite a lot of this video consists of padding. Gender identifies herself as a lefty anarchist, opposed to nation-states, capitalism, neoliberalism, the United States, the British Empire, Israel, Joe Biden, "Ka-MAH-la" Harris, transphobia in Western societies . . . the usual suspects. Frequently, especially in the back half of the video, she'll wander off into long fantasias about the crimes against liberty perpetrated by the West at large, as well as their character Capitalism, and then remember that this is supposed to be a video about Zionism, and then finish with the equivalent of "Peter Rabbit did sort of that kind of thing, too."

One of the alleged purposes of this video is to discuss Antisemitism On The Left, but Gender . . . pretty much elides doing that. She gets close a couple of times, and she does grudgingly admit that some leftists coming from some branches of leftism might sometimes say things that might be antisemitic, and that's Bad, and it makes Jewish people feel Unsafe and Not Inclined To Agree With Leftists that The Dragon Known As Zionism Must Be Slain Heroically. But don't stress about it. The important thing is that Israel Must Stop Its Genocide and Palestinians Should Have Self-Determination (which is only withheld from them by Israel -- excuse me, by Zionism -- and certainly not by those eminently-justified-if-a-little-uncouth plucky fighters, Hamas.

There are quite a lot of lengthy quotes from Sources, read by guest stars, which is a nice touch to break up the video. The vast majority of these Sources -- especially the ones in the "history of Zionism" segment -- are not actually written by Zionists. You get a lot of academic pontificating about the failures, shortcomings, and nefarious activities of Zionism, but you hear almost nothing from actual Zionists, especially contemporary Zionists. This does not look nearly as good or as well-researched as it's meant to look.

So what do we get in the end, after four hours and seventeen minutes of watching this? Honestly . . . not much. Gender gives enough background on the history of Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish attitudes toward Israel that hardcore leftists watching will be more annoyed than convinced. She condescends to both Jews and Arabs, mentioning repeatedly that she, as a White Gentile, really doesn't have any business butting in on these complex questions -- but that's not going to stop her from butting in like the lefty shiksa she is! She's too mealy-mouthed to come right out and say anything blatantly antisemitic, but disdain for Jewish concepts of homeland, belonging, origin, and self-determination pervade the whole thing.

I don't think that Jessie Gender is an idiot -- she seems to be pretty smart, and has both a firm sense of her own political philosophy and the stick-to-it-ive-ness to do far more research into things like the development of Zionism and the history of antisemitism than one might expect. But the video really is, to bring up a playwright from the hated West, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

[tiredfox64]

Could you write something about a reader falling in love with Syzoth, them developing a cute relationship but the reader finding out that he has some kind of breeding kink?

I've noticed that almost no one writes about Syzoth and that's so unfair 😭

Slither In

Yip notes: Is it really a breeding kink if it's in his nature?

Pairing: Syzoth x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: NSFW, breeding kink, two down there (I can't say it), monster fucking, biting

Your boyfriend is the absolute cutest. He is the sweetest reptilian you ever met. His eyes shine brighter than emeralds in the sun whenever he looks at you. You are his queen whom he would gladly impregnate with his kin.

And I mean gladly.

Ever since you both met, he knew he could trust you. You never feared his true form. You loved both forms equally. You actually found it awesome and were fascinated by it. You would marvel at his long, strong tail. You would hold onto his face as you took in every detail like his sharp teeth or his slit eyes. You looked at him like he was the most beautiful creature you ever laid your eyes upon. For that, you gained his affection.

You were the one person he would visit when he went to Earthrealm. He would wait for you when you’d come to visit him in Outworld. He couldn’t get enough of you. You were like a juicy bug that he had no idea was induced with addictive drugs. He needed to see you the second you visited or the second he stepped into Earthrealm.

Of course, you two would develop a relationship. He was comfortable with you because you didn’t judge him. Even when he ate crickets in front of you, you never grimaced. You actually started buying him crickets for him to eat when he visited. Gosh, his heart melted and he knew you were the one for him. Not even his own people treated him this well.

You two became quite the talking point. Johnny was congratulating Syzoth for finding a wonderful lady like you. Kung Lao was quite jealous of him while Raiden told Kung Lao to just be happy for him. Even Liu Kang was happy to see that something good came into Syzoth’s life.

Trust me when I say you two were THE couple. Girls were jealous that you had a good man following you around, staring at you with love in his eyes. He would ask if you wanted him to do anything for you like carry you around if your feet got tired. No, he knows you can walk on your own. He wants to take care of you, that’s all. It’s all because of love.

When love combines with his Zatteran nature, he starts to act differently.

You started noticing Syzoth act differently after dating for half a year. This whole time he has been polite and sweet to you. The perfect gentleman really. But then he started getting frustrated, not with you but with himself. You couldn’t understand at first until you saw the signs. You heard him stomp his legs whenever you turned your back to him. Or he would bob his head before holding his neck like he was trying to stop himself from doing it again. You couldn’t miss those moments when you and Syzoth would cuddle and you felt his hands rub your belly. It wasn’t in circles but up and down like what one would do to a pregnant belly.

When you’d ask him what he was up to he would stop immediately before apologizing.

“I-I’m sorry, my beloved. I did not mean to disturb you.” He’d remove his hands from your stomach and go back to the cuddling position you two were in before.

“There’s no need to apologize. I was just curious.” You didn’t sound upset at all but he would refrain from telling you his true feelings.

The truth is…Syzoth wants to mate with you. He understands that humans don’t work the same as him regarding breeding. He doesn’t want to make you feel trapped or scare you away with his wants. You’re the first good thing he has gained since leaving Zattera. So he keeps to himself and pushes down his nature. Easier said than done.

More stomping, more head bobbing, more staring at your stomach. He’s damn near clawing the kitchen counter trying not to pounce on you when you turn your back to him. He started looking up at you with pleading eyes whenever he rested his head on your stomach. He was like a dog begging for a treat. He was begging you to have his babies. Yet his mouth wouldn’t move to ask you the question.

Syzoth grew sad quickly. Rubbing one out would not fulfill his needs. He couldn’t do anything with you because he knew he wouldn’t pullout. This irritation grew more and more every day. Since Syzoth wasn’t telling you what was wrong you thought it was a guy issue. You invited Johnny over to see if maybe he could get an answer out of him. And an answer he received the moment he sat down on the couch and asked him what was wrong.

“I cannot take it anymore, Johnny!” Syzoth grabbed Johnny by the collar of his shirt as he hissed out his words.

“Can’t take what? Relax, man. You’re acting desperate or something.” Johnny teased to lighten the mood, but after looking at Syzoth, he realized he was telling the truth.

“I-I want—I need…” Syzoth took a deep breath before continuing, “I want to breed her. I need to. I am unable to help it.” He pulled his hood down to hide his shameful eyes.

Johnny was doing his best to make Syzoth calm down. It didn’t help that he was not saying that it was normal but instead saying it’s just how he is because he is a huge lizard. Never ask this guy to comfort anyone.

Little did they know that you were just around the corner. You heard everything and were slightly shocked. You’re not oblivious to his animalistic nature but you thought he had it under control or even adapted to not having a breeding period. You’re not mad at him and you wanted to comfort him to let him know it was alright to feel that way. But you decided to wait. You didn’t want him to know you were listening. You would wait for Johnny to leave before confronting your boyfriend.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Once Johnny left you told Syzoth to come to your bedroom as you had something to discuss. His heartbeat raced to the point it felt like it was thumping against his chest. He was concerned about what you had to say.

You began telling him about what you heard and you watched his face fill with shame. He was like a guilty puppy. Before you could finish and bring up your next point he was already on his knees, beginning for your forgiveness.

“I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave me. I will not force you to do any-“

“Syzoth!” You yelled which stopped Syzoth from rambling.

“I’m not mad at you. I was just surprised that this was something you wanted. I just wished you talked about it with me so we could have discussed it further.” Your hand went down so you could stroke his hair. He was still shocked but it calmed him a little.

Syzoth really should have said something. He should have known you wouldn’t judge him. If you could handle his real form you could handle his need to breed you. He sighed in relief as he let you pet him. That was until you spoke again.

“Now, how about we fix that little problem of yours?” You teased.

Syzoth looked up at you. At first you were unsure if you offended him. But then his large tail popped out and started pounding the ground. Yeah, he’s ready for this.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Oh dear, he was holding back a lot. He’s an animal in bed, not literally but it will happen soon.

Syzoth was quick to take his clothes off. His two cocks were standing proud before diving into your warm pussy.

You stared into his eyes as he pounds into you, his second cock rubbing against your clit. The tip of his second cock tapped against your stomach every time he thrusted in. It left little droplets of precum on your stomach. The one that was in you felt like it was touching your stomach from the inside. He knew how to use it well.

He was rough but not fast. His mind was more on the goal of cumming deep inside of you. He can’t risk going fast and having it accidentally slip out. With each thrust, it reached places no guy had hit. But Syzoth isn’t your ordinary guy so why even be surprised?

He was watching every reaction you let out. He watched how your eyes rolled back before looking back at him. He watched you struggle to keep yourself quiet by biting your lip. Meanwhile in his mind he was already imagining you becoming more plump as you carry his children. He would be there to protect you and the babies, however many there would be. He’ll take care of everything so you don’t have to lift a finger. All you would have to do is stay healthy and be his beautiful woman. And soon, he’ll make you his wife.

But let’s get through the baby making first before getting to that.

Syzoth moved your legs to lay on his shoulders. It gave him easier access to go deeper and you felt that immediately. He shoved himself deeper until you were seeing stars every time he hit your g-spot. Or those could have been halos from the heavens above. Anything works, the fact was he was making you his. The closeness was nice as well. Feeling his skin against yours as you burn up like a sinner. It was intimate and it was passionate.

Somehow your mind could not process the fact that you were about to cum until it was too late. One second you were giving your usual moans and pants, the next your head went back and you were clenching the sheets as the orgasm hit you. It took your breath away, causing you to only focus on how it came in waves. Your pussy was clenching around his cock while your clit grew sensitive to his other cock rubbing against it. He stopped once he realized you came.

You took a moment to catch your breath. There was a slight smile on your face from the burst of dopamine you just received. You were about to ask Syzoth if he was good until you realized he never came. You became puzzled and were about to ask him what was the matter. He pulled out and flipped you on your stomach.

Alright, now here’s the fun part.

You didn’t know what Syzoth was doing until the bed creaked as if something huge was just dropped on it. No, he can’t be.

You felt him press against your back, feeling rough scales come into contact with your skin. Large hands wrapped around your hips with claws that were slightly digging into them. He nuzzled his large head against yours to keep you calm. That wasn’t necessary because you already felt calm. You were surprised that you weren’t at all freaked out by what was about to happen. But you trusted Syzoth to not hurt you. You knew he would be gentle and make sure you had a good time.

Your hand went up to give his head a light pat. He let out a low growl that rumbled his chest. You felt a much bigger pair of cocks press against your already sensitive pussy. It gathered some of your wetness before slowly slipping in. Your hands gripped your pillows as you felt it stretch you out. What you weren’t ready for was the ridges. The base was ridged. That’s a new texture that no human man can provide you.

Your legs immediately turned to jello from the feeling it provided. Not to mention the other cock was rubbing against your clit again, this time with a more bumpy texture. Don’t worry, Syzoth has a good hold on your hips. So just relax and enjoy the ride.

Nothing in that room was quiet. The bed squeaked with every movement you two made. Syzoth was letting off low rumbles as he felt your warm pussy squeeze around him. And you? Heh, your voice is gonna be hoarse in the morning. The pillow could only do so much to silence your moans. You occasionally had to lift your head up to breathe better and that’s when your moans were heard the most. The prettiest sound Syzoth would ever hear. The sounds of birds could never compare.

You began to pull away from him to relieve yourself of being overstimulated. You could already feel your eyes watering up from the pleasure being too much for you. But Syzoth won’t let you get away. You are gonna stay there and take it all. He pulled you back roughly which made you see those bright lights again. You soon felt his sharp teeth prick the skin on your shoulder. He slowly pressed them down but not enough to break your skin. For once throughout this whole debacle you felt some fear. But that fear turned to pleasure once you realized you liked it. You liked how he was so close to fully biting you just to make you stay. It’s safer to accept what’s about to happen.

Tears began to slip down your cheeks. Drool slowly dribbled past your lips and down your chin. Your pussy was a dripping mess. You’re a dripping mess.

Wet, squishy sounds were heard every time Syzoth thrusted in. You couldn’t hear it over your own moans but you could feel how easily he was slipping in and out. One of his clawed hands reached forward to grip one of your breasts. His claws dug into the round flesh but never pierced it. He could already imagine how big they would get once they fill up with milk. He wouldn’t mind getting a taste of it for himself. He knows you’ll produce enough for the babies and him. Oh gosh, the thoughts are really getting to him.

You felt his thrusts become sluggish and his growls become deeper. You knew he would cum soon. Thank goodness, you couldn’t tell if you would last any longer.

A few more thrusts and he was soon filling your pussy with his cum. It was really filling you up. It’s a large cock what else could you expect. His other cock was shooting some cum out as well which painted your stomach and tits. It also landed on the sheets which is fine he will clean it up later.

Syzoth pulled out and watched some of his cum pour out of you. It fell onto the sheets and dripped down your thighs. You fell to your side and let out a sigh of relief. It’s over, what an experience for you.

Syzoth went behind you to cuddle you, still in his true form. His tail wrapped up and pressed against your front. It was like he was already preparing to cradle that big belly that would soon form. You found it cute and brought his tail closer to you. You begin to pass out, feeling his warm breath blow behind you.

Now, you’re not too sure if birth control will work with Zatteran cum. Guess you will find out soon.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

AND IT DOES NOT!

That little pill was not gonna work with that large amount of cum. Which is fine, it worked out for Syzoth in the end.

He was ecstatic to become a father once more. He will make sure to protect you well and keep your baby safe. He made sure to do everything for you even though he couldn’t do the laundry, cook, go grocery shopping…okay he did the best he could. You wanted to do things yourself anyway. Pregnant women gotta stay strong and active. You appreciated his efforts though.

In the end, it was worth it. Seeing his eyes sparkle whenever he looked at your pregnant belly was something unforgettable. The love he has for you grows stronger every day. He can’t thank you enough for giving him a family.

And it could have happened quicker IF HE JUST FREAKING SAID IT.

Yap notes: So sorry I’ve been MIA. The depression hit like a bitch, the motivation was down, I got overstimulated and cried, and my body needs different things. I have excuses for days and I’m gonna go cry about tortoises. I at least fixed my raccoon tails. Adiós!

[abyssal-ilk]

A thing that people always forget when chastising vivienne for being so apathetic to cole is the fact that she is a circle mage. People whom are forced to learn that you should not trust demons nor spirits or else they’ll put you down AS A RITE OF PASSAGE. Think back to what Mouse says in DAO. “Keep your wits about you, mage; true challenges never end.” She knows that for the rest of her life, demons will tempt her and try to possess her. She has seen mages turn into abominations, knows how they get them- of course she will support templars who have the skills to subdue them. And now to have a spirit scurrying around without supervision what is the last bastion against a Tevinter Sidereal… I too would be worried as hell if i were a circle mage.

EXACTLY!

not only is vivienne a circle mage, but there are also a few other factors that play into it that make cole so untrustworthy to her. vivienne underwent her harrowing when she was young– in fact, she was the youngest mage to have ever gone through a harrowing and survived it. we don't get to learn much about what she went through during her harrowing, but we DO have this banter between her and cole:

harrowings on their own are already traumatic enough, and with the added insistence from the circles that all spirits and demons are dangerous (which we see vivienne repeat above, "all it can do is harm."), it makes complete sense on why vivienne would be so put-off by cole! especially given how kind he is! she thinks that kindness is a ploy, and why wouldn't she if her harrowing was anything like the warden's in DAO?

and then that's not even acknowledging the fact that cole isn't just ANY spirit. he's the ghost of the spire. he's killed mages before and admits to doing so. and even though he was wrong to do so and realizes that what he did was wrong, that does not mean that vivienne automatically has to suddenly be okay with what cole did. of course vivienne takes cole being the ghost of the spire harder than everyone else in the inner circle. she is the only circle mage there. it is entirely plausible that she sees cole as a threat and views herself as being the person most able to recognize that threat because of what she was taught. it's why she struggles so much to empathize with cole on any level.

ive already talked about this briefly on another post, but cole is also fairly antagonistic to vivienne as well. it's easy to look at their dynamic and think that, well, cole is just trying to help vivienne but he... isn't? his version of helping her is prying into her thoughts without permission and continuing to do so even after she has shown clear discomfort with it.

cole drags her worst memories and thoughts out publicly in front of not just vivienne, but the rest of the party and anyone else who may happen to be standing near them. it's DANGEROUS, what he does, because vivienne is a player of the game. her position at court is a precarious one, and to have someone like cole who can just pick into her brain whenever he wants with no repercussions? it's scary! it's scary because vivienne has no defense against it, especially if the player supports cole and downplays the harm he does. and what can vivienne do about it? she's an ally of the inquisitor, and that makes her cole's ally by proxy. telling cole to stop doesn't work, insulting him doesn't work, trying to get the inquisitor to intervine doesn't work– nothing seems to deter cole.

which is why THIS piece of dialogue is so important to me:

despite everything i've said above, vivienne still cannot help but care about cole. no matter how dangerous he is, no matter what she was raised to believe, she still cares about him and worries for him. their dynamic is SO interesting to me and i really wish people dug into it a bit more rather than just dismiss it as vivienne being needlessly cruel to cole. it's so much more than that.

[beensbaee]

𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

summary; neteyam has always avoided y/n due to the fact that he cannot trust himself around her - but what happens when he is tasked to teach her?

pairing; neteyam!teacher x y/n

word count; 3.5k

HER BEWITCHING BOY

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It was no surprise Y/n and Lo'ak were such good friends. Both of them had the same wild nature that always got them into trouble - and a distinctive laughter that caught everyone's attention.

Unlike Lo'ak, she was the tiniest bit more responsible. She was also more immersed in the clan too - often spending her free time playing with the younger children and asking the elders all sorts of questions - even finding new paths in the forest with Kiri to travel on.

Her relationship with little Tuktirey was just as sweet. She'd often find all sorts of ways to have the girl giggling and smiling, whether it was by making faces or telling her stories so silly that Tuk couldn't even contain her amusement.

There was just one Sully kid she wasn't close with. Neteyam was a year older than her - and he'd always kept his distance from Y/n.

She was not blind. She'd see how he'd be sitting comfortably with his family until Y/n would come. Even Jake had seen the way the boy's smile would falter as he would suddenly begin looking anywhere that wasn't towards her - giving her a curt greeting before excusing himself and leaving.

She'd try not to look hurt - but everyone saw how her ears fell in embarrassment at his behavior towards her. Lo'ak would brush it off, telling her to ignore him. Kiri herself would be confused but would always choose not to say anything as she took it upon herself to make the girl feel more welcomed and forget about her eldest brother's reaction.

Neteyam always seemed conflicted when his parents would bring up his apparent dislike for her - sometimes claiming he didn't notice he was treating her differently, and other times remaining silent when questioned why he treated her like she was something to avoid completely.

The truth was that he himself did not know either.

Well he knew, but refused to accept the fact.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Y/n was shuddering, Lo'ak howling with laughter as Kiri rubbed her arm soothingly

"It is ok, Y/n. Not everyone is perfect at aiming." Kiri said as a way to comfort the girl, discreetly kicking Lo'ak's leg and giving him a look that quickly stopped his laughter

"Eywa, I could have killed him." She groaned, hiding her face with her hands as Kiri looked at her with a frown

"But you didn't!" Lo'ak chirped up as Y/n sighed, slinging off the bow that had been on her back and holding the wood firmly in her hands

"As if he didn't already hate me enough." She mumbled, Lo'ak finally turning towards her with concern

"He doesn't hate you, Y/n. He's just... dumb?" He tried, but Y/n only sent him a sad smile

"He's a hundred times smarter than you!" She laughed, Lo'ak rolled his eyes as Kiri joined in with her own grin

"Come on, it is time to eat." Kiri said as the three teens made their way to the central part of the village where the clan gathered to eat meals together

After fighting over who sat next to whom, the lineup consisted of Kiri, Y/n, and Lo'ak in a row - everyone satisfied with the seating arrangement as they conversed amongst themselves. Jake and Neytiri sat a few rows down from them - and Y/n's eyes caught the familiar muscled back of Neteyam Sully as he sat down next to his parents and grandmother.

She winced, heart burning with shame as she looked at his bandaged leg. The same leg she had accidentally hit when wielding a bow.

Jake had insisted she'd be fine hours earlier when she refused to hunt with the weapon, handing her the bow and arrow and giving her a simple target  to practice her aim with while the hunting party was taking a break.

She'd usually hunted with a simple knife, expertly too. She'd excelled at many things - but her skills with a bow was not one of them

She'd fired it, her arm shaking with fear as her hand slipped. The arrow didn't stay true to its path at all and flew completely out of her sight. Moments after firing, they heard a sharp yell - Jake only turned towards her in disbelief with his mouth hanging open. Never had she seen her clan leader in such denial.

Her embarrassment was incomparable as she and Jake ran in the direction of the yell, only to find Neteyam kneeling over in pain as he held the gash on his leg with his hands, blood running over his fingers as he applied pressure to the wound.

Thank the Great Mother the arrow merely grazed him. Y/n had been brought to near tears as she apologized profusely for her actions. Neteyam merely bowed his head, mumbling that he was fine and clearly embarrassed himself by the situation as Jake quickly patched up the boy with his on the go medical kit.

He got up the second he was patched, insisting he was fine and leaving as Y/n finally gathered the courage to approach him

"Neteyam, Neteyam wait!" She pleaded, her voice desperate as he visibly froze in his path, slowly turning around to meet her eyes

"I know we are not friends - but please understand, I had no intention of hurting you. I am so sorry." She said, her voice was strained as she spoke, eyes pained as she struggled to convey her true guilt.

He remained silent, looking at her so intensely that she felt her back straightening subconsciously. He parted his lips as if to say something, mouth moving as he struggled to find the words before clamping it shut and shaking his head

"It is fine, Y/n. I am fine, please do not worry about me." He finally said, his voice foreign and eyes hard before he turned away from her, his muscles tense as he walked away.

She wanted to cry in that moment, her eyes stinging with shame as she turned away, unable to understand the clear aversion the Sully boy had for her.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Neteyam ate his food silently, occasionally cracking a smile at his fathers ridiculous jokes.

He couldn't stop himself from looking back to Lo'ak and Kiri, but his eyes didn't stay on them. They moved to the girl between the two.

The familiar feeling of his heart thundering in his chest returned as he looked away once again, closing his eyes while he struggled to keep himself from marching over to the trio and pulling her away.

He hated Y/n. He hated her so much sometimes.

He hated how he was reminded of her everywhere he turned. He hated how she'd braid flowers into her hair and how her clothes were always so out of place from the familiar brown and greens the clan wore - her pink and purple accessories only pulling his eyes towards her even more.

He hated how he couldn't control his heart around her. Never had he felt so out of control. He hated how easily she'd be able to have him do anything if she just asked, her voice a melody he'd listen to from afar - something similar to a drug. Something he desired so much but refused to have - the fear of addiction holding him back.

He'd promised himself it was just a small crush when he'd first seen her vibrant smile. 

He told himself anyone would have fallen in love with the way she so selflessly loved. 

He had to force himself to look away from her when she was doing simple tasks - eating, weaving baskets - even just praying - he'd find her eyes closed and content as her face was composed with eternal peace he wished to find.

He'd told himself to stay away from her completely because she wasn't someone he could trust himself to be around. The feeling of simply not understanding what he felt was what scared him so much. But her beauty - one that had his knees so weak he had to look away just to stand without faltering, was what terrified him the most.

Her beauty wasn't something unknown - she was the most enchanting na'vi in the clan through his eyes. Her delicate cheeks and round eyes with fluttering lashes had him in awe at times. But, as he watched another boy approach her as she ate - her curious eyes meeting him as he quickly struck up a conversation with the trio had him blinking rapidly.

He was seemingly talking to all three, but Neteyam did not miss the way the mystery boy's eyes would trail back to Y/n to seemingly try and catch a glimpse of her.

He clenched his jaw, looking down at the food in front of him with furrowed brows. Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry anymore.

He couldn't even be mad. He had no say over who spoke to her - and this wasn't the first time.

He'd seen numerous boys approach her before, and every time, he'd be watching the interaction from afar. Fuming with a clenched jaw as he struggled to kill the jealousy that was running through him like a storm.

The only thing that prevented him from intervening was Y/n's gently but sad smile as she rejected Every. Single. One. Nothing was more satisfying than watching her shake her head - indicating a polite no from her that had each boy walking away with slumped shoulders.

As if Y/n had felt his burning gaze, she lifted her head to look directly at him.

Her eyes - they had him swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked right back at her, refusing to break eye contact. 

She blinked rapidly as she stared back, her gaze struggling to hold the intensity in his eyes as she finally looked away.

He left dinner right after it ended, returning to his hammock with a pounding headache as he struggled to sort his thoughts.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"Neteyam."

He slowly opened his eyes to find his mother standing over him, her eyes concerned as Neteyam quickly sat up with his brows pulled together in concern

"Is something wrong, Mother?" He asked quickly, his voice tired as she frowned

"Yes. You went to bed so early. Are you feeling ok?" She asked gently as Neteyam automatically nodded his head

"Mother - I am fine." He said, but his voice wasn't convincing enough to her. Just as she was about to say something, Jake walked towards them with hurried steps once he heard their voices

"You awake, boy?" He asked, moving to stand next to Neytiri as Neteyam nodded his head, his annoyance present in his sigh

"Why is everyone asking if I am ok?" He questioned as Jake and Neytiri looked at each other - their eyes obviously having some sort of an exchange he was not apart of

"You seem distracted lately." Was what Jake settled on as Neteyam remained silent

Quickly, Jake's eyes lit up as if he thought of something. He turned to Neytiri with a glint in his eyes that had her look at him expectedly

"Now, I need a favor from you. Think you can do it?" Jake asked, his voice firm as Neteyam nodded his head

"Of course. What do you need?" He answered dutifully, his mind still hazy from being awoken from his slumber

"I need you to teach Y/n how to wield a bow and fire an arrow."

Jake didn't miss the way Neteyam nearly flinched at his words, his eyes widening the slightest bit as well. But, he remained still and silent and gave them no further insight as to how he felt by the request 

Neytiri watched him carefully as Neteyam finally nodded his head, his knuckles pale from gripping the sides of his hammock so hard as his lips were set in a firm line.

"Yes sir."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Y/n shuffled her feet as she watched Neteyam secure the last few necessary things they needed for the next few hours they were spending in the forest together inside of his bag.

His hands moved so gracefully - Y/n couldn't help but watch him as he placed one last arrow on his back, turning to her and gesturing his head towards the exit of the tent and towards the forest.

"Come on Y/n." He said, turning his back towards her as he led her into the forest, a clear destination in his mind as she recognized a few trees with markings on them with the path he was leading her on - clearly targets previous na'vi had used to practice with their bows and arrows on.

She felt her cheeks heat up as she realized the fact that these targets were probably made for children to practice their skills on.

Hunting with a bow and arrow wasn't required - and Y/n knew from the start she wasn't very good with one, so she didn't bother ever picking up one. But now, it seemed she'd have to learn how to master it, one way or another.

She turned to Neteyam, her voice quieter than usual as she spoke her true thoughts

"Do you think I am capable of even learning how to use a bow this late? Especially after..." She asked, her embarrassment evident in her voice as he turned to her with the same intense gaze she was used to seeing in his eyes whenever he looked at her.

"Well, of course you are. Mistakes happen." He said, silence following after his words as he saw the hesitation in her eyes - maybe it was his words, or maybe it was the fact that they'd never been alone together - and that he'd never really even spoken this much to her.

Finally, he smiled. It was such a small movement on his face, but she'd seen how his eyes had softened as the smallest of smile lines appeared. It was a change.

"Come here."

She obliged without hesitation, standing next to him only seconds later as he handed her his bow and an arrow. She grabbed his bow with careful hands, her fingers running over the intricately beautiful engravings in the wood as she admired it.

He was watching her, his gaze unwavering as he saw the small twitch of her lips as they formed a smile. She didn't notice his gaze - too focused on the bow, and he took the opportunity to look at her up close.

He'd never allowed himself to be this close to her - after the last time there had been such little distance between them her intoxicating scent had been the thing to keep him up for hours. But now, he closed his eyes and could only inhale it - his tail flicking as his senses recognized the sweet smell

"Hold it like this." He instructed

He didn't even recognize his own voice - it came out much rougher than he intended it to, but he forced himself to focus on the way her hands held his bow - searching for any mistakes with the way she was positioned that might be why she was having trouble firing an arrow.

His fingers mistakingly brushed over hers - and he felt himself letting out a breath to steady himself and calm his heart - it seemed like Y/n had also been thrown off by the small touch between them as she quickly blinked while staring at their hands.

Neteyam finally realized her mistake as he noticed the way her fingers went straight over the wood she was holding when they should have curved over the slanted piece.

He didn't trust himself to say anything without his voice giving away exactly how he felt, so he wordlessly moved her fingers - cupping his hand over hers and moving it into position and nodding his head

She met his eyes once he gave her the cue to fire her arrow, and she unleashed it - the strong string snapping it forward with impeccable speed as it hit the target right in its center

She looked at the target in disbelief as she let out a victory war cry one would use in battle - startling Neteyam instantly as she clapped her hands in pure excitement

"I got it! Neteyam I got it!" She exclaimed, her eyes shining with so much appreciation that she leaped towards the boy and tackled him with a hug

He only yelped as he fell backward and onto the grass, her body on top of his as she hugged him tightly - laughter spilling out of her as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her - before tightening them and reciprocating her ecstatic embrace

They stayed like this for a few moments - both of them holding each other so close that every single previous cold and awkward encounter of the two of them before faded away - the two so lost in the moment as they laughed

Finally, she pulled away - her eyes still crinkled with joy as Neteyam felt himself quieting once again as he stared at her. But this time, it was not with the usual emotionless stare - but with a gaze so open and with no facade, she too quieted as she felt the atmosphere change.

Finally he looked away, unable to look at Y/n any longer as he began speaking

"I am sorry for how I have treated you in the past. I... it was shameful." He finally spoke, words Y/n had been wanting to hear for so long - she didn't even believe he'd said them

She knew he had one of the biggest hearts ever - the snippets she'd catch of him with his siblings had confirmed that. She knew there was a reason he typically avoided her - and she had a very good feeling she was about to find out what it was.

"It is ok." She said, the sweetest smile on her face as Neteyam felt his heart crack at the sight

All the times he'd been so awful, so cold and distant - she'd forgiven. Because she had a heart of gold - something Neteyam felt he didn't deserve. Something he thought he wasn't worthy of.

"Y/n..." He struggled to finish the sentence as he stared at her lips, parted and simply begging for him - the urge to press his lips against hers was overwhelming

"Y/n, I do not deserve someone like you. I could not look you in the eyes - or speak to you all this time because of how I felt. I feel so much for you - it is like my heart is set on fire when I look at you sevin -"

The word had slipped from his lips - but she'd heard it.

Sevin. Pretty

She felt her heart flutter as she heard his words. He thought she was pretty.

He smiled at her reaction before shaking his head and reaching for her hands hesitantly. She reached forward slowly, lacing their fingers together with sparkling eyes as he cracked a grin

He knew she felt something for him too - because of the numerous boys that had pursued her, she never held their hands the way she was holding his - nor did she stare at them with eyes so round and filled with such a tender kindness as she did with him.

She leaned forward, gently brushing her lips against his to see his reaction. But he merely pulled her back in - his mouth enveloping hers as he moved his arms around her.

He kissed away all her confusion that night, spending the hours meant for her training with her hands in his hair and his face pressed against hers.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

six full moons later ⋆��₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

The tense Neteyam who'd always been frowning was replaced by one who couldn't stop smiling. He was the one who'd be more eager for Y/n to come over then his own siblings, the one who made Lo'ak gag dramatically whenever he and Y/n did anything even remotely romantic - the one who looked forward to seeing her the most.

In the beginning he wouldn't even stand next to her - and now, he refused to be separated from her.

They'd sneak out at night to gaze at the stars - a favorite pastime of theirs now as Y/n would lay her head on his chest and tell Neteyam anything and everything that came to her mind. Neteyam would do the same - saying things that would have Y/n giggling as she nuzzled her nose against his skin

"Tomorrow, you and I will have a date night." Neteyam said proudly, Y/n tilting her head up and towards with a smile 

"What is a date night?" She asked, her hands mindlessly playing with his fingers as Neteyam grinned

"My parents have date nights all the time - they go out to have their own private time, away from everyone else. You and I could pick all sorts of fruits to snack on - climb all sorts of trees with no one to tell us what to do." He said, voice gentle with his lips set into a soft smile

She smiled, gently moving her hand to his face as she traced over his freckles that glowed in the moonlight. He looked radiant in the day - but at night, he was bewitching. There was a certain thing about him and the night that comforted her more than anything else in the world

"Well then, we should have date night every night." She insisted as he laughed, the sound a melody to her ears as she merely smiled against him - the stars shining above the two for every date night they would spend together.

i just want to tag @erenjaegerwifee for the request/idea! thank u boo for the inspo i hope you like it 🥺 took me a couple THOUSAND words to reach the part where he teaches her & they confess but i got there! 😅🤍

[moni-logues]

Thirteen Rounds

Pairing: Boxer!Jungkook x f!reader

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

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

Word count: 13.2k

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

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

FOUR WEEKS TO GO

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

Four weeks no sex.

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

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

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

“Just tired? Training hard today?”

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

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

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

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

“WHAT?”

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

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

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

“I know!”

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

“Why?” you ask. “What’s it for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” he begs. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m so wet already.”

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

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

“FUCK.”

He brings his hands to his face and rubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to shower.”

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

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

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

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

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

He almost chokes on his indignation.

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

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

“I’m serious, y/n, I cannot do this.”

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

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

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

“Jungkook! Don’t leave me!”

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

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

“I can put some clothes on?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I at least kiss you goodnight?”

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

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

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

“Night night, my little custard cream.”

“Night night, my love.”

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

THREE WEEKS TO GO

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

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

Hence, Me Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I’ve missed that noise.”

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

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

He shrugs.

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

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

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

He looks at the rabbit, appraising.

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

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

“Let me help you.”

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

“Jungkook... Kookie, no. I want you.”

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

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

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

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

“Wh-.. I...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins at you and raises his eyebrows.

“What’s mine is yours, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me Jeon.”

“Isn’t it your name?”

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

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

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

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

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

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

“And me all ready for you...”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, no, stop! Stop.”

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

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

“Kookie... Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

TWO WEEKS TO GO

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

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

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

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

“Don’t ignore me, my little hobnob.”

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

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

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

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

You sigh, aggravated, and sit back.

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

“No, of course it’s not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, Kookie, baby, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything.”

“Ice. And water.”

“Huh?”

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

“Ok…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go where?”

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

“Ok, I’m going, I’m going.”

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

ONE WEEK TO GO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In six days.”

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

“Now get the fuck out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIGHT NIGHT

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

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

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

He pulls out his phone and dials your number.

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

“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

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

Jungkook sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

“Something is wrong: I miss you.”

“Jungkook! Don’t scare me like that!”

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

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

“I know and whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

He snorts, appreciative of the weird, little effort.

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

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

“Yeah.

“Garibaldi?”

Jungkook laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook is going to lose.

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

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

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

“8… 9… 10!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door opens and there you are.

“Fucking finally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, shit, sorry, baby, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs and kisses your inner thigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ok, my love?”

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

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

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

“Kookie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only mine.”

“Only yours.”

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

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

“I don’t have it,” you whimper.

“Yes, you do, c’mon, y/n.”

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

“Jesus, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

You laugh and pat his shoulder.

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

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

“What title?”

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

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

“Both, I guess?” you answer.

He grins and shakes his head.

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

“What happened?”

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

“I fucking told you!”

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

“No more sex bans?”

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

“Good.”

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

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

[caelisblade]

– FORGET ABOUT US | SYLUS

sylus is the god of death, the underworld, hell. as if that wasn‘t enough, he appears to be your husband whom you have forgotten. and as it turns out, there‘s even more to the story — and about you. 

wc; 5.3k

cw; a persephone and hades retelling (kind of), reader is not mc, n/sfw, unprotected s/ex, c/reampie, o/verstimulation, r/iding, a little bit greek mythology inspired, angsty ending

a/n: part of this story was inspired by a fic i read a long time ago. unfortunately, i don‘t remember who it was by, otherwise i‘d obviously give credits. 

something was wrong. 

you felt in your whole body, it felt like someone was watching you but looking around, you simply were unable to spot anybody. it was weird. 

this feeling didn’t leave for days on end. yet, the feeling of being watched, somehow, felt so familiar, too. oddly enough, you didn’t feel like you were in imminent danger. in fact, you felt safer – even slept better at night. 

“hello, sweetheart”, the lurker finally revealed himself. 

you shrieked in shock as someone suddenly stood before you, a gorgeous, strange man. 

“goodness, you scared me. do you normally approach women like this?”, you said, a breathy chuckle leaving you. 

“just the prettiest one. and you are the most gorgeous woman i have met in my entire life”, he replied, a gentle smile dancing around his lips. 

“uh huh… that’s interesting”, you laughed. “now, tell me, how did you even get into my home? isn’t that… creepy?”

“maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. i couldn’t care less. i’ve come to bring you home.”

“what do you mean? i am home”, you laughed, yet the confusion was incredibly evident in your face. 

“this place? no, y/n. this isn’t your home. well, it is for six months of the year but your real home… is someplace else. and i want you back there with me”, he explained, yet so much wasn’t cleared up still. who was he? how did he know your name? he seemed so comfortable just barging in here like… he was someone you had forgotten. 

“with you? you’re a total stranger to me. why would i go anywhere with you?” 

“because you know me. i’m sylus. you always knew me and you always will. yet, there is a bit of a hindrance between us – you always forget me until it’s time for me to bring you back. i promise, sweetheart. you know me. and i know you. better than anyone else in this world and every other world that exists”, he explained. “i swear, it all will make so much more sense once you come home with me.” 

it was weird, but… you felt like he was telling the truth. it was this feeling etched deeply within you, the trust you felt for this man was enchanting and before you even realized it, you were slowly stepping to him. 

“i don’t know why, but… i believe you. i don’t understand, but i do”, you softly said. 

“because deep down here”, he started, slowly closing the distance between you two and pointing at your heart, “you know i’m telling the truth.” 

a loud rumble echoed through your apartment, you looked around in panic as you felt yourself literally being sucked into the ground. “w-what’s going on?!”, you exclaimed, fear enveloping your body. 

“we’re going home, sweetheart”, he said with a chuckle and within the next second, just another blink of your eyes, you were someplace else. 

confused, you looked around, taking in your surroundings and noticing the gorgeous garden. flowers were one of your most favorite things in the world and you quickly went to the garden, taking a breather of the fresh flowers. 

“they’re not real, unfortunately. not a single living thing can survive down here”, sylus explained with a sad tone in his voice. 

“what do you mean with down here?”, you questioned. despite him saying that the flowers were not real, they sure as hell smelled real. 

“hell. hades. whatever you’d like to call it”, he said, shrugging. 

“you brought me to… hell?!”, you asked. “that’s what you called my true home? why would i…?” 

nothing made sense. you felt like, nothing would ever make sense to you right now, no matter how clear and understandable the explanation was. 

“i promise, i will explain everything to you”, sylus said once again. “come with me, sweetheart.” 

he raised his hand, holding it out with an inviting smile. and you took it, curious. 

sylus slowly took you around the area. “this is hell?”, you questioned, confused at how it looked all… normal. although the furniture was mostly in black and red, the area was still… giving a certain happy, exciting energy. it definitely didn’t feel like the burning, scary place you were always told the stories about. 

“well, it’s a part of it. hell is… not as bad as everyone pictures it. most souls finding their ways here are surprised as well – the burning in hell jab was never a thing. i don’t even know where that came from. yes, hell is a place in which you get punished for your wrongdoings. but… in a way, you punish yourself for those. you know that saying ‘your own personal hell’? that’s exactly how it is for the souls that come here. they relive sins over and over again, with the difference that they experience what they made others experience.” 

“that makes sense”, you concluded. 

“and being the god of death and the guardian of hell… of course, i’m going to live a lavish life, am i not?”, he laughed softly. “i can literally just snap with my finger…” a little snap with his fingers, and suddenly, a candle-lit table filled with your most favorite meals and dishes appeared in front of you. “and i will have it. this is my world, after all. well, i took over control of it once my brothers and i banished our parents, the titans, to tartarus.” 

“i’m so sorry to say this, but… this just feels so surreal. deep down, i know you’re telling the truth, yet some part of me is refusing to believe this is real”, you said. 

“as always, sweetheart. you’ll need some time to remember. but that’s okay, i promise”, he comforted you and gently nudged you to take a seat at the couch next to the candlelit dinner table. “take all the time you need, dearest.” 

he snapped with his fingers once again and a little plate with different fruits appeared on his hand. “here, eat a little. you must be starving”, he mumbled, taking a few pomegranate seeds and feeding them to you. 

“how did you know i like pomegranates?”, you asked. 

“i just do. like i said. i know everything about you. and you know everything about me. just give it another two days, maybe three. that’s usually how long i need to feed you pomegranates until you remember. it’s not my first rodeo of this, sweetheart. you’ll understand soon, i promise.” 

you nodded, still confused about everything before you just ate the seeds of the delicious pomegranate with excitement. and sylus watched you munch on the seeds so carelessly, so happily. he was so in love with you, his heart jumped as you licked over his fingertip to taste the delicious juice. 

“you’re so pretty”, he mumbled. “and so, so adorable. let’s see if i can make you remember me faster this time.” 

before you could ask why he kept on repeating that, you suddenly felt his hand on your chin, turning you around before he kissed you. your eyes widened in shock, but you felt yourself melt into it quite fast, eyes slowly fluttering shut and you started to kiss him back. he slowly buried his hand into your hair, his kiss intensifying with every moment. 

an image of this exact thing happening flashed before your eyes for a split second, before it vanished again. 

he broke off the kiss, breathless from how desperate, longing the kiss was. “i missed this in the past six months”, he mumbled softly. “i missed the way you feel against me, the way you taste. i’m going to make you remember everything. just keep on munching those pomegranate seeds, yeah? they always helped you remember.” 

“pomegranate seeds helped me remember? that’s… odd”, you commented, but didn’t complain because you loved them anyway. you grabbed the table with the fresh seeds and kept on eating them, happy about the sweet and sour taste of them. “they’re delicious.” 

“of course they are. i got them for you”, he laughed softly. “you get the best of everything. you deserve it all.” 

the first day spent in hell with sylus passes with you munching all the delicious food he snapped into reality for you and then slowly falling asleep in his arms. 

sylus stayed awake for the entire night. he watched you sleep so comfortably, a soft smile on your lips as you dreamt of various things. he couldn’t know what those things were, but they were beautiful dreams that he knew. that smile on your lips was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. 

slowly, with the comfort of having you in his arms once again, he fell asleep, for the first time in six months, so relaxed and happy. and he actually slept an entire night without being plagued by the memories he had with you before the curse happened. 

you woke up with a sigh, eyes finally opening and you stared right into sylus’ sleeping face. you couldn’t help but look at him, he looked so peaceful, and he was probably the most gorgeous man you had ever met in your entire life. 

“good morning”, sylus grumbled, eyes still closed, yet he was awake. “did you sleep well?” 

“mhm, surprisingly, considering i just spent the night in hell”, you joked, earning yourself a tickle attack from him. 

despite him being a stranger, you had no problem sleeping in the same bed as him. 

though, something has changed now. you were sure you remembered splits and bits of what he was talking — or more like, hinting — about. 

“i remember a few things, i think”, you mumbled. “it’s weird. i remember you and i kissing, every chance we got. i remember you and i sleeping in this bed like tonight. but i can’t remember what our relationship was. were we boyfriend and girlfriend? were we… married?”

“we were — or more like, still are — actually married”, sylus revealed. “we had the most lavish wedding known among every god in our history. you looked so gorgeous in your dress. i remember the night of our wedding day in its greatest detail, too.” a little smirk danced on his lips at that memory. 

“it was probably one of the longest nights we spent entangled in bed together. something i plan to reenact once you remember me”, he laughed softly, and that laugh intensified when he saw how shy you got when you heard that. “and then… followed the war. and the curse.” 

his tone got more serious once he got to that part of the story. 

“the titans – our parents – challenged us olympians. and we did our best to overthrow them, and finally did it. but before it was finally time and we had banished them to tartarus, my father put a curse on us. we are never able to be together as we wished to be. you disappear back to earth like clockwork around april. i will come and bring you back to me in winter. your mother gave me her blessing for it. i get to spend those six months with my wife. though, i have to make you remember every time anew. i have to make you fall back in love with me again. now, i finally figured out how to make you remember the easiest – pomegranate seeds do the trick best. i don’t know why and i can’t explain why, either. it just works.” 

you listen to him intently. he had such a calming storytelling voice. you loved listening to him. 

“i mean, after centuries of doing this, i should know how to make my wife fall in love with me every six months, don’t i?”, he chuckled, but there was no sort of emotion in his laugh. 

“is there no way of getting rid of this curse?”, you asked. he shook his head. 

“not that we know of. nothing we tried ever worked”, he replied. 

“i’m sorry”, you said, choking up on your sobs. “i’m sorry i have to make you feel this lonely for six months every time.” 

“shh, princess, it’s okay. i’m okay. and as long as you are okay, i will be okay.” 

you hugged him immediately, trying to bury your tears. it was clear he loved you and you could feel it by the way he embraced you as well. 

“i still don’t remember everything. but i’m willing to try, sylus. i swear. i want to remember everything. i want to remember you and me”, you whispered against his neck. 

“and you will. i will do anything in my power to help you remember me. and everything about us. like every year. and then we will spend the most amazing six months of our lives once again. you will forget about them but i will lock them in my memories like every year. and then we’ll meet again in six months. i will be yours forever. no matter how much it breaks my heart to know i have to make you fall in love with me again like clockwork.” 

he reached to the nightstand and grabbed a box. as he opened it, he revealed a ring. “this was our wedding ring, sweetheart. i keep it with me. can i put it back on your finger?”

you nodded, your eyes still shimmering from the tears you tried your best to contain as you held out your hand. he carefully slipped the ring onto your ring finger, smiling at you. 

“i love you. you don’t have to say it back. do it when you’re ready, pretty”, he whispered and kissed your forehead gently. 

you nodded only as you inspected the ring, the diamond etched into it shining brightly in the light of the room. “it’s beautiful. thank you, sy.” 

as you called him by your usual nickname, there was yet another memory unlocked. you saying this exact nickname before, sitting in this exact bed before. “i- i remember this exact thing. we did this before, didn’t we?”, you asked. “you give this ring back to me every year. how do you have the patience to wait for me every year, sy?”

“i don’t know. i just do. the thought of being reunited with you at some point gives me the energy to wait and be patient.”

“that must be so painful every time i just… disappear, right?”, you said, hugging him a little tighter. 

“it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you are with me again, sweetheart”, he replied. “i love you. i will love you forever with my immortal life. i don’t care that you will leave me every six months, even if it’s involuntary. i will get you back when i can and have you fall back in love with me every single time.” 

“you must be the most patient man on earth… well- in hell”, you joked, giggling. “this is so weird. i never pictured hell to look this… beautiful.”

“because this isn‘t the part of hell that‘s the horrible one. this is our home. that we built together. i never changed a thing about the furniture you chose.”

“me? choosing black and dark red furniture? i must‘ve been out of my mind”, you grumble. “are you sure?”

he laughed, his laugh so deep and the way you looked at him was the most adorable thing he saw in his life. as you looked at him questioning his sudden burst of laughter, he slowly stopped laughing and started explaining.

“it‘s funny because… you react like this every single year. and once you remember, you also remember why you chose these specific colors.”

“well, then let’s see what my reasons were for these abominations of color schemes”, you giggled and finally stood up from bed, stretching your body to get rid of the last bits of sleep still lingering in your body. 

“i‘m hungry. can you snap your fingers and make me breakfast?”, you yawned, turning back to face him. 

“why don‘t you try it yourself?”

“h-huh? myself?”, you ask, the previous confusion making its way back onto your face. “how am i supposed to-?” 

“just try. you are a goddess, sweetheart. you don‘t remember anything, but i do. i remember it all. just try”, he encouraged you, standing up to go behind you and he took your hand into his, entangling your fingers with his. “just think of the most lavish breakfast table a person could ever prepare. and focus only on that.”

you closed your eyes, picturing a table with your most favorite items to eat for breakfast and within the next second, that exact table appeared in front of you. 

“i did this?”, you asked, looking around and finally looking up to face him. “you‘re not playing around with me, are you?”

“no, of course i‘m not, sweetheart. go on, try making something appear without telling me what it is. go ahead”, he said, letting go of your hand. 

you closed your eyes as you tried to think of a bouquet of white roses and winced as you felt a stinging pain in your hand. you opened your eyes again to see that exact binding of white roses in your hand and dropped it as the thorns stabbed into your fingers. you watched a little bit of blood trail down your skin before it vanished just a second later. 

you looked at sylus who smiled at you proudly. “see? sweetheart, you are the queen of the underworld. you are my queen. you are the goddess of the dead, the underworld and nature. of course, you can do everything i can do, too.”

with that revelation of your true identity, it was like, everything that was locked in the smallest corner of your brain suddenly unlocked. you remembered everything. you remembered him kidnapping you many centuries ago. you remember eating six pomegranate seeds which is the reason you have to stay six months of the year in the underworld. 

you remember the first time you realized you genuinely loved him. 

and you remember the gruesome war. you remember the curse sylus’ father had put on you before he was banished to tartarus. 

“i remember”, you whisper. “i remember it all.” 

“what?”, sylus blurted out, as if in disbelief. 

“i remember everything. i remember the first time you brought me here. i remember how i fell in love with you. i remember how we got married before your father put the curse on me”, you said, eyes tearing up. 

he quickly grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers. “i think this is the fastest i was able to make you remember”, he laughed, the brightest smile on his face. before you could do or say anything, he kissed you. it was the most intense, passionate and breathtaking kiss you ever shared before. 

your arms wrapped around his neck as he held you tight, and when he broke off the kiss, he didn’t go far away, his forehead pressed against yours. his red eyes bore into yours as you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks as he wiped them all off gently. 

“shh, don‘t cry, princess. there‘s nothing to cry about”, he whispered gently, planting a soft kiss on both of your cheeks, tasting the dried up tears on your soft skin. 

“sylus, i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you”, you repeated like a mantra, kissing him over and over again. “i love you. i’m so sorry for making you go through all of this every single year. let’s try to find a remedy, baby. i don’t ever want to see you in pain again.” 

“it’s okay. i promise. it’s okay. i will wait for you every single time”, he replied, hugging you tightly as he comforted you. “don’t cry, my love. don’t cry. let’s just spend these six months together… until it’s time again.” 

just a few more moments later, you slowly calmed down and just stood there in his arms. “i love you”, he whispered before he placed his fingers underneath your chin and lifted your head. “i can’t help but say it over and over again. i missed you so much, baby.” 

you gave no response – instead, you just kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck once again, the kiss slowly turning from tiny, gentle pecks, into something more intense, passionate. 

“missed kissing you like this”, he whispered against your lips. “remember our wedding night?” 

your cheeks heated up and you wanted to turn your face around in embarrassment. “no, no, sweetheart, no need to get shy”, he whispered. “i want you to remember that night. because i swear to you, that is what i’m going to reenact once you give me your okay.” 

you felt something in your stomach turn, in the most positive way possible. the memories were now etched into your brain and although there were thousands of moments you spent with him. 

“sweetheart”, he grumbled, voice having an edge of desperation in it. “you drive me crazy.” 

he slowly leaned down to kiss down your neck, he was leaving soft bites over your skin and you shuddered, a feeling of sudden need surging through your body. “please”, you whined, not even knowing what you were asking for. 

“please, what, sweetheart?”, he grumbled against your neck. “you know i love to hear your words. you remember now. do it, then. tell me what you want.” 

“i want you”, you softly breathed out. “i want you to fuck me.”

“such a dirty mouth. i’ll never tire from hearing you say this, sweetheart”, he chuckled before he kissed you again, this time more desperate, slowly pushing you against the nearest wall and he lifted one of your legs to wrap it around his waist. “i’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll lose your damn mind, sweetie.” 

“i know you will”, you whispered softly with a grin. 

he was about to carry you back to bed before you stopped him. “take me up against the wall first”, you mumbled, cheeks heating up. “i don’t know why. i just want this. you can make love to me later.” 

he chuckled softly before he nodded. “as you wish, milady”, he said with a grin and pulled off your clothes with swift, quick movements. you were unable to move a single muscle, just watching him undress you and looking at you with a hungry gaze. 

he slowly let one of his hands trail down your body and you shivered. before you knew it, you felt his fingers slowly circle your clit. even with the tiniest touch, sparks shot through your body, eyes fluttering shut as the first smallest bits of pleasure coursed through your body. 

“ah- sylus”, you whined, softly. “i- i need more.” 

“you’ll get more, sweetheart. don’t you worry. i’ll take care of you.” 

he pushed a finger inside of you, making you moan softly. that sound was one of his favorite sounds on earth. “you’re so wet already. i bet you could take me without a problem, too.” 

“please, sy, fuck me”, you begged softly. “please.” 

he smirked, his red eyes watched your every move and reaction. “take my clothes off, then, sweetheart.” he pulled out his finger and licked it clean with a smirk. you quickly got to work, pulling off his shirt and the joggers he was wearing. 

“never in my life did i imagine the king of hell would wear joggers to sleep”, you laughed but he cut off that laugh rather quickly by wrapping his hand around your neck. 

“what’s so funny, sweetheart?”, he grunted with a smirk. “am i not just a person, too? can’t i wear joggers just because i’m the king of hell?” 

“of course, you can. i’m just joking around.” 

sylus was a rough man, especially in bed. after all, that was a requirement for being the king of hell, the person who rules over the people who passed and punish themselves for their sins, for their crimes. 

and he showed that roughness through his actions. because the moment he lifted your leg and wrapped your naked body around his body, slowly pushing in his cock inside of you, he was whipped yet again. he loved being buried in you, fucking you until you were a breathless, overstimulated, yet so beautiful mess. 

sylus increased his pace, bouncing you on his cock and making you cry out in pleasure. your body shook, tears slowly forming in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks as you felt your body convulse, a tight knot forming in your tummy. 

“i’m- i’m gonna cum!”, you whined. you shrieked when you felt your back on the bed, he suddenly had you thrown onto the bed. 

“can’t fuck you properly without laying you down on our bed”, he grunted, “need your legs around me, need you as close as possible to me.” 

he fucked you with passion, watching your face contort as the knot in your tummy snapped and you climaxed, back arching into him. you were feeling so great, too, the pleasure making your body tingle and you smiled in your post-orgasmic haze. 

“feels good, sweetie?”, he asked, brushing a strand out of your face. “you sure look like it feels absolutely amazing.” 

“it does. i feel so.. good”, you whispered, looking up at him with teary eyes. “i need you, sy. i need you more.” 

“and you’ll get it all, baby.” 

he was ravaging you in the best way possible – he had you buried in the many pillows on his – your shared – bed, fucking into you, your bodies both covered in sweat and dried up tears were coating your cheeks. 

“ah- sylus! slow down!”, you cried as overstimulation wrecked through your body, but everything in your body screamed that he shouldn’t stop or slow down. the way he was rutting into you like a man starved was turning you on beyond imagination. 

“no, no, no slowing down”, he grunted against your neck, delivering a particularly hard thrust into you, making you jolt up in surprise. “i’m going to fuck you and you’re going to take it all like my good girl.” 

“uh-huh”, you whimpered, nails scratching over his back and leaving all kinds of marks. they would heal in a short time, but sylus loved feeling the slight pain of your nails digging into his skin. 

your cries intensified when you felt his thumb circle over your clit, along with his relentless thrust into your weeping pussy. “come for me, baby. come for me”, he whispered into your ear, his deep voice sending a powerful shudder through your body and you ended up coming just a quick moment later, the post-orgasmic shocks going through your body. 

he held you tight, watching your face contort as your husband gently caressed your skin as he waited for you to calm down. “shh, princess, i’m here. i love you.” 

“i still can’t believe you do this every single year”, you whispered once you calmed down, placing your hand on his cheek. “i hate to break your heart like this.” 

“it’s out of your control, sweetheart. it’s okay. let’s not focus on that, right now. i just want to be buried in your sweet cunt and feel you as close as possible.” 

you laughed softly. “you’re impossible.” 

“you love it”, he smirked before he moved once again, watching your face contorted in pleasure and overstimulation. “you love me anyway.” 

“that i do. that i really do.” 

before you knew it, he turned you around so you were on top of him – he wanted you to watch you on top of him. “ride me, baby. take what you deserve”, he grunted. “let me watch you.” 

“you just want me to do all the work, don’t you? so lazy”, you giggled before you started to move up and down his cock, soft whines and moans escaping your throat. his hands were latched onto your hips, guiding your movements and leaned down, laying on top of him and peppered kisses over his neck. 

“i swear, your sweet pussy is going to kill me one day”, he groaned. “i’m so close, fuck.” 

“then come in me, sy. come in me”, you cried out, overstimulation making your thighs shake but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop. you just needed to feel this, you needed to feel as close as possible to him. because you wanted to give him all the memories you could until the day you’d be gone again for six months and forget about him once more. 

“fuck, sweetheart”, he grunted into your ear. the noises he let out were like music – and you never wanted it to stop. “you take me so well. i’m so proud of you, baby.” 

sylus knew there was no way in hell he could hold back after feeling you wrapped around him after such a long time. so when you squeezed around his cock once again, close to your own high again, you felt the spurts of his cum burst into you, filling you up in the best way possible. 

he made it to his mission to make you finish again because even though his body was screaming for a break, he had to make you cum so he just guided your hips up and down his cock until you screamed his name and creamed around his cock again, the white ring of your mixed releases so visible on the base of his cock. 

“fuck, baby. i sometimes don’t know how i manage to wait six months to feel this again”, he groaned, keeping you on top of him as he softly brushed through your hair. your body was still buzzing from the constant highs and orgasms and you just lay on his chest, trying to calm yourself down. 

his gentle strokes through your hair, over your back made you so drowsy, sleepy from exhaustion. “i love you, sy.” 

“i love you, too, sweetheart.” 

six months passed with a blink of an eye. you spent most of the time eating all the foods you could think of and just spent the time walking around hell. it was ironically romantic, despite it being literal hell. you’d hold his hand, walk around with him as he showed you the river in the elysian fields, which was the river of happiness. 

he let you taste a little drop and you just felt like you were floating on air. 

you and him spent a lot of time entangled in bed, fucking each other’s brains out, making love, kissing and making out and you just… loved it all. 

the moment you realized that your memory started to blur and you had no idea where you were anymore, you quickly took off the ring on your finger and gave it back to him for safekeeping. 

“i’m so sorry, sy. i’m going to miss you. i love you”, you whispered before you disappeared without being able to hear his ‘i love you, too’. you were unable to watch his eyes tear up in pain, his heart breaking. you were back on earth, not remembering anything that had happened in the past six months. 

“see you in six months, sweetie”, he whispered, holding the ring tight in his hand and sylus cursed out his father for the pain he made his son experience every single time. 

sylus swore that he’d find a remedy one day, but he never was able to. 

until then, he’d spend his six months a year with you in your home and wait until it was time to bring you back home. despite the pain, he was happy he was able to spend time with you at all. 

he carefully placed the ring back into its box and smiled with teary eyes, starting the countdown of days until he’d see you again.

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed this! it was my first time writing after ages so i might be a bit rusty, so sorry about that. this one is one of my most favorite writings in a long time so i really hope you love it just as much as i do!

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

This is long, but i need to get this out of my chest:

I have made so many post defending Penelope when people talked about her issues, her traumas but right now i feel like defending Colin.

As a woman, sometimes i naturally tend to feel defensive and shield the girl but i need to be fair here. Colin's feelings and trust were deeply hurt, Colin is insecure, soft, thoughtful, introspective, sensitive and suffers with a inferiority complex, and he struggles to know his place in society and among the people he loves, on what he should do and the expectations of society from a 22 years old man.

What many don't seem to realize is that Colin, even before knowing Penelope is LW, was very insecure about what she loves in him ( and even if she did in fact love him, because she was about to marry someone else), about being worth of her, he says he wants to do something, to publish his diaries because he wants her to be proud of him…he already didn't think he was good enough for and to her. Colin is insecure about not being good enough in every aspect of his life, tbh. His lack of purpose, faith in himself and on others loving him from whom he is runs deep. His moment of vulnerability telling how much Penelope not answering to his letters affected him, his family too was very revealing. Him screaming at Pen with tears in his eyes that he felt foolish that she read his diaries and praised him as something special. This is something i've noticed even in other seasons too. The family not caring much about his need to connect and his somewhat strained relationship with Anthony, who wasn't really a good male figure to him. It's about male ego? A bit, but it's deeper than that in the series.

Another issue is, he put Pen in a pedestal too ( much like Pen did until 2x8), to be honest, and that is never a good thing, because people are not perfect. And he needed to learn all that. There is disappointment there. But, again, it goes further. It’s him not knowing her as he thinks he should. It’s him perceiving her humanity but reflecting on his own. We have to remember he's so happy because Pen chose him, because he thinks now he's someone's priority and he's someone's focus. He has the immature idea that you should be everything in every way to the person you love, and if you can't be their protector and the hero in their eyes, why should anyone love you?

Then he finds out…and his worldview crumbles. Not only Penelope broke his trust and hurt him deeply - and she never told him and never would have - and it wasn't just himself but his family too, but she shattered his belief he knew and connected with her better than almost anyone else, she shattered his barely there newly found confidence and sense of purpose, what he thought was his sense of self now. All modern sensibilities tend to be ruffled about this, but i think it's a fitting conflict that he would have issues with her being so self-sufficient, so successful while he believes himself to be less, way less than her, so to Colin she doesn't need him, and if she doesn't need him, why would she love him? Why should she love him?

Again, there is the side of him conflicted about knowing her. The pedestal was broken, because she lied to him. She is this powerful, talented, successful woman on her own, not just the pretty shy girl with sweetness and great witty personality that he loves, the one that thinks the world of him. She talked about him, she criticized him and while it rings true deep down, it rings devastation, because she could see beyond his farce and it makes him look and feel pathetic.

So he's struggling with two things: on how to love her, all of her, and how to feel good enough for her, love himself. He's trying to accept her new wonderful aspects and her hurtful flaws because he never stopped loving her, in no moment we see anything but love when that man looks at her, when that man is crying because of her and his deep sadness and longing, his anger is laced with so much love for her. He's angry at her but mostly at himself and he needs to figure it out a way to feel like he deserves to be loved by her. It fuels his issues and he also over compensates.

His hang ups with LW becomes his tangible target. Not only he sees as a dangerous thing to her, it puts her at risk, and with that in mind he can put himself in a role of her protector again, but he fixates on the idea that without Whistledown she's the Pen that he can believe is able to love him even if he's not good enough. Without Whistledown she's not so much above him and not so far from him, because Whistledown is her critical eye, it's Penelope appraising people very analytically and if she looks closely, he doesn't think she will see much in him, as she proved before with he S3 ep1 comment. He wants to get rid of it.

Sure, he's jealous too, he envies her success but exactly because he resents how much that makes him less worthy. It's also another thing that he thinks she's putting above him. He couldn't see clearly that it wasn't something outside herself (and he gets it after), but part of who she is, and all of those parts loves him. It's foolish and it's nonsensical because he doesn't understand that she has seen his flaws but she loves him anyway. He needed reassurance just as much as Pen needed. He needed her to keep on telling she loved him and why, because it heals him.

Some people were upset he didn't make love to her that day he went to get a blanket, but i get it. He wants it, he wants her so badly, you can see it. Colin has problems communicating and doing what he wants because he feels pathetic, jealous and that makes him feel worse, makes him feel shame. It’s him, not her that was the issue at that point. His connection with her runs deeper, it's respecting her and himself, with all the conflicted feelings why he didn’t.

It’s a slow process and i’m bloody glad it took its time to be resolved. But he starts understanding that his way wont help them, it wont bring them closer. He wont solve things by controlling and being the hero. He can’t change the past, he can’t change who they are. He wont solve anything by repressing his love.

Pen words help him figuring out a lot, her spoken words directed to him and her written words that he reads again. She needs him. She tells him she needs him and his love, not grand actions. He can show love and be worthy by supporting her. He starts to understand and ACCEPT that Whistledown is Pen, and loving Pen will include that part of her personality. He grasps that it was always there and it never made a difference in how much she loved being around him and him her, how much attention she dedicated to him, how much her words, in her letters, were full of admiration for him, to her love to him, how much she is his special person. She needs him just as much he needs her, she needs his love, his charm, his intelligence, his humor, his integrity, she needs him because without him she doesn’t feel complete, she doesn’t feel happy. He’s a good man, a fine man that makes her happy, always have. And he realizes she inspires him, she always had, and that isn't a problem, that having her helping him is not a problem, because he helps her too in many ways. It’s only when he can accept himself as equal and entitled to her love as she is to his that they could truly be together and happy.

Colin had the right to feel hurt, had the right to have his insecurities, had the right to need time and had the right to need space, had the right to lash out, had the right to come to term with the changes and surprises life threw at him, specially as a sensitive person that he very much is, and i'm glad the show didn't rush that.

[ukrfeminism]

We’ve been chatting for about half an hour when Eloise lowers her voice to a whisper. Until now she’s been confidently talking through the ups and downs of being a 19-year-old woman in a world she finds unsteady. 

She’s annoyed that, on TikTok, the advertisements she gets are keyrings with rape alarms and “stabby kitties” (a cat-shaped metal keychain with pointed ears sharp enough to cause damage), feels that modern feminism sometimes goes a bit too far, but having grown up in the age of nudes, she doesn’t really trust men. Which is unsurprising considering the story she tells me next.

“So a boy I know was asking a girl at his school for nudes,” she says, quietly. “And then when she refused, he threatened to rape her.” The boy was 14 and had recently posted an Andrew Tate video to his Instagram page, which was Eloise’s first encounter with the online influencer. 

“It said stuff like how women are your property and that it doesn’t matter if women say they’ve been sexually assaulted; if you’re with them that’s your right. I didn’t like it,” she adds.

Tate has made several appearances in the headlines this week. On Tuesday, a Romanian court rejected his appeal to ease the ban on him leaving the country as a legal case against him – in which he’s charged with human trafficking, rape and forming a criminal gang to sexually exploit women – continues. He denies all charges against him. The following day, Ipsos polling for King’s College London’s Policy Institute and the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership found that one in five men aged 16-29 who have heard of Andrew Tate have a positive view of him.

Separately – or, arguably, perhaps not – another survey published in the same week underpinned a renewed focus on the attitudes and beliefs of Generation Z, this time from the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). The research asked just over 3,000 adults of varying ages – 50.6 per cent of whom were female – about their understanding of rape and serious sexual offences, and the law on consent, and drew troubling conclusions.

Overall, 74 per cent of people surveyed understood that it can still be rape if a victim doesn’t resist or fight back, but the number fell to just over half (53 per cent) of 18-24-year-olds who had the same understanding. Less than half of respondents from this age group recognised that victims might not report a sexual offence to police immediately, that being in a relationship or marriage doesn’t mean consent can be assumed, or that if a man has been drinking or taking drugs, he’s still responsible if he rapes someone. More than 70 per cent of over-65s recognised that even if no physical force is involved a person might not be free or able to consent to sex, compared to just 40 per cent of young people.

Previous generations have become used to hearing that rape myths and misconceptions continue to persist, but that’s precisely why this week’s grim trinity of headlines stings. “There tends to be a public assumption that things are generally always getting better,” says author and feminist campaigner Laura Bates. “Actually, views like these are incredibly widespread among young people.” 

Bates regularly works with schools, talking to pupils who often tell her that “rape is a compliment”, that “it’s not rape if she likes it” or, “it’s your boyfriend, you have to have sex with him”.

She adds: “Attitude surveys have to be taken seriously because they are a real red flag that we’re going backwards – we’re seeing much more extreme and concerning misogynistic attitudes among the youngest generations than we are among the oldest. We have to face up to that and ask, why is that happening?”

Gen Z has never been neatly contained. Growing up as the first digital natives in the chokehold of crisis – climate, Covid, cost of living – has seen them praised for their social awareness, but disenfranchised and forgotten by politics. Their extremely online nature has given them unprecedented access to the world and other people – but, of course, that’s a double-edged sword.

“The internet has made everyone’s voices louder, but that means the most misogynistic people in the world are heard more too,” says Niya Clement-Hickson, a 26-year-old marketing designer from London. He says his generation has been “kind of ruined” by social media.

“You’d be surprised at just how many people around my age will argue that Andrew Tate is not as bad as he seems.”

When I spend an hour talking to 16-year-old Tate fan Manus from Ohio on TikTok, he says exactly that. He’s relatively timid and seems unsure of what he thinks at times, but came across Tate aged 12, being drawn to his motivational speeches, humour, and attitude towards making money. “[Tate] kinda showed me how people really are in reality,” he says. On Tate’s assertions that women are the property of men, he says those beliefs are simply from the Bible (though Manus himself is Muslim).

He maintains he’s never seen Tate speak violently about women, and when I send him leaked voicenote recordings of Tate saying that he enjoyed raping a woman, Manus is certain it’s fake “probably to make him look bad”. I ask for his views on feminism and he responds that feminists now want “superiority” and “more rights”. What rights exactly? “More rights in general,” he says, vaguely.

This opinion is not a rarity – there’s a pervasive idea circling comments sections and pub corners that the pendulum has “swung too far”. “Some of us warned that when you continue to suppress their identity by telling young boys that they are inherently toxic, they’ll start acting irrational,” one comment under an Andrew Tate post this week read. But it’s not just boys who hold this idea. Early last year, a survey from Ipsos UK and the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership at King’s College London echoed this and some of Eloise’s views that feminism has gone too far. They found that 52 per cent of Gen Z and 53 per cent of millennials believe that we’re now discriminating against men. Less than half of Gen Z respondents said they defined themselves as a feminist.

Was it coincidence then, to see that shortly after the research was published in March 2023, the year of the girl was in full swing? A persistently pink summer was punctuated with girl dinners, #tradwives – modern women who believe in traditional gender roles – and stay-at-home girlfriends sharing their daily rituals on news feeds. New York magazine’s The Cut declared it “Woman in Retrograde” as the year came to a close; a cluster of reactionary elements to a significant demise of mainstream feminism.

This shift back to traditional behaviours is also present in younger men, says Niya. “A lot of guys feel that their role is all about providing money, being a protector. But they feel they deserve to get something out of the interaction. They just can’t deal with being told no.”

In terms of consent, does he hear attitudes that put women in danger? “Absolutely,” he replies. Niya didn’t learn about consent in school – “I don’t think it was ever talked about beyond ‘don’t have sex until you’re old enough’” – and thinks this is quite common for men of his age. For Maya, who’s 24 and neurodivergent, the line of consent is difficult to pinpoint and somewhat shaped by social media. There’s a “disconnect” from what she really wants – and is able to articulate – in the moment.

“I think that we do have less and less sex and more and more porn,” Niya adds. “And I think that once porn is your main and in some cases, only engagement with sex and women, then that is going to completely screw up how you see sex.”

Do all roads lead to porn? Probably. Clare McGlynn, who is a professor of law with particular expertise in sexual violence and online abuse, says: “We know that algorithms promote more extreme content, more hate – and many, many younger people, men and women, are getting this. Millions of people, as we speak, are watching mainstream online pornography that is racist, sexist, misogynist and violent in its content. Of course, it’s shaping attitudes and lives.”

“There’s certainly a pressure on young boys and men, for example, to be taking and sharing nudes – they’re part of a culture that is encouraging them to,” McGlynn explains. During a study, she looked at what material was presented on the homepage of popular sites – she found landing pages which were filled with sexually violent material. “So it’s also not them even actively choosing that material; we’re part of a culture that is grooming young men, teaching them expectations around sex – and asking them to accept and normalise it.”

What appears clear from the survey conducted by the CPS is a dangerous lack of understanding of what constitutes a crime. “I do lectures on criminal law and I’ve had students come up to me afterwards and say that they didn’t know they had been sexually assaulted or raped,” McGlynn adds.

Laura Bates says that we’re in the midst of a “crisis of sexual violence among young people”. 

“Deeply misogynistic misinformation is being spread to young people online at a rate that most people just have absolutely no idea about,” she says. “And there is a massive knock-on effect.

“Some will look at these surveys and go, well, what does attitude matter? But you have to draw a connection between these really worrying attitudes about rape and the fact that nearly 80 per cent of young people told Ofsted inspectors recently that sexual assault is normal and common in their friendship groups.”

So what can be done? More responsibility and accountability from social media companies, says Bates. Tate’s content – some of which reportedly shows him attempting to beat a woman with a belt; she later hides behind a locked door – has been viewed more than 11 billion times on TikTok, she says, adding: “That’s more than the population of the planet.” Last year, advocacy group HOPE found that more 16-17-year-old boys had watched Tate’s content than had heard of Rishi Sunak. “I think it’s really important that the government supports high quality, age-appropriate sex and relationships education,” she adds. 

Actively listening to and engaging with boys – as seen in initiatives like the state of New York’s Starting the Conversation campaign – is also important. Boys must have a safe and judgement-free environment to express themselves: the more their experiences of rape culture are internalised, the more difficult they are to see.

The Online Safety Bill, which was enacted in October last year, she says, was a missed opportunity for change. While it asks for more transparency on social media platforms and imposes sanctions for those not following the act, along with criminalising cyberflashing and sending unsolicited nude images, “it went 250 pages without mentioning women and girls once, until campaigners changed that”, Bates says.

“It’s so much more effective to focus on prevention of radicalisation than trying to unpick it once it’s happened,” she says. “Young people really are prepared to listen and prepared to change their minds, it’s just a shame this isn’t happening in every school.”

“It does make me worried about how safe the world is going to be,” says Eloise, who will begin her twenties in the summer. “What if people really start thinking that women are property again?” Then, she’s quiet again. “I really hope it can change.”