Dahliah Blackened

Since I'm quite new to the community, let me introduce myself!

You can call me Dahliah, I use they/them pronouns and I'm 20+

‼️This is a 18+ blog, minors do not interact‼️

About this Blog ❤️

While I've been too scared to begin writing my own fanfics, I've been engaged in the hunger kink community for years. I figured diving headfirst into it would not only help me with scenario ideas but also explore the community firsthand! I plan on eventually writing hunger kink oneshots and some extended stories that feature my OCs and I'll be sure to share some fiendish artwork with you all too!

This blog is exclusively 18+, while there may not be any explicitly sexual content, it's still a kink blog so please respect this boundary.

I'm happy to answer questions, take requests, and have a good time! I don't really do roleplay though and of course, I want to keep things friendly and respectful

Things I'm Into 🌹

* Hunger

*Stomach growling

*Tummy rubs

*Stomach aches

* Food as aftercare

*Emeto (just a lil bit)

Things I'm NOT Into 🥀

* Absolutely NO noncon or underage

*Vore

*ED

*Extreme stuffing

*Extreme weight gain

*Inflation

*Gas and scat

A lot of what I like focuses especially on the consensual, safe, and soft sides of the hunger kink community. That being said, I hope you all take care of yourselves because aftercare is important!

I'm excited to become more engaged in this community! Thank you for reading!

Hi all!!

Wow, it's been so long since I've posted, I've really missed this community and sharing my stories about my extensive tummy focused nerd world. It appears the fic-writer curse has caught up to me and I've been in and out of hospital with lots of exhausting medical issues so I haven't had time to write. I truly don't want to abandon this blog or this amazing community, so please stick around for a while so I can pick myself up and continue sharing my characters and their stories with you!

Thank you all for the support you've given me thus far, here's to hoping things start looking up!

Hey guys!! I'm back and I'm writing again!! This is definitely a far cry from the intense spice I left you all with, but we all need a bit of soft tummy content, right? This is an extension on my story "The Golden Boy" I wrote a while ago with my characters Julien and Kobi. It's also a pretty big leap from their slow burn enemies to lovers arc but I HATE writing the in between phase so like... they love each other now. I really hope you enjoy!! Contains: morning hunger, belly play, belly massage, tummy talk, and sort of suggestive.

Kobi stirred awake, her lashes fluttering against the unfamiliar morning light that crept across the sheets. The fabric wasn’t hers, too soft, too crisp, and for a moment, she thought she’d wandered into someone else’s dream. A scent lingered in the air—coffee grounds, faint cologne, and something sharper beneath—and her chest tightened at the realization of whose bed she was in.

Julien’s arm was draped loosely around her waist, his chest rose and fell against her spine in slow, rhythmic breaths. His warmth seeped into her skin, and for a moment, Kobi simply breathed him in, savoring the unexpected comfort of being held by him. It was surreal. Unreal. Her mind kept stuttering back to the years of venomous glances, sleepless nights in the heat of rivalry, trading barbs like knives, sharp enough to draw blood. Yet here she was, tangled up in his bed, wrapped in his arms like it had always been inevitable. That night had burned it all to ashes. The night she saw him crumpled on the sidewalk, the hunger in him so fierce it scared her. She’d fed him, watched him eat as though each bite rewrote the rules of their rivalry. And somewhere between that first desperate mouthful and the moment his shoulders finally loosened on her couch, she’d known. Against her better judgment, against every insult they’d ever thrown, her heart was his.

Kobi shifted slightly, brushing her hand down his side, but as she did, a familiar sound broke the quiet. Low, guttural—a desperate, hollow growl from Julian’s stomach. Kobi stilled, listening to the pitiful complaint of his body. Of course. Her palm slid gently across his stomach, fingers pressing lightly into the hunger coiled inside. As if to answer her, another long, aching rumble echoed beneath her hand. “Lee,” she whispered, her voice soft but threaded with mischief. “Your stomach’s about to eat you alive.” He didn’t stir. Not really. Just shifted closer, his arm tightening around her middle as though she were a treasure he refused to surrender. Kobi rolled her eyes, though her mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “Come on, princess,” she muttered, giving his side a light nudge. “You need to eat. Your belly’s practically begging me.”

She turned toward him, gently cupping his cheek until she coaxed his face from the pillow. His chocolate brown eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and unfocused. Her thumb brushed across his cheekbone, lingering on the warmth of his skin. “There he is. I think someone wants breakfast,” she teased, her hand still firm on his belly. Julien exhaled heavily, lids already drooping shut again. His voice was hoarse from sleep, softer than she’d ever heard it. “Don’t want to move.” Kobi blinked in surprise, her heart giving a small, unexpected flutter. She tried to hide the softness that tugged at her expression, but she couldn’t help herself. She leaned in closer, letting her lips hover at the shell of his ear, her breath warm against his skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d just let you starve.”

Kobi shifted, stretching her toes against the sheets as if that would give her the resolve to break away. But before she could even sit up, his arms tightened around her waist, firm and unyielding, dragging her back into the cocoon of warmth. “Don’t go,” Julien mumbled, the words spilling out rough and unguarded, tinged with an unspoken need that made Kobi’s heart skip a beat. She let out a slow breath, fighting the tug in her ribs that made her want to melt. Instead, she rolled her eyes and shook her head, her fingers threading through his charcoal hair. “You’re such a pain,” she muttered. Her hand slid back down over the warm expanse of his stomach. She could feel it all—the tautness of his abs, the way his belly quivered under her touch, the faint tremor of him trying to outlast his own hunger.

“See? You’re starving,” she chided, her voice dipping into that playful lilt she knew got under his skin. Julien only groaned in response, his stubbornness still evident in the way he clung to her. His stomach roared again, a long, hollow sound that seemed to fill the room. “I’m comfy,” he muttered into her neck, the muffled words sending a rush of heat across her skin. The ridiculousness of it all made her smile widen. He could pretend all he liked, but his body was giving him away in humiliating detail. Annoyance colored her sigh, but affection softened its edges. With a decisive shift, she repositioned herself and pressed both hands against the flat plane of his stomach, just beneath his ribs. His body reacted instantly, abs tightening under her palms like a reflex, as if trying to shield himself from her persistence. But the defense faltered when another deep rumble tore through him, vibrating against her hands.

She leaned in, her voice sweet and taunting as she pressed in a little harder, feeling the hunger twist inside him. “Come on, buddy,” she crooned over his stomach. “You’ve been so neglected, haven’t you? Poor thing’s starving in there.” Julien’s breath hitched sharply, a flush spreading across his cheeks even as he tried to bury it in the pillow. “Kobi,” he muttered, his tone caught between irritation and embarrassment. “You’re really doing this?” Kobi’s smile curved slow and certain, her thumbs pressing lower, rubbing lazy circles into the tender ache of his belly. She could feel the way each stroke seemed to coax another grumble from his empty gut. “Oh, I’m doing this,” she promised, her mock-sweetness thick with satisfaction. “You’re going to listen to your body whether you like it or not.”

Kobi’s grin widened as she dug her thumbs in a little deeper, rolling them in slow, deliberate strokes across his belly. She could feel every twitch of resistance, every taut muscle straining beneath the softness, but none of it stopped her. If anything, it made her want to press harder, to tease the stubbornness out of him the way she always had. “Come on, you’re not getting out of this,” Kobi said with a grin, pressing in deeper, her fingers working up and down his soft skin. “He’s ignoring you, isn’t he?” she cooed to his belly, her voice playful and teasing. “Must be tough having an owner that doesn’t listen, huh?” Another growl answered her, so loud it reverberated under her hands. She flattened her palms against him, savoring the sound as though it were proof of her victory. “Poor thing,” she whispered, “so neglected. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Julien’s face burned crimson. He tried to turn away from her, burying his expression in the pillow, but that only left his body bared to her touch. Another long, desperate growl betrayed him, rolling up from the depths of his stomach until Kobi felt it shudder through her palms. Her grin sharpened. “So noisy,” she sang, dragging her hands slowly across his skin, mapping every twitch and shift. Each pass of her thumbs deep in his tummy earned her another sound, a groan, a whine, a reluctant moan that slipped from his throat no matter how hard he bit it back. He squirmed, his hips shifting subtly toward her touch.

“That… that feels weird,” Julien ground out, his voice hoarse, strained. His chest rose and fell too fast, his pride buckling against the weight of her attention. Kobi tilted her head, her eyes bright with mischief. “Weird, huh?” she purred. “Then I’ll make it really weird. I’m gonna make your belly ache until you finally listen, love.” The last word came softened, tender in a way that disarmed him even more than the teasing. She paused for a beat, one hand splayed wide just beneath his ribs, the other sliding lower to press hard against the soft, hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. He tensed, but the rumble came anyway—long and drawn-out, so deep it made his lips part in a quiet gasp. Kobi’s smile curled with satisfaction. “See?” she whispered, triumphant. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

Omg has it really been a month since I last posted?? Finals really kicked my ass so I've been hibernating I guess. Here's the final part in my series The Proposal with my characters Akoura and Kyo. We'll take a break from hardcore kink and sit in the soft aftercare and a little bit of character exposition. I really hope you enjoyed this little series and please please stick around because I've got more ideas in the chamber! Contains: food as aftercare, fluff, words of praise, stomach growling, belly rubs, just an overall feel good chapter!

The world had quieted to nothing but the slow, steady thud of Akoura’s heartbeat against Kyo’s ear. Golden sunlight poured through the vast windows, washing their bare bodies in a muted glow. Kyo lay boneless beneath Akoura, their skin still tacky with the remnants of passion, their breathing slow, synchronized, sated. The crimson ropes that had bound him so beautifully just hours ago lay discarded in a tangled heap on the floor, like an offering to the dawn.

Kyo’s muscles ached—a deep, soul-satisfying ache—his stomach a hollow cavern after days of torment, but he didn’t care. He felt… full in a way he had never known. His heart, usually so tightly coiled and defensive, was loose now, stretched wide and pounding in a different way. He let his eyes slip closed, burying himself in the warmth of Akoura’s embrace, letting the heavy, sleepy comfort of it drag him down into the sweetest kind of unconsciousness. It was the first time in years he had let himself fall asleep in someone’s arms.

But all good things had to end.

Kyo stirred faintly when he felt Akoura shift beside him, the low rumble of a sigh vibrating against his cheek. The comforting weight of Akoura’s arm slipped from around his waist, and the bed dipped as Akoura began to untangle himself. The loss of warmth hit Kyo like a blade to the gut. A tiny, involuntary whimper escaped his throat before he could stop it. He turned his face deeper into the cooling sheets, shoving the pathetic noise down with practiced ease. Of course. This was how it always ended.

No matter how good it felt, no matter how sweet the lies whispered in the heat of passion—he was always left like this eventually. Used. Shaken. Alone. Bodies wanted him. Hearts never stayed. He swallowed hard, schooling his face into something neutral, as if it didn’t kill him to feel Akoura slip away. "You’re leaving," he said, aiming for casual but hitting broken instead. His voice cracked anyway, a soft tremor he hated himself for. Akoura stilled mid-movement, twisting to look back at him. The expression on his face was almost comical—a mixture of horror, confusion, and something molten and furious, all crammed into one fierce glare.

"Leaving?" Akoura echoed, like Kyo had just suggested the most insane thing imaginable. His voice was low, rough with disbelief. "Baby, no. I'm getting you something to eat." Kyo blinked at him, sluggish, disoriented. His brows knit together in confusion. Eat? Sure, his stomach was gnawing at itself, and Akoura had played no small part in pushing him there, but… why would he care? This wasn’t part of the game. Akoura hadn’t said anything about aftercare being some kind of bonus round in this arrangement. Kyo’s mouth opened, ready to question, to deny, to deflect, but the look in Akoura’s eyes disarmed him completely. So full of love. So completely present.

Kyo’s throat closed up around the words he wanted to say. Instead, he watched, dumbfounded and breathless, as Akoura bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead before slipping away, leaving the room heavy with his scent and the low, humming promise that he would return. With a trembling sigh, Kyo sat up, dragging the sheets to his waist more out of instinct than modesty. His hands drifted to his wrists, ghosting over the raw red marks the ropes had left behind before his fingertips trailed lower, brushing over the bruises blossoming on his stomach. Purple, red, dark fingerprints blooming against skin. Marks he hadn’t even noticed being put there in the haze of pleasure. Akoura had done that to him. And he liked it.

Before the thought could spiral too far into dangerous territory, the door creaked open, and Kyo’s head snapped up. Akoura stepped in, barefoot, the loose hang of sweatpants riding low on his hips. In his hands, he carried a steaming bowl, the savory scent hitting Kyo’s nose and making his empty stomach groan loudly in protest. Akoura’s eyes softened at the pathetic noise Kyo’s stomach made. “Poor thing,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a gentle smile. “You’re starving.”

Kyo opened his mouth to protest, but Akoura was already sinking onto the bed beside him. He set the bowl on the nightstand just long enough to climb behind Kyo, guiding the man to settle between his thighs, back to chest. Kyo stiffened at first—the automatic reflex of someone not used to being cared for—but Akoura just hummed and pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “Good boy,” Akoura whispered, as he reached for the bowl again, balancing it easily in one hand while the other brushed Kyo’s wild hair back from his forehead.

Akoura spooned up a small amount of broth and rice, cooling it with a gentle puff of breath before bringing it to Kyo’s lips. “Open for me, sweetheart,” he coaxed. Kyo hesitated. It felt so stupid, so intimate, like letting himself be vulnerable in a way sex had never even touched. But Akoura’s voice was so soft, his body so solid behind him, and Kyo… he was so tired of doing everything himself. He parted his lips. Akoura made a pleased sound deep in his chest, slipping the spoon into Kyo’s mouth, tipping it carefully so the warm, salty broth flooded his tongue.

“That’s it,” Akoura whispered, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “You did so good for me. You’re perfect, Kyo. So perfect.” Kyo forced his breathing to slow, riding the waves of emotion as they crashed and receded, leaving him hollowed and raw but still here. Still held. Akoura fed him slowly, steadily, never rushing, never forcing. Just spoonful after spoonful of warm, savory broth until Kyo’s stomach, empty and neglected for so long, began to gurgle eagerly for more. The noise was soft, but in the thick silence between them, it sounded like thunder.

Akoura coaxed Kyo to hold the bowl so his free hand could slip down to splay over Kyo’s belly. He rubbed gentle circles, feeling the way Kyo’s stomach had softened under his care, the way it pressed outward slightly with the weight of the meal inside him. “So pretty,” Akoura murmured again, so soft Kyo barely caught it. Kyo melted, tension dripping from his shoulders like wax.

By the time Akoura spooned the last mouthful between his lips, Kyo was boneless against him, the battle in his chest quieting into something sleepy and unbearably sweet. Akoura set the empty bowl aside and immediately returned both hands to Kyo’s belly, rubbing slow, adoring circles. Kyo let out a tiny sigh, his lashes fluttering shut, his body pliant under Akoura’s touch. But when Akoura’s thumbs pressed a little too firmly into the tender swell of his stomach, Kyo whined without meaning to, a sharp little sound of discomfort. Akoura froze. Then his hands jerked back like he’d been burned. “Oh—shit—baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Akoura blurted, his voice suddenly unsteady, all his previous calm dominance shattering into nervous panic. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking—fuck, are you okay?”

Kyo blinked, sluggish and dazed, confused more by the sudden absence of touch than the brief pain. His hands floated up, clumsy and lazy, to grab Akoura’s wrists and guide them back down. He pressed Akoura’s palms flat against his stomach again, nuzzling back against him like a sleepy cat. “You’re such an idiot,” he murmured. Akoura let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a broken noise of relief. His hands moved again, this time impossibly gentle, stroking over Kyo’s skin with the reverence of someone handling glass.

For a few minutes, there was only the steady rhythm of Akoura’s touch and the soft, satisfied sounds of Kyo’s digestion working away. Then Akoura's fingers slid up to Kyo’s tight, coiled muscles, feeling how stiff his body still was despite everything. "You’re wound up so tight," Akoura whispered, concern threading through his voice. "You need a bath." Kyo let out a low chuckle, raspy and amused. "Another bath?" he teased, cracking one eye open, a wicked little glint in the sleepy haze. "Gonna be like this morning?"

Akoura immediately flushed crimson, the tips of his ears burning as the memory hit him all at once. The way he had held Kyo against him, his hands relentless, teasing, stroking, his mouth against Kyo’s needy, gasping lips. "I—n-no," he stammered, already flustered. He cleared his throat and tried to recover some dignity. "I mean—yes—but no." Kyo tilted his head back lazily to look at him, smirking. Akoura buried his face in the crook of Kyo’s neck to hide his embarrassment. "This is gonna be different," he mumbled, voice muffled against Kyo’s skin. "I swear. No games. No teasing. Just taking care of you."

Kyo hummed low in his throat, skeptical but amused, threading his fingers lazily through Akoura’s hair. "And what if I want a little teasing?" he murmured. Akoura groaned. "You’re gonna kill me, I swear to God." But his arms tightened around Kyo, gathering him close, like he couldn’t stand even a few inches of space between them. After a few more moments of lazy affection, Akoura coaxed Kyo up carefully, guiding him towards the bathroom where warm water and gentler touches waited.

Akoura stood in front of Kyo for a moment, his hands still warm and solid on Kyo’s hips. The room smelled faintly of lavender, the steam from the tub rising in soft tendrils, curling around them like a soft embrace. Kyo stood unsteadily on shaky legs, his muscles protesting as they tried to hold his weight, whimpering slightly as his knees threatened to buckle. Akoura’s gaze softened as he looked at Kyo’s trembling form, his heart swelling with something both protective and tender. “Come on, baby,” Akoura murmured, slipping his arms around Kyo’s waist and helping him lower slowly into the water.

The heat engulfed Kyo’s body, and he let out a soft groan of relief as the soothing warmth kissed his aching skin. He let out a sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion hit him all at once. His body was sore in places he didn’t even know could ache, but Akoura was there, grounding him in ways Kyo hadn’t realized he needed. Akoura kneeled beside the tub, his fingers grazing Kyo’s sides, massaging his sore ribs and tense muscles as he whispered soft praises to him. “Feel good?” he asked, his voice low and soft. Kyo nodded, leaning his arms on the lip of the tub, letting his head rest tiredly in the crook of his elbow.

Akoura’s fingertips ghosted over the red marks still faintly visible on Kyo’s wrists, the ropes having left their imprint on his skin. Without a word, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to each mark, his lips lingering there in silent apology. Kyo’s breath hitched at the touch, his stomach letting out a soft gurgle beneath the water. Akoura froze, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He looked down at Kyo’s stomach, then back up to his face, a tender, almost amused expression in his eyes. “I think your tummy is happy,” he said quietly.

Kyo turned his head slightly, a lazy smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “You must be disappointed. You really seemed to love it when my stomach was empty and aching,” he teased, his voice thick with exhaustion. Akoura’s fingers stilled against Kyo’s back for a moment, his gaze softening. Then, in one smooth motion, he leaned forward, cupping Kyo’s jaw and gently kissing him. “I like it even more when you’re full,” Akoura murmured against his lips, his voice low and intimate.

The warm water had become a distant memory as Akoura’s hands continued their tender exploration of Kyo’s body. Every stroke, every rub, was meant to soothe rather than provoke, to heal rather than tease. Kyo moaned softly at the touch, his body still sensitive from the days of hunger and restraint, the soreness in his belly finally being worked out by Akoura’s steady hands. His body began to grow heavy with exhaustion, his eyelids fluttering closed despite his best efforts to stay awake. But Akoura would not let him drift too far. He cupped Kyo’s face, his thumb brushing across the flushed skin of his cheek, coaxing him gently. “Kyo,” Akoura whispered softly, “Stay with me, love. Let me dry you off, okay?”

Akoura gently drained the tub, the warm water slipping away, leaving Kyo feeling just a little bit more exposed. He helped Kyo stand, careful not to let his shaky legs give out beneath him, as he guided him toward the plush towels waiting nearby. “My gorgeous boy,” Akoura murmured, his hands careful as he wrapped Kyo in a thick, soft towel. Kyo’s breath was soft as his head came to rest on Akoura’s shoulder, his lips slightly parted in a relaxed expression, but Akoura could feel the faint tremors still lingering in his lover’s body. He started rubbing Kyo down with slow, worshipful strokes, his hands moving over Kyo’s hips, the dips of his thighs, and the soft curve of his stomach, pressing kisses along the delicate skin.

Akoura helped Kyo sit on the edge of the tub, disappearing quickly into the bedroom before returning with a loose pair of sweatpants and a simple, black shirt. He knelt in front of Kyo, pulling the sweatpants over his legs with gentle precision, taking his time, kissing Kyo’s skin before it was covered. His lips lingered at Kyo’s calves, his mouth trailing up his legs until he reached the waistline of the sweatpants, where he kissed him again, a silent gesture of affection. Kyo watched him with soft, tired eyes, the intimacy of the moment overwhelming him. He’d never had anyone dress him before.

Kyo's eyelids barely stayed open as he stood up and swayed on unsteady legs. Akoura was there to catch him, his arms enveloping Kyo with the perfect balance of strength and tenderness. His heart swelled as he held Kyo close, letting himself fully appreciate the beauty of the man in his arms. The quiet intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and Akoura felt as though he could never look away from Kyo’s face, could never not be in awe of him. He always saw the man in pressed suits, in crisp lines and power. The impossibly poised CEO, a man who carried his father’s legacy, who commanded a room with a single glance. But now? Now he was soft. Now he looked his age.

His hair was slightly damp, strands clinging to his temples. The fabric of his clothes hung loosely on his frame, draping him in warmth. His features were relaxed, hazy with sleep. A lump rose in Akoura’s throat. Because for just a moment, just one fleeting, fragile moment, he let himself think about a life beyond this. A life where Kyo wasn’t bound to his father’s company. A life where Kyo wasn’t exhausted, overworked, starved for more than just food. A life where Kyo could be like this all the time.

Akoura gently coaxed Kyo to walk, guiding him step by step toward the living room. Kyo didn’t protest, his body relaxed in Akoura’s embrace, the warmth of his presence making him feel secure enough to allow himself to lean into it completely. Akoura helped Kyo settle onto the sprawling couch by the large windows. The sunlight, now fading into the depths of the night, cast a soft blue over Kyo’s tired features. Akoura pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, “You stay here. I’ll change the sheets, then we can go to bed together.”

But as Akoura turned toward the bedroom, Kyo’s hand lifted. Reaching for him. It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even fully conscious. It was instinct. Kyo was barely awake, his half-lidded gaze hazy with exhaustion, but still—he reached. Something in Akoura broke. Kyo didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be left, not even for a moment. Akoura’s heart melted and he bent down to take Kyo’s hand in his, kissing the top of it with a tenderness that sent a shiver down Kyo’s spine. “I’m not leaving you, baby. I’m just going to change the sheets. I’ll be back in just a minute,” Akoura reassured him, his voice low and soothing. Kyo, half conscious but still clinging to the warmth Akoura provided, nodded softly. He couldn’t keep his eyes open for long, but he managed to squeeze Akoura’s hand, silently telling him that he would wait. Akoura smiled, giving Kyo’s hand one last gentle squeeze before he stood and walked toward the bedroom.

Kyo's eyes barely opened. His body still ached, the knots in his muscles tight with the remnants of the past few days, but there was something else, something new, unfurling inside him. It was a warmth that bloomed deep within his chest, spreading slowly but surely throughout his entire being. Kyo had never known this kind of warmth before. Not in the way his past lovers had touched him, desperate and demanding. Not in the way he was treated as a mere afterthought. It was as if Akoura was trying to memorize him, trying to show him that he was precious.

His stomach groaned softly, and instinctively, Kyo’s hand moved to rub over it. He could still feel Akoura’s loving touch, his fingers trailing over his belly, pressing into the tender spots where the ropes had left their mark. Kyo’s eyelids began to grow heavy again, the exhaustion creeping back into his limbs like a gentle wave. But even as his mind begged him to let go and sleep, another part of him fought it. He couldn’t fall asleep here, not like this. Not without knowing that Akoura would return. He didn’t want to wake up alone. He didn’t want to find himself abandoned, as he had so many times before. Kyo clenched his hand around the edge of the couch, holding on, trying to steady himself.

Then, like a dream materializing before him, Akoura returned. Kyo barely noticed the way Akoura pulled him from the couch, how effortlessly Akoura lifted him into his arms. It was as if Kyo was weightless, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the heavy burden of his own existence. The soft sheets on the bed wrapped around his tired body, the fresh fabric so cool and comforting against his skin. But it was Akoura’s warmth he craved the most. Akoura pulled him in close, tucking Kyo’s body against his, kissing his forehead gently, then his cheek, his nose, his lips—each kiss a soft affirmation of his presence.

Akoura’s voice, warm and hushed, whispered against his ear, “How do you feel, love?” Kyo could only hum in satisfaction, the sound low and tired. He didn’t have the energy to form words. The last few days, the ache in his stomach, the heavy ropes that had bound him—it had all led him here. And here, in Akoura’s arms, he felt safe. He felt cared for. He felt loved. Kyo’s heart gave a soft thud against his chest, and the only thing he could focus on now was the steady rhythm of Akoura’s heartbeat beneath his ear, the sensation of being held, cherished, and wanted.

His body gave way, surrendering to the softness of the moment. His hand, still resting against Akoura’s chest, slowly fell to the side, and his eyelids fluttered closed. The last thing Kyo heard before sleep claimed him was Akoura’s whisper, a promise he wasn’t sure he had ever heard before, but one he would remember forever: “I’m not going anywhere, Kyo. I’ll always be here.” And with that, Kyo drifted off into a sleep unlike any other he’d ever known, enveloped in warmth, love, and the undeniable feeling that he was no longer just a body to be used, but a soul to be cared for.

Previous part! (Day 3)

Hi all!!! I'm so sorry part three took so long, a lot of stuff has been going on in my personal life and I guess I just haven't had time for horny thoughts. But here it is!! The most indulgent chapter, definitely written from the depths of my soul, so I really hope you all enjoy it because I feel like I cooked here. Contains hunger, stomach growling, bondage, begging, power play, sex (18+ blog, guys!!) and just a whole lot of indulgence. Enjoy!!!!!

Kyo stirred beneath the covers, a deep ache settling in his bones, his entire body thrumming with the lingering sensitivity of deprivation. His stomach was so empty. A hollow, gnawing hunger curled inside him, a dull pain pulsing through his core. Every breath made him aware of it, every subtle shift in his body sent another needy, persistent growl ripping through his belly.

He blinked through the morning haze, letting his gaze drift downward—Akoura slept soundly, his ear pressed flush against Kyo’s belly, his arms lazily wrapped around his waist. Every deep, needy growl vibrated through Akoura’s cheek, but he didn’t stir. If anything, he looked content. Kyo swallowed hard, heat licking at his spine. A slow, affectionate smile crept onto his lips as he lifted a hand, fingers weaving through Akoura’s messy, blonde hair. He let his nails graze lightly over Akoura’s scalp, watching the way his brow twitched slightly at the sensation.

“Akoura,” Kyo murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep, “time to wake up. We have work.” Akoura sighed. His arms tightened slightly around Kyo’s waist, his body pressing in closer.  He hummed, voice slow and drowsy, muffled against Kyo’s stomach. “Mmm… no, we don’t,” he murmured. Kyo blinked, confusion crossing his features. “…What do you mean?” Akoura only sighed again, nuzzling against Kyo’s growling stomach like a pillow, completely unfazed. “I took care of it,” he said lazily. “Made a few calls. You don’t have to work today. Neither do I.” Kyo’s pulse spiked. He took care of it? Akoura had pulled strings to give them the whole day?

His body suddenly felt too warm, too excited for what that meant. “…Why?” Kyo asked carefully, even though he already knew the answer. Akoura finally stirred, shifting just enough to press a slow, lingering kiss against Kyo’s stomach, right over the deep ache of his hunger. His lips were warm, teasing, lingering over skin stretched taut from days of emptiness. When he finally looked up, his deep, knowing smirk sent heat rushing down Kyo’s spine. “Because today is all about you,” Akoura purred. His hands slid down Kyo’s sides, touching him, feeling him, relishing in every soft tremor that wracked his sensitive, starved body. “You didn’t think I’d let my favorite toy go to work in this state, did you?”

Kyo should feel guilty. Three days. Three whole days of neglecting his work, of letting himself be distracted by the man currently sprawled against him, worshipping his body like he was some kind of divine offering. And it wasn’t like he could afford distractions. He was the youngest CEO the company had seen in decades, inheriting the position straight from his father. He had expectations to uphold, an empire to maintain. He had meetings, reports, endless decisions that needed his attention. But Akoura’s mouth was on him, hot and unrelenting, and Kyo couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Akoura whispered, lips tracing the sharp ridges of Kyo’s hollowed abdomen, tongue flicking against each trembling muscle. Kyo’s belly twisted violently, a sharp ache rolling through him, punctuated by a deep, desperate growl. He gritted his teeth at the sound, but Akoura just sighed contentedly, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. “So hungry,” he murmured, dragging his hands over Kyo’s sides, pressing in, feeling the deep hollow of his starved waist. “Maybe I should keep you like this forever,” Akoura whispered, mocking, teasing, kissing slowly, lazily up Kyo’s belly, trailing toward his chest. Kyo would be getting exactly what he asked for. 

The kitchen was quiet except for the sizzling sounds of eggs cooking in the pan. The faint smell of bacon curled in the air, filling the space with an intoxicating warmth. Akoura stood at the stove, his back to Kyo as he worked, completely focused. Meanwhile, Kyo, bound and bare, stood off to the side. His hands were secured behind his back with a crimson rope, leaving him utterly helpless. His stomach growled loudly, a deep, hungry ache that reverberated through his body. Kyo winced, the emptiness in him only growing worse with each passing second. 

He had never felt more vulnerable in his life—his usual confidence and control stripped away. Akoura had promised him punishment, and he was delivering it in full. Kyo cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady as he stepped closer. “Akoura…” he started, his voice soft, almost coaxing. “I’m starving. Don’t you think you could… share a little? I’ll be good for you, I promise.” Akoura’s hands continued to work, flipping the eggs in the pan with infuriating care. He didn’t even spare a glance at Kyo. “I’m sure you are,” he said, voice calm but unwavering. “But you didn’t beg yesterday. You didn’t beg the day before. You’re not getting anything.”

Akoura finally turned, his eyes dark with something Kyo couldn’t quite place. He crossed the short distance between them in a few strides, his body pressing against Kyo’s, the warmth of the stove still radiating between them. His arm wrapped around Kyo’s waist, holding him firmly in his grasp. Kyo’s stomach growled again but Akoura only tightened his hold, dragging him closer. “You’re going to beg, baby,” Akoura said, voice a low murmur. “You’ve had two days of getting your way. Today is different.” Kyo's breath hitched at the pressure against his body. Akoura could see the way Kyo’s hands clenched behind him, the tension in his jaw, but he wasn’t backing down.

The scent of the food was maddening. Kyo’s body quivered as Akoura settled onto the couch, the golden morning light spilling through the vast window behind them, casting them in a warm, hazy glow. The plate in Akoura’s hand—crispy bacon, buttery eggs, fluffy white rice—was a cruel temptation, its scent thick in the air, suffocating him. The crimson rope was still tight around Kyo’s chest leaving him completely vulnerable as he straddled Akoura’s lap. His bare thighs were spread, his aching, hollow belly stretched, every sharp breath rubbing their bodies together in an intimate, tantalizing friction.

Akoura’s hands slid lower, gripping his hips, fingers digging in as he pulled Kyo closer. His grip was firm, commanding, possessive, rolling Kyo’s hips forward, making him grind down onto his lap, rubbing against the hardness waiting beneath him. Kyo sucked in a sharp breath, his head tipping forward, his stomach trembling. A broken moan slipped from his lips, his body shuddering. Akoura just laughed. “That sensitive already?” His voice was silk-smooth, taunting. He rocked Kyo forward again, his fingers curling against his waist. “You’re so weak like this, baby. So empty, so needy.”

Kyo groaned, his stomach aching with a deep, hollow growl that curled through the quiet space. Akoura smirked, leaning in, pressing his lips against the edge of Kyo’s jaw. “How embarrassing,” he murmured, his fingers dragging up the tight, trembling plane of Kyo’s stomach. He pressed. Hard. A single, intentional push into the dip just below Kyo’s ribs. Kyo gasped. His entire body jerked, his stomach tightening, twisting beneath the weight of Akoura’s touch. He could feel the way his belly caved under the pressure, could feel the desperate way it clenched, screaming for relief.

Akoura hummed in amusement, his fingers kneading into the empty, sensitive space, testing, teasing. “So soft,” he murmured. Another firm press. Another sharp gasp. Kyo’s breath stuttered, his body shuddering as his hunger and arousal merged into something unbearable. Before Kyo could snap back, Akoura finally lifted his fork and took a bite. Right there, right in front of him. Slowly. Painstakingly slow. His fingers never stopped moving—one hand still kneading Kyo’s empty belly, playing with the tender, hollow ache, while the other lifted a perfectly crisp strip of bacon to his lips.

Kyo rasped out a desperate moan. “Akoura—” Akoura’s hand stilled, his palm flattening against Kyo’s stomach, pressing deep into the tight, caved-in space. His body jerked, his stomach cramping, twisting, groaning. “Hmm?” Akoura murmured, rubbing circles just beneath Kyo’s ribs. “Did you want something?”  Kyo swallowed hard, his lips trembling. “I’m so empty… my stomach hurts…” Akoura sighed, like he was truly considering it, like he might take pity on him. His hands continued to trace every dip and curve of Kyo’s body, squeezing his thin waist, feeling the delicate press of his ribs beneath his fingertips.

But then he smirked. Akoura purred, his hands drifting lower, gripping the plush of Kyo’s thighs, spreading them wider over his lap. “Ride me.” Kyo’s breath stilled. His stomach gave a sharp, needy growl, the pain of hunger twisting inside him as heat bloomed between his legs. He shouldn’t be this turned on, not by this, not by Akoura’s demands—But he was. His heart pounded, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against his throat. Slowly, hesitantly, Kyo lifted himself up onto his knees, thighs burning as he positioned himself over Akoura’s lap. His ropes strained against his movements, his stomach stretched taut, every tiny motion sending another sharp pulse of hunger through him. Akoura guided him with ease, keeping one hand on his waist, positioning him exactly where he wanted him. Kyo’s breath shuddered. 

He sank down. Fast. Hard. Deep. A ragged moan tore from his lips before he could even think to stop it. His legs trembled, the stretch making him feel so incredibly full. It was too much. His thighs burned, his belly ached, his entire body pulsing with overwhelming sensation. Akoura’s dark eyes drank in the sight, the gorgeous way Kyo’s ropes dug into his skin, how his stomach trembled with every deep growl. The room filled with the sounds of Kyo’s desperate moans, his body rising and falling, a rhythm that pushed him further, deeper into Akoura’s hold. He moaned. He felt it. Felt the desperate, gurgling emptiness of Kyo’s belly pressing against him. And it turned him on beyond belief.

Akoura groaned, hands gripping Kyo’s waist as he guided him faster, harder. God, he was beautiful. The way his stomach flexed with every bounce, the way his hunger twisted through his pleasure. It was delicious. Akoura wanted more. He dragged Kyo down into a kiss. Deep. Starving. Kyo gasped, his lips parting easily, letting Akoura’s tongue sweep inside. Salt. Spice. The lingering remnants of breakfast on Akoura’s tongue. His stomach growled violently in response, twisting in desperation. Kyo was almost embarrassed by how loud it was, but the sound only spurred Akoura on, deepening the kiss, swallowing Kyo’s moans.

The sensation of Akoura’s tongue tracing his lips, sliding against his own, made Kyo’s body burn with need. He was so empty, so hungry, and yet all he could think of was the pleasure Akoura was giving him, how deeply he wanted more. He whimpered against Akoura’s lips, a desperate plea for food, for satisfaction, for anything that would ease the ache in his body, but Akoura didn’t let him speak. Instead, Akoura moaned softly, his lips brushing Kyo’s neck as he pulled away from the kiss. He pressed his mouth to Kyo’s ear, voice dripping with pleasure and satisfaction. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” Akoura purred, his hands moving to grip Kyo’s hips more firmly.

Kyo could barely respond. His mind was a swirl of sensations, his body so lost in pleasure that it was almost impossible to process anything else. The only sound escaping him was a desperate moan, high and broken as his hips continued to move on their own. Akoura’s gaze lingered on Kyo’s face, his eyes dark with desire and amusement as he saw Kyo’s increasing desperation. The grin on his lips was wicked, cruel in its sweetness, knowing how close Kyo was. He could see it in his eyes, the way his body trembled in his lap. Akoura’s smile stretched, satisfied by the torment he’d drawn out. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

Akoura’s hands gripped Kyo’s hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as he stilled Kyo’s movements. The sudden lack of friction made Kyo whimper, his body shuddering with frustration. “N-no,” Kyo gasped, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. He tried to move, but Akoura wouldn’t let him. “Don’t you dare,” Akoura murmured, his voice dark and smooth, his gaze never leaving Kyo’s face. “You think you can get away with this just because you’re hungry? No, baby. You’ve been bad, and I’m not rewarding you for bad behavior.” Kyo’s face flushed with heat, his frustration mounting as he tried to move again, his body desperate for release. But Akoura’s grip on his hips was unyielding.

“Get up,” Akoura ordered, his voice firm, commanding. Kyo’s chest heaved as he shook his head, his body trembling with the effort. “No... I need it,” he whispered, his voice shaking. But his words fell on deaf ears. “Up,” Akoura repeated, his tone growing more dangerous, more threatening. “You’ll get nothing until you learn your lesson.” Kyo whined in protest, trying to move again, his hips rocking helplessly against Akoura’s lap, but Akoura kept him pinned, his grip unrelenting. The hunger gnawed at him, but it was the inability to release, to find relief, that pushed him to the brink of madness.

Kyo was breathless, his body trembling. His legs felt weak, the emptiness of his stomach making every movement feel like an effort. As he tried to push himself off of Akoura, he stumbled slightly, his vision swimming with the combination of hunger, pleasure, and frustration. Before he could collapse, Akoura’s arm shot out, catching him effortlessly. Kyo's breath hitched as Akoura pulled him close, the warmth of his body only amplifying the cold ache in Kyo’s stomach. His hands moved lower, resting gently on Kyo’s belly.

“You look like you're going to fall apart, baby,” Akoura murmured, his voice low and teasing. He stroked Kyo’s stomach lightly, feeling the way it rumbled again through the emptiness. Kyo groaned, shifting against Akoura’s hold. The way Akoura was looking at him, the way his hands were moving across his body—it was clear that he was enjoying this too much. Akoura tilted his head, his gaze flicking over Kyo's exhausted form, taking in every trembling inch. “I think it’s time we take a bath together. Get you cleaned up.” Kyo knew exactly where this was going—Akoura was going to drag him through more teasing, more testing of his limits. He glared at Akoura for a moment, but it didn’t last long. 

The warm water lapped against their skin, the soft glow of the bathroom lights casting a golden sheen over the steamy air. Kyo lay back against Akoura’s chest, his body stretched and vulnerable, his stomach taut and trembling against the gentle ripples of the bath. But it wasn’t the water that was making him shudder. Akoura’s fingers curled around him, stroking him slowly, deliberately, making Kyo whimper and moan quietly, his hips shifting. But Akoura wasn’t giving him any relief, not the way Kyo wanted it. His touch was maddening, just shy of the release he craved, pulling him closer to the edge without ever letting him fall.

“Shhh,” Akoura cooed, his other hand trailing up Kyo’s chest, fingertips ghosting along his collarbone before gripping his chin, tilting his head back. Kyo gasped, every nerve on edge, and he swallowed hard, the sensation of being so vulnerable under Akoura’s control making him dizzy. “Beg, baby.” Kyo, breathless and shaking, forced the words out, his pride warring with his desire. “Make me,” he growled darkly, his voice low and edged with frustration. Kyo could feel the shift in the air, the way Akoura’s grip tightened just slightly. “Hmm… since you clearly don’t know how to behave,” Akoura sighed, as if truly exasperated, “I guess I’ll have to teach you.” 

With a slow, deliberate movement, Akoura’s hands slid down to Kyo’s stomach, his fingers pressing deep into the soft, empty flesh. The pressure was overwhelming. Kyo’s breath stuttered as he felt his guts shift under Akoura’s touch, the deep, aching hunger inside him pulsing. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his belly, each beat sending waves of heat through his body. His stomach was so empty, aching in ways he could barely process, but Akoura’s hands never let up. They pressed deeper, kneading and pushing at the hollow space within him, sending Kyo to the edge of something dark and consuming.

“You like the way your stomach aches, don’t you?” Akoura whispered, his voice low and sweet, as though lacing every word with poison. Kyo whimpered, his chest heaving, fire spreading through him as Akoura continued to press, rub, and knead the sensitive skin, coaxing more growls, more whines, more desperate twitches from him. His legs shook, his thighs clenching, his pleasure mounting from the overwhelming combination of hunger, pain, and teasing. “Still don’t want to talk?” Akoura taunted, pushing harder, moving his hand lower, rubbing slow, torturous circles over the most sensitive part of Kyo’s gut. He bit back a choked cry, his head falling back against Akoura’s shoulder, his resolve crumbling.

Akoura’s grip softened just a little, but Kyo’s body instinctively leaned into it. “Look at you—so empty, so needy. I think you like it. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? To be completely mine.” Kyo whimpered, his chest rising and falling sharply as his stomach rumbled. Every time Akoura’s hands left the area, he could feel the absence, the aching void, only to have them return and press deeper, just a little more. He could feel every inch of Akoura’s touch, feel the bruises blossoming into something more, feel the ache and the hunger mixing into an unbearable whole. “A-Akoura,” he gasped, his voice shaky with desperation. Akoura’s fingers froze for a moment, just enough for the absence to make Kyo’s stomach groan louder. He smirked, his lips brushing the back of Kyo’s ear as he whispered, “Are you ready to beg, baby?”

Kyo’s heart raced in his chest as his body trembled with need. His pride was slipping, but he refused to beg—not yet. Not until Akoura pushed him until the end. “I’m not b-begging,” Kyo managed through gritted teeth, though his voice was laced with desperation. Akoura chuckled softly, the sound dark and full of amusement. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured, pressing one final, deep push into Kyo’s belly, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat under the skin. “We’ll see just how much you can take.”

The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the penthouse, painting the room in a hazy, honeyed glow. The day had bled away in a blur of torture and denial, Kyo's body reduced to nothing but trembling need, overwhelming sensitivity, and raw, aching hunger. Akoura had touched him, teased him, kissed him, made him writhe, moan, cry, but every time—every single time—he had stopped. Hours. Hours of feeling Akoura’s hands on his body, his lips pressing to his stomach, his fingers stroking over him only to pull away the moment Kyo got close.

He had pinned Kyo against the cool glass of the window, his stomach pressed tight to the surface, his reflection hazy with need, while Akoura kissed and teased him from behind, whispering filth into his ear, savoring every shudder, every desperate sound. He had laid Kyo out on the couch, his hands and tongue exploring every inch of him, his lips moving over the tight, growling skin of his belly, tasting him, leaving marks—but never letting him finish. He had made Kyo watch him eat, had forced him to kneel between his legs, close enough to smell the food, to taste the remnants on Akoura’s tongue—but never allowing him a bite. Now, Kyo was shaking. His legs had started to give way under the strain of being kept so hungry, so needy. He could barely stand now. The ache in his belly had turned into a raw, burning emptiness, and every touch, every movement, made it worse.

Kyo whimpered, his knees buckling as his stomach ached violently, but Akoura was quick to catch him again, pulling him gently toward the bed where the sheets were already rumpled from the morning’s play. He had Kyo on his back in an instant, his hands gently but firmly holding his body in place. The heat between them was almost unbearable, but Kyo couldn’t move—he could only feel his stomach twist and turn, the emptiness now all-encompassing. Akoura leaned down, his lips brushing against Kyo’s ear as he whispered, “You’ve been so good, baby. But now… You’re going to beg.”

Akoura’s grip on Kyo tightened as he flipped him onto his stomach. The change in position made Kyo’s stomach ache even more, the pressure of his body against the mattress forcing him to whimper. Every movement sent waves of hunger and desperation crashing over him, the emptiness in his belly demanding attention. Kyo choked out a strained, breathless whine, but Akoura only hummed, a dark smile curling on his lips. Akoura’s hands moved with slow precision, working at the crimson rope that bound Kyo’s wrists, undoing it knot by knot. Kyo’s arms fell limply to the bed, his muscles aching from being held in that position for so long. His hands trembled as they finally came up to grip the sheets, feeling the cool cotton beneath him as Akoura caressed his sides.

With one smooth motion, Akoura slid his leg between Kyo’s trembling thighs, pressing his weight down on him, grinding their bodies together. Kyo’s breath caught, his body trembling beneath Akoura as he whispered into his ear, a mocking sweetness in his voice. “You’re such a starving mess, Kyo. Look at you, shaking for me.” The words sent a shiver through Kyo. His stomach churned, still crying out for something, anything but Akoura’s hands were already moving lower, positioning himself. With a soft, almost cruel chuckle, Akoura pressed forward, sliding deep inside of him. Kyo gasped. His stomach seemed to tighten, the ache intensifying as Akoura began to move. The sensation of being filled, of finally being able to feel something other than the gnawing emptiness, sent a wave of heat through Kyo’s body. 

His chest tightened with every thrust, and he cried out, his voice broken, desperate. His body was a mess, trembling, aching, but Akoura only pressed in deeper. Kyo was so close. So close, so close, so close. He could almost feel himself shattering from the intensity. But just as Kyo felt like he might finally break, Akoura halted, holding himself deep inside of him. Kyo whined into the sheets, his fingers digging into the fabric, his body trembling with frustration. The denial that had been pushed onto him all day, the hunger and the pleasure, left him teetering on the edge of madness.

“No…” Kyo whispered, voice shaking as his breath hitched. “Don’t stop…” Akoura’s breath was ragged against his back, his body heaving as he leaned over, his lips ghosting against Kyo’s ear. “What do you want, baby?” His voice was breathless, but there was an undeniable teasing edge to it. Kyo’s whole body quivered as his face pressed deeper into the sheets. His pride was gone. His hunger, his desperate need for release, consumed him fully. Slowly, Akoura began to pull out. Kyo whined. “I—I need to cum, Akoura… P-please…!” his voice cracked as he finally admitted it, the words slipping from his lips in a way he never imagined they would. His body was trembling, his legs shaking beneath him.

Akoura’s heart raced at the sound of Kyo’s plea, the words hitting him in a way he hadn’t expected. He had pushed Kyo to his limits, but this—this admission—was something more. It was the breaking point. Yet, Akoura wasn’t ready to give in just yet. His smirk deepened as he pressed down on Kyo’s back, his hands pinning him to the bed. With a slow, deliberate motion, Akoura pushed deep inside of Kyo once again. The pace was agonizingly slow, his hips grinding forward as he slid in with ease. He leaned forward, his body pressing Kyo’s belly deeper into the mattress, increasing the pressure on that empty, aching stomach.

Akoura’s voice was low, almost teasing, as he hummed softly. “I thought you wanted to eat, Kyo. Isn’t that what you’ve been craving all day?” But Kyo shook his head weakly, breath ragged. “I don’t care about food… I just—” His voice hitched as he gasped for breath, the desperation now written all over his face. “I need—please, I need to cum. I can’t take it anymore…” The final piece of Kyo’s resistance crumbled away. He was trembling, completely undone, and his body was at the mercy of Akoura’s control. And then, with breathless desperation, Kyo whispered something he never thought he would say:

“Baby… please… make me cum.”

The words hit Akoura like a punch to the gut. Baby—Kyo had never called him that before. Akoura’s breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he stilled, his heart racing. The sensation of Kyo's trembling body against his, the way Kyo’s stomach tightened under his hand, the vulnerability in Kyo’s voice as he uttered that word—baby—all of it made Akoura’s heart pound. He pulled out. Kyo choked on a sob. His hands curled into the sheets, his head shaking in disbelief as his whole body quivered violently from the loss. He gasped, desperate, trying to press his thighs together to relieve the unbearable ache, but Akoura didn’t allow it.

Kyo could hardly think, his voice breaking as he whined, “No… no, please… Akoura, please—” But Akoura didn’t answer him, not with words. Instead, his hands moved with deliberate intent, gripping Kyo’s hips and moving him onto his back. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and for the first time, he realized just how much he was shaking. Akoura sat back for a moment, his dark eyes roaming over Kyo’s ruined form, taking in everything—the sharp lines of his ribs, the way his stomach dipped inward from three days of denial, the bruises blooming across his skin from Akoura’s hands and the ropes that had held him down. He was gorgeous. 

Akoura hummed in admiration, running his fingers lightly over Kyo’s bruised stomach, tracing the marks he’d left. Then, without warning, Akoura gripped Kyo’s thighs and thrust back into him. Kyo’s mouth fell open, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat as he was filled once again. His whole body arched, his legs trembling as pleasure flooded through him so intensely it was nearly painful. Akoura stilled for just a moment, letting Kyo feel the full weight of being completely taken again before he leaned over him, their faces just inches apart. His eyes were lidded, his breath warm as he whispered, “Say it again.”

Kyo could barely form words, his mind spinning. Akoura gave a sharp thrust, jolting him, and Kyo let out a broken moan. “Say it,” Akoura commanded, his tone firm but thick with his own desire. Kyo’s pride was gone—completely obliterated by the day’s torment, by the unbearable hunger inside of him, by the way Akoura was driving him past every limit he thought he had. He obeyed. “Baby…” Kyo gasped, the word falling from his lips, unrestrained and shameless. “Baby, please—please—” Akoura groaned at the sound of it, his resolve finally cracking. He rewarded Kyo’s obedience with deep, relentless thrusts, pushing into him harder, faster, making Kyo cry out with every movement.

Kyo was beyond gone, moaning pleas against Akoura’s lips. “Please—please, baby, please—l-let me—” He needed this, needed to be pushed over the edge, needed to finally shatter. Akoura’s hands found Kyo’s face, his fingers pressing against his jaw as he crashed their lips together in a deep, consuming kiss. Kyo moaned into it, his pleas muffled, his body writhing as the tension inside him coiled impossibly tight. And then—finally, finally—Akoura whispered against his lips: “Cum for me, baby.”

The permission broke Kyo completely. His whole body arched as he came with a desperate, broken cry, the release hitting him so hard he almost sobbed. The sheer intensity of it had him convulsing, his stomach tightening as his limbs locked, his hands gripping Akoura like he might fall apart if he let go. Akoura followed moments later, thrusting deep inside him, his own breath catching as he buried himself in the heat of Kyo’s trembling body. He held Kyo close, pressing him into the bed, letting them ride out the final waves of pleasure together.

The room was steeped in warmth, the golden hue of the sunset casting long shadows over the tangled sheets. Both of them lay breathless, bodies slick with sweat. Kyo could barely move. Every inch of him felt raw, overstimulated, utterly spent. His skin still tingled where Akoura had touched him, where bruises were sure to bloom, marking him as thoroughly as the ache in his gut. He shuddered as his stomach let out another weak, hollow growl, but the hunger felt distant now—overshadowed by the sheer, numbing pleasure that had unraveled him completely.

Akoura let out a breathless chuckle, his lips ghosting over Kyo’s throat, pressing soft, lazy kisses to the bruised skin. Kyo twitched beneath the affection, too sensitive to fully relax, but he didn't push Akoura away. He just let out a ragged sigh, his fingers weakly curling into the sheets. Akoura hummed against his skin, his arms tightening around Kyo, pulling him closer, tucking him against his chest. His fingers slid through Kyo’s dark, sweat-damp hair, combing it back in slow, soothing strokes. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds in the room were the distant hum of the city outside, the quiet hush of their breathing, and the occasional gurgling of Kyo’s neglected stomach.

Then, finally, Kyo found his voice, breathless and hoarse. “…You’re… too good at this,” he murmured, still half-lost in the haze of exhaustion. Akoura smirked against his skin, full of pride. “I learned from the best.” Kyo rolled his eyes, an exasperated sound leaving him as he attempted to push Akoura away. But there was no real strength behind it, no real desire to put distance between them. His body was too weak, too thoroughly ruined, and truthfully… he didn’t want to let go. Akoura chuckled again, catching Kyo’s wrist easily, kissing the inside of it before pressing their foreheads together. Kyo sighed at the tenderness of it, at how quickly Akoura could shift from cruel to impossibly soft.

Kyo let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching where they rested against Akoura’s chest. That was when his stomach—empty, aching, neglected for days—let out a deep, annoyed growl, twisting and gurgling. He grimaced, his hand drifting down to rest over the hollowed curve of his belly, concave and aching beneath his fingertips. Akoura just chuckled, but he didn’t tease him. Instead, he nuzzled against Kyo’s stomach, resting his chin against the hollow space just below his ribs. His warm breath fanned over his skin, and when Kyo finally glanced down, he was met with Akoura’s gaze—wide, soft, brimming with something dangerously close to love. 

“…Did you mean it?” Akoura asked suddenly, his voice quieter now, his playful edge gone. Kyo blinked, confused. “What?” Akoura’s fingers traced absent patterns over his hip, but his gaze didn’t waver. “When you called me baby.” Kyo stiffened. His lips parted, but no words came. His gaze flickered away, something warm and reluctant blooming in his chest. He could still hear it, the way it had slipped so effortlessly from his lips, so raw, so desperate. Akoura’s fingers brushed against his ribs, drawing him back. He tilted his head slightly, his expression open, searching. “Did you mean it?” he asked again, softer this time. 

Kyo sighed. His face burned, but there was no real fight left in him. After a long pause, he exhaled through his nose and grumbled, “…Yeah. I did.” Akoura’s lips curled into a slow, pleased smile. Kyo groaned again, covering his face with one hand. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Akoura laughed, nuzzling into his belly. “Too late, baby.” Kyo huffed out a laugh. “You’re impossible.” Akoura just shrugged, tilting his head up slightly, his chin still resting against Kyo’s stomach. “…Should I let you eat now?” he mused. Kyo narrowed his eyes, his fingers twitching in Akoura’s hair. “You should.” Akoura smirked. “…But should I?” Kyo groaned, tossing his head back onto the pillows.

This damn brat.

Previous part! (Day 2)

Guysss!! Day two is here and we're turning up the heat. If you didn't read the first couple parts, Akoura has a hunger kink and his lover, Kyo, somehow agreed to let Akoura starve him for three days (they're both so into it omg). As much as Kyo doesn't want to admit it, the hunger is starting to get to him and Akoura is ready to make him suffer. Contains hunger, stomach growling, dominance and submission, and sexual acts (this is an 18+ blog!!) Please enjoy!!

The morning light filtered softly through Kyo’s bedroom windows, painting the room with golden hues. Akoura lay beside Kyo, his eyes wide open, never having truly slept. His gaze stayed fixed on Kyo’s body—the beautiful emptiness of it. His fingers splayed across Kyo’s bare belly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath the pressure. It had been so long since Kyo had eaten, and Akoura found himself lost in the sensation of his lover’s emptiness, his stomach working on nothing but air. The slow, relentless groans of Kyo’s stomach had become a steady symphony, a private orchestra playing just for him. 

Akoura’s lips curled in satisfaction as he lightly traced his fingers over Kyo’s ribs, barely skimming the sharp edges that had grown more prominent. His hand dipped just below Kyo’s boxers, brushing over the curve of his hips before returning to gently trace the shallow indent of his stomach. Empty. Hungry. Perfect. Akoura whispered soft praises in Kyo’s ear, his voice low, almost reverent. “So beautiful... so empty...”

Kyo stirred at the sound of Akoura’s voice, his eyelids fluttering open. He couldn’t ignore the ache in his stomach anymore. His hand instinctively moved to his belly, tracing the contours of his ribs as the rumble echoed from deep inside him. The hunger was so much worse now—his stomach twisted, the emptiness gnawing at his guts. “…Shit,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. Akoura chuckled, brushing a lazy kiss along Kyo’s shoulder. “Good morning.” Kyo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His stomach growled once more, a long, drawn-out plea. “Fucking hell,” he hissed. “You really made me sleep like this?” Akoura propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at him with nothing short of adoration. “Mmm. And you slept so well.”

Kyo groaned softly, pressing his body against Akoura, feeling the warmth of his chest against his back, pulling him closer as he leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips. The kiss was tender, a moment of intimacy after the intensity of the previous day. When they finally pulled away, Kyo’s hand traced over his stomach again, the ache so palpable it almost felt like it could consume him. “I’m so empty,” Kyo murmured sweetly as he met Akoura’s gaze. “Can I have something to eat before work? I’m really hungry.” Akoura’s eyes darkened as his hand slid over Kyo’s belly, gently but firmly pressing into the soft curve. 

He gave Kyo a soft, almost affectionate smile but his voice remained steady. “No,” he said firmly, his hand staying pressed against the hunger. Kyo whined, his stomach growling again, desperate, as he pressed harder against Akoura’s hand. “Come on,” he murmured again, his voice thick with need. But Akoura would not waver. He had seen the way Kyo’s pride had made him stubborn—refusing to beg, always pushing forward to get what he wanted. Now it was time for Kyo to learn that bad behavior came with consequences. “No,” Akoura repeated, voice quieter, but still firm. “You were so stubborn last night, Kyo. You need to be punished.”

Kyo’s breath hitched at the words. He felt the tightness in his chest at the thought that he still had to suffer from his defiance, but it was also strangely exciting. Akoura leaned in to kiss him, his lips soft and possessive. He whispered in Kyo’s ear, his voice thick with promise and playfulness. “You can have a cup of coffee, and nothing else,” he murmured, his breath warm against Kyo’s skin. Kyo whined at the thought of his poor belly being filled with nothing but coffee, his body tense as he pressed against Akoura, but still—Akoura held firm.

“You’re cruel,” Kyo muttered, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips, knowing full well that they were only just getting started. Akoura just chuckled, brushing his lips against Kyo’s temple as he pulled away. “I’m only being fair,” he teased, his fingers brushing Kyo’s stomach again, feeling the ache inside him, but not giving in to it. Not yet. 

The morning dragged on, stretching Kyo’s patience thinner and thinner with each passing minute. He sat behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in front of him, the usual calls coming and going, his voice smooth and composed as he navigated through the day's tasks. But beneath his polished exterior, a storm was brewing. His stomach twisted, gnawing at him. The coffee—God, the coffee—had done nothing to soothe the ache. In fact, the bitter acidity only made it worse, churning in his insides, making his belly groan with annoyance. He adjusted in his seat, trying to ignore the gurgling sounds coming from his stomach, but it was getting harder to focus. 

Across the room, Akoura sat on the couch, one leg casually draped over the armrest, his eyes never leaving Kyo. He hadn’t touched his laptop all morning. Hadn’t lifted a single finger toward actual work. Instead, he was watching him—eyes half-lidded, the barest smirk curving his lips, like he was thoroughly enjoying the show. Kyo hated him. He also wanted to bend him over his desk. The conflict in his brain was giving him a headache. With an exhausted sigh, Kyo shifted his attention back to his work, forcing himself to focus. There were reports to review, contracts to finalize, phone calls to handle. 

He picked up his pen, flipping open the nearest folder. The numbers blurred slightly, but he shook it off, tapping the pen against the desk as he read through the projections, answering yet another call. “Yes, I reviewed the adjustments. The projected growth in Q3—”

Grooooooowl.

Kyo clenched his jaw. Akoura shifted on the couch, his amusement practically radiating across the room. Kyo ignored him. “Yes,” he continued, gripping the phone tighter. “We’ll implement the revised budget by—”

Grrrrrrrrrrowl.

Louder. Longer. A deep, hollow, angry sound. Kyo’s free hand curled into a fist on his desk. He knew Akoura was watching him—he could feel it, the weight of his gaze pressing into him. Another growl. Then another. His stomach twisted sharply, the acid biting into his insides. The pain was dull but insistent, an aching pull in his core that made his fingers twitch. He abruptly hung up, not bothering with a polite goodbye.

The sound of Akoura shifting on the couch made Kyo’s eye twitch. He didn’t need to look to know what was coming. Soft footfalls. The faint rustle of fabric. Then, heat. Akoura perched himself on the edge of Kyo’s desk, leaning in just enough for his thigh to press lightly against Kyo’s arm. His weight shifted, causing a few papers to slide slightly out of place. Kyo exhaled slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the document in front of him, pretending not to notice the way Akoura’s hands trailed sensually along the surface of his desk.

Then, those hands found him. A slow, lazy touch—fingertips grazing his shoulder, then ghosting down the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. Kyo stiffened, his grip tightening around his pen as Akoura lingered over his chest, then lower, teasing at the firm lines of his stomach. Kyo clenched his jaw. “You need something?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. Akoura tilted his head, his fingers still idly trailing. “Mmm. Attention.” Kyo exhaled sharply, shutting the folder in front of him with a precise snap. He turned his chair slightly, letting his eyes finally meet Akoura’s—cool, unbothered, filled with pure mischief. “You want attention,” Kyo echoed, deadpan. Akoura gave a slow, catlike smile. “Mmhm.” Kyo’s eyes darkened. Fine. If Akoura wanted attention, he’d give him attention. 

With a swift, calculated movement, Akoura was pinned to the desk with a soft thud of his back against the wood, his breath coming short as Kyo’s body hovered over him. Kyo relished Akoura’s widened eyes, the way he squirmed, the way his smug lips parted in surprise. “You’ve been distracting me all morning. It’s about time you let me play with you,” he muttered, his voice a dangerous drawl. Akoura swallowed, his pulse fluttering beneath Kyo’s fingertips. But even now, there was a spark of amusement in his gaze, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smirk. 

Kyo leaned in, just barely ghosting his lips over Akoura’s, savoring the anticipation. But Akoura moved, sliding his hands down Kyo’s sides, pressing against his stomach—hard. Kyo’s breath caught in his throat as his body tensed, the unexpected pressure forcing a strangled gasp from his lips. He immediately tried to tighten his core, but it was no use. His muscles weakened under the touch, the deep ache in his empty belly flaring as Akoura kneaded the soft flesh. The sensation was almost too much. The hunger inside him was magnified, pushed deeper as Akoura pressed his palm into his stomach, spreading the ache into every inch of Kyo’s being.

“You’re so sensitive here, baby,” Akoura mused softly, his fingers tracing the taut skin, feeling the way Kyo’s stomach trembled under his touch. Kyo let out a low, breathless moan, his hands instinctively clutching at his belly, but it only made it worse. The pressure from Akoura's touch sent jolts of heat coursing through him, mixing with the hunger and desire. Akoura gave one last firm press into his aching belly before he pushed himself off the desk, moving smoothly to Kyo’s desk chair with a lazy, teasing smirk. “Come sit,” he coaxed, his voice low, an edge of command weaving through it. Kyo glared, hands still on his stomach, but before he could protest, Akoura grabbed him. His arms locked around Kyo’s waist, pulling him effortlessly into his lap. 

Akoura leaned in, his lips brushing Kyo’s ear as he whispered, “You’re mine, Kyo. Completely mine.” Kyo’s heart raced as the control he clung to slipped further out of his grasp. His body responded against his will, heat flooding his face. He swallowed hard, not wanting to admit how much he wanted it, how much he craved it. The ache in his belly only grew stronger now that he was wrapped in Akoura’s dominance, completely helpless. Akoura’s hands roamed over Kyo’s body—one hand finding its familiar place on his empty stomach, pressing and rubbing, feeling the way Kyo’s muscles shuddered. The other hand slid lower, moving beneath Kyo’s waistband, his fingers brushing against Kyo’s heated skin before finding their mark. 

He didn’t waste time. Akoura began to stroke Kyo slowly, the steady rhythm of his touch pushing him further into a haze of need. Kyo’s breath caught in his throat, a desperate whine leaving his lips. The combination of Akoura’s teasing touches on his belly and the skillful strokes between his legs was overwhelming. His head fell back, resting against Akoura’s shoulder, surrendering to the pleasure that coursed through him. Akoura’s voice was a dark, seductive whisper. “You’re so hot, baby…” Kyo’s body moved on its own, his hips grinding down into Akoura’s lap, searching for more friction. “Akoura…” his voice was raw, needy. Akoura shushed him, a slow, sultry sound, his thumb brushing over Kyo’s length in a way that sent electric shocks through him. “Tell me how hungry you are. Tell me how much you need me…” 

But just as Kyo opened his mouth to speak, to give in, his phone rang—a shrill, demanding sound that cut through the haze of lust. Kyo's eyes flitted to the desk, his phone vibrating on the surface, the display flashing with an incoming call. Likely an important one. But Kyo didn’t care. Not when Akoura’s hand was still wrapped around his aching length, teasing him with slow, lazy strokes. Not when his other hand pressed firmly into his stomach, fingers sinking deep inside of him. Akoura, however, wouldn’t let him off so easily. With a wicked smirk, he leaned in, lips brushing against the sensitive spot on Kyo’s neck. “Answer it.” Kyo let out a breathless laugh. “No fucking way.” Akoura hummed, lips curling against his skin as his hand tightened just enough to make his breath hitch. “No? I was considering giving you something to eat later… but… maybe not.”

Kyo shuddered. His stomach let out a deep, protesting growl as if it knew what was at stake. The phone kept ringing and Kyo, trembling, burning, aching, forced himself to pick it up. “Hasegawa speaking,” he managed, voice strained, hoarse—just barely professional. “Sir, this is Mr. Sakamoto from the Tokyo branch—” Kyo didn’t hear the rest of it. His grip on the phone wavered as he bit his lip. Akoura, the bastard, licked up his throat, hands still working him, pushing him closer. Kyo’s breath quickened. “U-understood,” he said, keeping his tone leveled with every ounce of discipline he had. “I’ll review the proposal and get back to you.”

Akoura smirked against his throat, shifting just enough beneath him so Kyo felt his growing hardness. His fingers tightened just below Kyo’s ribs, the sharp pain making Kyo twitch. Akoura’s smirk widened. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he whispered, voice syrupy sweet. Kyo’s thighs tensed. He was shaking. Holding himself together was taking everything in him, but the way Akoura was speaking, the way he was touching him—A soft, broken sound left his lips before he could stop it. Sakamoto hesitated on the line. “Sir?” Kyo’s grip on the phone tightened. “I—” His voice caught. He cleared his throat, desperate for composure. “I’ll have my secretary send over a response soon.” 

Akoura hummed approvingly, his touch slow and deliberate, his fingers still kneading into Kyo’s sensitive belly. Kyo’s eyes narrowed into a glare at Akoura, but the defiance only earned him a sharp, deliberate stroke beneath his waistband. The heat in Kyo’s body snapped. His stomach twisted, his breath shuddered. He was so close. A low, breathy whine slipped from his lips, ignoring the way the line went silent again. “F-Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, so quiet, but Akoura heard it. He felt Kyo’s trembling thighs, the way his body arched involuntarily. Akoura kept his hands moving, touching, teasing, feeling the trembles beneath his fingers. “Hold it, baby.” A desperate gasp tore from Kyo’s throat, entire body thrumming with pleasure

Kyo could feel the whines starting to break free from his throat, Sakamoto’s voice miles away. His hands moved to end the call, fingers clumsy as they hovered over the button. With the last of his fading composure, Kyo slammed the phone onto his desk, the echo of his decision ringing in the air as he collapsed back against Akoura. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, the hunger in his belly still gnawing, the fire in his veins burning hot and wild. And he didn’t care. Didn’t care if Sakamoto had suspected. Didn’t care if anyone heard the moans slipping from him. Nothing mattered except the pleasure building in his body. 

Akoura’s touch became rougher, each stroke deliberate as he pressed his hands deeper into Kyo’s stomach. His body ached in ways that went beyond hunger, the intensity of Akoura’s hands on him almost more than he could stand. Akoura smirked against Kyo’s skin, his lips trailing over the delicate curve of Kyo’s neck. “You’re so pretty when you moan like that.” Akoura’s voice was low, a mockery of sweetness that made Kyo’s pulse race. “Your belly, so empty, so weak—but you’re still not begging me.” Kyo moaned as Akoura stroked him, the rhythm slow and steady, teasing, pushing him closer to the edge. 

“D-don’t stop,” Kyo whispered, though the word barely left his lips, barely a sound. His pride wouldn’t let him beg, not fully, not in the way Akoura wanted. But he was close—so close. Akoura’s fingers tightened around Kyo’s belly, the pressure forcing a whimper from him. He could feel Kyo’s pulse quickening, the desperation flooding him in waves. But Akoura’s hands stopped. Completely, painfully still. “Not yet,” Akoura said with a teasing, almost cruel edge. He shifted just enough so that Kyo couldn’t buck his hips. “Not until you beg.”

Kyo’s breath was shallow, his chest heaving as the frustration boiled over. His body shook with need, with hunger, with the overwhelming sensation of being so close. He shifted in Akoura’s lap, desperate to create friction, but Akoura’s grip was firm. “Beg,” Akoura demanded, voice thick with authority. Kyo’s eyes flickered with irritation, but the pain in his gut, the sensation of needing more, gnawed at him. His hands curled into fists, unwilling to fully give in.

Akoura’s smirk deepened, his fingers pressing deeper into Kyo’s sensitive belly, teasing at the tautness of it. “You’re desperate. Just say it, baby,” Akoura teased softly. Kyo whimpered, his hips shifting in frustration, but the words—the real plea—were still locked inside of him. The tension in the room was thick, the air practically crackling with lust. Kyo's body trembled in Akoura’s lap, still at the mercy of his touch, his aching stomach growling emptily. His eyes flickered with annoyance. He wouldn’t beg. Akoura could see the conflict building inside him, the raw desperation beneath the surface of Kyo’s stubborn resolve. It was almost too easy to keep him there, to push him to the brink again and again just to punish him.

But then, in a moment of raw determination, Kyo’s voice dropped to a low, gravelly whisper, only for Akoura’s ears. “You’ll give me what I want.” Kyo breathed, his voice full of dark promise. The words hit Akoura like a lightning bolt. He froze for a fraction of a second, his breath catching in his throat, as his gaze locked onto Kyo’s dark, determined eyes. The challenge in Kyo’s voice was palpable, and it stirred something deep within him.

Kyo didn’t wait for Akoura to react. His voice dropped lower, but it was no longer a whisper—it was a command. “Touch me, now,” Kyo grunted, his body desperate for release. “Or I’ll make you regret it.” Akoura’s skin prickled as his resolve crumbled into ash. He surrendered to Kyo’s demand as his hands began to move again, making Kyo’s breath catch in his throat. The shift in power was subtle, but Akoura could feel it—the way Kyo had pulled the reins from him, taken control again with nothing more than a few well-placed words. Akoura couldn’t stop himself from moving harder, faster, as Kyo moaned, his body shaking with the force of it.

The hunger, the emptiness, the sharp tension in his gut—everything combined with the relentless pleasure building inside him, pushing him to the edge. Akoura’s hand was still gripping his belly, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, but Kyo wasn’t stopping him. He wanted it. He needed it. Kyo’s moans filled the room, his body rocking with each movement. His breath hitched as Akoura stroked him, the pressure on his stomach making him dizzy with sensation. And then, just as Akoura thought he might break, Kyo let out a desperate cry—his body shaking uncontrollably as he came, the orgasm rushing over him like a wave, leaving him gasping. His legs trembled as Akoura held him through it, still moving over his length.

Akoura’s breath became shallow, still reeling from the intensity of the moment, his eyes glazing over the man shaking in his lap. As Kyo’s body finally stilled, his hands moving over Akoura’s, Akoura couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment. Kyo had won again, hadn’t he? He had let go too easily, had surrendered without pushing Kyo far enough. He should’ve made Kyo beg, shouldn’t he? 

Kyo let out an exasperated huff, shifting slightly in Akoura’s lap as he came back down from his high. Reality set in—the position he was in, sprawled out against Akoura, breathless, his lover’s hand still down the front of his pants. His face burned, though he couldn’t deny the aftershocks of pleasure still pulsing through him. With a breathless chuckle, Kyo rolled his head to the side, pressing his forehead against Akoura’s. “You’re too soft on me,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but dripping with amusement.

Akoura froze for a moment, his hand still resting on Kyo’s belly. He immediately pulled back, his cheeks darkening. “I—I’m not soft on you,” he stammered, trying to brush off the admission, clearly flustered. “You threatened me. You... you were the one who said—You—” Kyo’s lips curved into a sly smile as he moved Akoura’s hands back down into his soft stomach, still tender from the pressure. “I know,” Kyo murmured, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, “but you’re going to have to be a little bolder next time. We have a safe word for a reason.” Akoura blinked, clearly flustered, his confidence faltering for a brief moment. 

“Bolder?” Akoura’s voice was quiet, unsure. He had already pushed Kyo further than he ever thought he could, and yet, Kyo was still teasing him, still wanting more. Kyo nodded lazily, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Akoura swallowed hard, feeling the heat of Kyo’s words settle deep in his gut. There was no backing down now. “I’ll be bolder,” Akoura finally said, his voice low but firm. “I’ll make you beg, Kyo. And when you do, you’ll know I’m not soft on you.”

Kyo’s smile only widened. “We’ll see about that.”

Previous part! (Day 1)

This is day 1 of Akoura's three day agreement where he's able to starve his lover, Kyo. In the first part, he revealed his secret hunger kink and how Kyo showed devious interest in this new dynamic, but he's ready to challenge Akoura every step of the way. This one is a lot of slow burn teasing, but I promise it picks up soon! Contains hunger, stomach growling, dom/sub themes, bondage, and sex (this is an 18+ blog!) Enjoy!!

Kyo’s fingers tapped lazily against the steering wheel, his other hand draped over the gearshift, the image of effortless control. The golden light of the setting sun cast sharp shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the smugness of his smirk. Akoura sat beside him, red-faced, teeth worrying his bottom lip as his fingers twitched against his lap. His eyes kept darting toward Kyo’s stomach. It had been crying out for hours now, twisting and writhing with hunger, and yet, Kyo hadn’t shown a single crack.

It was supposed to be Akoura’s game. His rules. His control. But sitting here, fingers itching to touch, he was slipping back into his usual role, falling under Kyo’s spell as if nothing had changed. Kyo knew it too. He hadn’t said a word about Akoura’s lingering glances, hadn’t acknowledged the way Akoura’s breath hitched at every deep, desperate growl. But the smirk tugging at his lips said everything. Akoura swallowed, his fingers tightening against his thigh. No. Not this time. He was in control. He was the one calling the shots.

Kyo pulled into the parking garage, shifting into park with one smooth motion. Just as he reached for the door handle, Akoura moved. With a firm yank, Akoura pulled Kyo into his side, his arm wrapping around Kyo’s waist, pressing him close. He felt the sharp inhale against his chest, Kyo’s muscles tensing ever so slightly against him. For a brief second, he thought he had surprised him. Then, Kyo’s smirk deepened. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice as smooth as silk, as dangerous as a blade. “Look at you.”

Heat burned up Akoura’s neck, but he refused to shrink away. He held firm, his grip tightening, fingers pressing against the sharp dip of Kyo’s waist. “I told you,” he murmured, voice lower than usual. “You’re mine for three days.” Kyo hummed, a quiet, amused sound. His stomach growled loudly between them, but he made no comment on it, no plea for food, no complaint. Instead, he let Akoura lead him toward the building, his gait relaxed, his smirk unwavering. As if he already knew that by the end of the night, Akoura wouldn’t be able to hold onto this dominance for long.

As soon as the door to Kyo’s penthouse clicked closed behind them, Akoura wasted no time. He gripped Kyo’s tie in his hands, fingers working the silk through his fingers slowly, unraveling it with deliberate slowness. Kyo watched, amused, a sly smirk curving his lips as Akoura moved on to the buttons of his suit jacket. “So eager,” Kyo teased, his voice low, a challenge hanging in the air. But Akoura wasn’t listening, not really. He slid Kyo’s jacket off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor with a soft thud. As his fingers traced the line of Kyo’s jaw, Akoura leaned in, pulling him into a kiss.

Kyo watched with intensity as Akoura moved to his shirt, fingers quickly working to undo the buttons. He exhaled as Akoura’s hands slid down his chest, his fingertips grazing over the ridges of his ribs. Then, right on cue, a deep, hollow growl rippled from Kyo’s stomach. "God, Kyo," Akoura breathed against his lips, his fingers splaying over the hollow space. Another deep rumble vibrated against his palms, and he bit his lip. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

Akoura knelt down, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of Kyo’s stomach. To most, Kyo might’ve seemed too slim, his belly slightly caved in from his neglectful habits. But to Akoura, every inch of him was a masterpiece, each hollow and curve a testament to Kyo’s dedication, his perfection in all his flawed glory. "So empty," Akoura murmured, dragging his lips lightly over the sensitive skin beneath Kyo’s ribs. Akoura’s fingers played with the belt loop on his pants, tugging him closer with a teasing grin as he rose to his feet. “C'mon baby, let me play with you.” Akoura gave another playful tug, his finger hooked through Kyo’s belt loop, guiding him down the hall with a confident, almost possessive step.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the city skyline glowing through the wide windows, casting streaks of soft gold across the bed. The sheets rumpled as Kyo collapsed onto them from the force of Akoura’s hands on his chest, his body stretching out, long limbs sprawled with a soft grunt from his lips. Akoura's breath caught, his hands awkwardly hovering over Kyo as his confidence suddenly wavered. “I— sorry!” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes darting down before quickly looking away. “I-I didn’t mean to push you so hard.” Kyo exhaled a breathy chuckle, his head tipping back against the mattress, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. One arm rested lazily over his stomach, fingers drumming idly against the bare skin. The other propped him up just enough to look at Akoura through half-lidded eyes, sharp with amusement. “Are you sure you can handle this?” Kyo mused, his voice low, teasing, the words curling like smoke around Akoura’s already burning nerves.

Akoura bristled, his hands tightening into fists. He had to handle this. He couldn't let this opportunity go to waste. He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to remember all the times Kyo had been the one in control—the way he owned the space, the way his touches, his smirks, his words all commanded attention. Akoura straightened his shoulders. “Of course I can handle it,” he said, though his voice was a little too tight, his face a little too red. Kyo raised a brow, his smirk deepening. “Then show me,” Kyo murmured, voice a velvet challenge. “If you really think you’re in charge… prove it.”

Akoura swallowed hard, his hands moving to rummage through the drawer in the bedside table. This wasn’t the first time they’d played like this—far from it. In fact, Kyo’s drawers had become a collection of toys, ropes, silks, and other accessories, organized with the kind of precision that one might reserve for business files. Kyo’s eyes never left Akoura’s hands as they moved through the drawer. The way his fingers brushed over ropes and silks, the subtle movements that seemed to promise something far more intense, had Kyo’s pulse racing. A sly smirk curled at the corner of his lips as he leaned back against the bed.

“You need help tying me up?” Kyo teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “I know you're not as experienced as you think.” Akoura paused, looking up from his search with lust dancing in his eyes. The air between them thickened with an unspoken challenge, and Kyo felt a pulse of anticipation run through him. Akoura wasn’t backing down. He pulled out a long silk ribbon, the edges gleaming softly in the setting sunlight, and approached Kyo with deliberate slowness. “Arch your back for me,” Akoura ordered, his eyes dark with intent, and without hesitation, Kyo obeyed, lifting his chest slightly, letting the muscles of his back curve.

The silk was cool at first touch, sending a delicious tickle over the sensitive planes of his stomach, skimming over his navel like a whisper. Akoura took his time, enjoying the way Kyo’s belly tensed and growled beneath his fingertips. He pulled it snug, just enough to rest flush against Kyo’s skin—but then, with a slow, measured motion, he tightened it. Kyo’s breath caught, a soft gasp escaping him as the silk constricted around his belly, but he quickly tried to suppress it. Akoura, however, heard it loud and clear. He ran his fingers down the tight silk, his touch deliberate, tracing the curve of the ribbon as it cut into his skin.

“Feel that?” Akoura murmured, voice husky as he toyed with the tension in the ribbon. His breath was unsteady as he tightened the final knot, his fingers lingering on the ribbon. It wasn’t rope, wasn’t anything rough or unyielding—no, he had chosen something soft, something that wouldn’t hurt Kyo, but would still remind him of its presence with every subtle movement. Slowly, he positioned Kyo so he could use the excess ribbon to bind his hands behind his back, secured just loosely enough that, if he really wanted to, he could slip free. But Akoura knew Kyo wouldn’t.

He bit his lip, fingers tracing over the slight indentations the ribbon made against Kyo’s stomach, the hollows of his skin more pronounced after nearly a full day without food. Kyo’s stomach gave a slow, aching groan, begging for something to fill it. His hands shifted—just slightly—but it was enough to send a sharp pull against the silk wrapped around his belly. His breath hitched, but then—That damn smirk. Low. Sly. Amused. Akoura’s brows furrowed as Kyo let out a quiet chuckle, his lips curving with maddening ease. “That’s a nice touch,” Kyo murmured, voice smooth despite the faint strain beneath it. His wrists flexed against the silk, but he didn’t struggle—no, he tested it. Teased at the restraint as it cut deeper into his growling stomach. “Clever, really.”

Akoura hated how flustered he got immediately. He stared, eyes drinking in the sight of Kyo bound beneath him, the silk biting into his hungry body, every twitch of movement causing it to cinch just slightly tighter. Kyo’s ribs expanded with each slow breath, his stomach giving another desperate growl that seemed to shake the ribbon. God, he was gorgeous. Akoura took a steadying breath, swallowing around the heat in his throat. His hands skimmed down Kyo’s sides, his thumbs brushing over his delicate skin. “You look so pretty like this. All tied up and empty for me.” Akoura murmured, voice steadier than he expected. Kyo simply hummed lazily.

Kyo's shuddered as his stomach gave another deep, aching growl, and Akoura felt the heat rush to his face. His fingers ghosted over Kyo’s ribs before trailing lower, pressing against the concave dip just beneath them. His breath quickened—his hands hesitated, lingering just above the vulnerable hollow. And then, he pushed. A deliberate, steady press into his guts. Kyo’s body tensed. And before he could stop it— “Hngh—!” A strangled, guttural noise ripped from his throat against his will. Akoura froze.

Kyo’s lips parted slightly, his breath coming out just a bit uneven, eyes flickering open, his stomach aching with the pressure. A slow, stunned smile spread across Akoura’s lips. His breath came fast, his fingers twitching slightly against Kyo’s stomach. That was because of him. He had made Kyo react. Kyo’s brow twitched upward, his usual smirk still in place, but there was an edge to it now. “Don’t get full of yourself,” he murmured, voice low. But it was already too late for that.

Akoura’s grin widened, his confidence surging for the first time since this whole thing began. His hands moved again, purposeful this time, thumbs pressing deeper into the soft pocket beneath Kyo’s ribs, feeling how empty his thin belly was. Another sharp gasp. Kyo’s back arched just slightly before he clenched his jaw, fighting the moan that threatened to slip from his lips. Akoura’s breath shuddered. His whole body thrummed with the rush of power—because now? Now he knew. Kyo's tummy was so much more sensitive than he let on.

With a deliberate slowness, he undid Kyo’s belt, the leather slipping free with a soft hiss. He popped the button of Kyo’s slacks, exposing the rest of his stomach down to the waistband of his boxers, where the soft indent of his hips met his hollow belly. He pressed a lingering kiss on his navel, relishing the way Kyo’s stomach trembled against his mouth. “Stop teasing and touch me already,” Kyo commanded, voice rough. Akoura, still pressed between Kyo’s legs, merely tilted his head, his smirk dangerously knowing. He lifted himself slightly, just enough to meet Kyo’s gaze, his lips still ghosting over the ridges of his lower belly. “I don’t take orders from you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Akoura gave another slow push into his bound belly, his fingers splaying out over the silk-wrapped flesh as it caved and grumbled in protest. Kyo’s body was hot, practically burning under his fingertips. “Mm,” Akoura hummed, his fingers sliding lower. The soft band of Kyo’s boxers brushed against his knuckles. But just as Akoura’s fingers dipped below the waistband—just as he felt Kyo’s breath hitch—He pulled away. He watched Kyo’s stomach clench with the retreat. A bead of sweat traced down the sharp line of his abdomen, glistening in the golden light of the fading sun.

"You're shaking, baby," Akoura sighed—mocking, teasing—dragging his fingers back up, pressing firmly into the hollow just beneath Kyo’s ribs again, earning a low whine. “I know what you want,” he murmured, his voice soft, coaxing, yet brimming with something undeniably wicked. “You just have to beg for it.” Kyo’s throat bobbed. His stomach let out a deep, pitiful growl, twisting violently beneath Akoura’s teasing hands. But no words left his lips. Kyo remained silent. His jaw set, his dark eyes boring into Akoura’s like a silent dare, a challenge.

Akoura's hands steadied as they drifted lower again, moving with careful, unhurried precision. He took his time, sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of Kyo’s slacks, feeling the warmth of his skin before slowly, slowly peeling the fabric away. He dragged the fabric over Kyo’s thighs, over the firm muscle of his legs, leaving him in nothing but the silk ribbon still bound around his stomach and the fading gold light of the setting sun. He was absolutely stunning like this—his lean, hunger-honed body stretched out, skin flushed with heat, his wrists bound, accentuating the soft protrusion of his ribs and the sharp dip of his waist. His stomach, tight with emptiness, rose and fell beneath the silk, every shallow breath making the ribbon shift ever so slightly. A sight made to be worshiped.

Akoura bit his lip, his breath heavy as he stood back just slightly. “Still not going to ask?” he murmured, his voice dark, playful. Kyo just smirked. Oh, he was infuriating. But that only made Akoura want to ruin him more. Leaning down, Akoura pressed his lips just below Kyo’s ribs, letting his breath ghost over his trembling skin. “If you’d just beg,” he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement, “I’d be so nice to you.” His lips dragged lower, kissing the silky, bound flesh. “I’d soothe this belly ache…” His tongue flicked against the sensitive dip of his navel, making him shake. “I’d touch you…” His fingers traced over Kyo’s bare hips, teasing. “I’d fill you…” His voice dropped lower, more wicked, his hands tightening their hold on Kyo’s waist. Kyo’s breath shuddered out of him. But he said nothing. Silence. Still resisting. Akoura pulled back just slightly, a smirk curling on his lips. “Suit yourself.”

Every touch, every shift of the air, every lingering brush of Akoura’s fingers sent sharp jolts through Kyo’s body, making the ache inside him all the more unbearable. Akoura’s breath quickened as he loosened the ribbon just slightly, letting it slacken against Kyo’s stomach, offering him the faintest relief. But just as Kyo exhaled, just as he let himself sink into the sensation—Akoura tightened it. Hard. Kyo’s breath snapped into a sharp, needy moan, his stomach twisting, his back arching against the bed as the pressure constricted around the hollow ache inside him.

Akoura’s heart was pounding, his breath shaky as he took in the sight beneath him—Kyo, sprawled out, tied up, his body trembling, helpless beneath the weight of his own desire. He dragged his nails slowly down the sensitive skin of Kyo’s inner thighs, watching with satisfaction as Kyo’s body twitched beneath the touch. “You like that, don’t you?” Akoura murmured, his voice low, teasing, emboldened by the way Kyo shuddered at his words. “You like how empty you are. It's turning you on, isn't it?” Kyo huffed out a breath, his legs shaking.

Akoura’s fingers trailed back up, skimming over the sharp dip of Kyo’s stomach, teasing the edges of his ribs. “All you have to do is beg,” Akoura coaxed, his lips ghosting just over Kyo’s ear. “Tell me how much you want it.” Kyo let out a slow, deliberate exhale. And then—He moved. His legs, still unbound, curled around Akoura’s hips, dragging him closer with a controlled strength that sent a shiver down Akoura’s spine. The heat of Kyo’s body pressed firmly against him, and for a moment, Akoura forgot how to breathe. Kyo's eyes narrowed, his lips curving into something dangerously smug. “Fill me.” Two words. Not a plea, not a begging whimper—but a command. Even tied up beneath him—Kyo was still taking control. Akoura’s resolve wavered.

His fingers dug into Kyo’s thighs, his breath ragged. He should make him beg. He should be the one in charge here. But Kyo was burning, his body hot, writhing, and aching for him, and Akoura wasn’t strong enough to deny him. Not when Kyo wanted him this much. His fingers flexed against Kyo’s trembling belly, his body throbbing with need. Akoura inhaled deeply, shaking with restraint. But he gave in anyway.

Akoura stripped his own slacks away, teasing Kyo with his bare skin before he slammed inside in one smooth, deep thrust. Kyo’s senses lit up, his body arching hard against the mattress as he was filled. The ribbon bit into his stomach with every movement, every rock of his body, squeezing around the aching hollowness inside him. His moans slipped free, raw and desperate, no longer masked beneath his usual confidence, his smirk shattered by the sheer intensity of it all. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken cock. Not even close. But it was different now. So different. Aching. Bound. Unable to take control. His usual rhythm—riding Akoura into the mattress, controlling every roll of his hips, taking exactly what he wanted—was gone.

Instead, Akoura was pounding into him, thrusting deep and deliberate, hitting that perfect spot inside him over and over until Kyo was moaning, his fingers twitching against his binds, his legs shaking with the overwhelming pleasure. He loved it. Loved the way his body trembled with each snap of Akoura’s hips, loved the pressure against his stomach, the tight pull of the ribbon keeping him painfully aware of how empty he was. Kyo let out a gasp, sharp and unexpected, as Akoura pressed his hands against the taut skin of his belly, feeling the way it bulged slightly with every deep thrust. He twitched at the sensation, heat sparking through him, his thighs tightening around Akoura’s sides.

Akoura moaned at the reaction, his fingers spreading over the concave planes of Kyo’s stomach. He couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe he’d gotten this far. Kyo, so proud, so domineering, so in control, was shaking, moaning, completely wrecked beneath him. And Akoura was the one doing it. His pulse hammered in his throat, his confidence wavering for only a moment before he doubled down, pressing his palms even harder against Kyo’s belly, feeling the deep growls vibrating against his hands, the way Kyo’s body clenched and trembled under his touch. “You're mine,” Akoura whispered, his voice uneven, breathless.

Kyo whined, his head tipping back. Akoura grinned, something wicked sparking in his chest. “Bet it feels good,” he murmured, rolling his hips deep, watching as Kyo’s back arched beneath him. “Being so full and so empty at the same time.” Kyo groaned, his body twitching, the ribbon tightening against his stomach with every thrust, his breath coming in uneven gasps. He was getting close. Akoura felt it—the way his muscles tensed, the way his thighs tightened around him, the way Kyo’s moans turned higher, more needy. Akoura’s lips curled, and—He stopped.

Kyo gasped, his body jerking as Akoura stilled completely, his hands pressing into Kyo’s belly, keeping him right there, right on the edge, giving him nothing. Kyo whined, his breath ragged, his body desperate. But Akoura just leaned in, lips brushing against Kyo’s ear, voice dark and teasing. “Beg.” Kyo’s lips parted, a sharp inhale, his body shaking. But no words came out. His pride choked them back. Even now. Even with his stomach aching, his body trembling, his cock throbbing, he still refused. Akoura exhaled slowly, his body tight with restraint, his hands twitching against Kyo’s waist.

“Guess we should stop here for now,” Akoura murmured, voice teasing, his fingers skimming over Kyo’s ribs. “Don’t you think?” Kyo growled at the suggestion, frustration thick in his breath. Akoura smirked. “Maybe next time,” he whispered, “you’ll say please.” He made the mistake of moving. Pulling back just an inch, preparing to deny Kyo. Kyo wasn’t having it. His legs snapped around Akoura’s waist with a sudden, forceful grip, locking him in place. Akoura gasped at the sheer strength behind it.

Before Akoura could react, Kyo growled, voice gruff and uneven from his own ragged breath. “Move.” It wasn’t a plea. It was a demand. And Akoura couldn’t say no. He didn’t dare. His body obeyed before his mind caught up, his hips snapping forward in a sharp, deep thrust, plunging back inside the heat of Kyo’s body. Kyo let out a deep, guttural moan, his head tipping back, his back arching off the mattress as pleasure flooded through him, his stomach trembling beneath the tension of the ribbon, every sensation heightened. Akoura's hands trembled as he grabbed at Kyo’s waist, fingers digging into his skin, as he moved.

Kyo’s voice filled the room again, ragged moans slipping free as Akoura thrust deeper, harder, his rhythm picking up, giving Kyo everything he wanted. Kyo always got what he wanted. But they still had two more days. Two more days to play. Two more days for Akoura to get used to this.

Because next time—Kyo wouldn’t win.

Not again.

Previous part! (Introduction)

Guyssss!! I've got to admit, I've been a little worked up over the past couple weeks and had this story cooking for a while. Kyo is a powerful businessman in Japan who has a freaky side, and his newest plaything is Akoura, an employee from the IT department basically turned secretary. While they promised up and down that their relationship would be no more than sex, it's clear that it's quickly becoming more than that—especially now that Akoura has worked up the courage to try out his hunger kink. Contains hunger, stomach growling, mentions of sex. THIS IS JUST THE INTRO, more will be posted soon and it only gets better from here!!

The office was a cold, sleek sanctuary, the polished furniture and modern design a stark contrast to the hustle of the corporate building. Kyo moved with ease, his every action deliberate and controlled. It was the same way he approached everything—meticulous, composed, graceful. Akoura, however, had nothing to do but watch. He settled into the plush leather couch, his laptop untouched at his side. His eyes traced the sharp angles of Kyo’s face—the curve of his jaw, his broad shoulders beneath his tailored suit jacket, the glint of determination in his eyes. He was gorgeous. He had always been, but it was different now.

Before, Akoura had admired him in the way one admires a rare, untouchable thing—like fine art behind glass. A man like Kyo was supposed to be unattainable. Someone you indulged in for a moment, enjoyed in the dark, and then left behind before the sun rose. That was what they had agreed upon, after all. A mutual arrangement, built on nothing but raw, physical need—sex, pure and simple. They’d mapped out every inch of each other’s bodies, exploring what felt good, what made them gasp, what drove them wild. They had promised it would be nothing more than that—nothing emotional, nothing complicated. But Akoura knew better.

The first time, it had been an afterthought—Akoura picking up an extra coffee on his way into the office, figuring Kyo could use one. But the next day, Akoura did it again. Then the day after that. Somewhere along the way, it became routine. A quiet ritual between them. Akoura would arrive with coffee, Kyo would take it without question, and they would share a few moments before the day consumed them both. It was easy. Comforting. And perhaps that should have been his first warning sign. Because soon, it wasn’t just the coffee.

Kyo started lingering after their nights together, pulling Akoura closer instead of pushing him away. He would press soft kisses against Akoura’s temple, against his jaw—kisses that weren’t meant to seduce, weren’t meant to lead anywhere. Kyo would kiss him just because he wanted to. That was when Akoura knew they were past the point of pretending this was just about sex. He wasn’t sure what they were now. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask. But the thought of Kyo wanting him for more than just his body—of Kyo choosing to keep him close, even when there was no deal to uphold—did something to him. Something dangerous.

Akoura exhaled slowly, shifting in his seat. His gaze flicked toward Kyo’s hands as they moved over the keyboard, precise and efficient, before trailing down to the steady rise and fall of his chest. He had seen every inch of Kyo before, had memorized the way he looked beneath that expensive suit, the way his muscles tensed under careful touch. And yet, right now, he wanted him more than ever. Not just in the way he had before. Not just for heat or release. He wanted all of him.

Suddenly, a deep, slow groan roared from Kyo’s stomach, the kind that curled in the silence and sent a shiver up Akoura’s spine. Kyo didn’t even react. His fingers continued tapping against the keyboard, his gaze sharp and unwavering. It was nothing to him—just another day, another skipped meal, another ignored signal from his own body. But to Akoura, it was everything. His pulse quickened, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against his thigh. He had always had this… fascination. It wasn’t something he had ever spoken about, something he had never let slip, even as he and Kyo explored the darkest corners of each other’s desires. But every day with Kyo made it more difficult for Akoura to keep hidden.

From the moment they met, Kyo had been a walking temptation. He worked too hard, skipped too many meals, pushed his own limits without a second thought. It had driven Akoura insane at first—not just because it was unhealthy, but because it was intoxicating. He needed to hear it. To feel it. To control it. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to Kyo’s stomach beneath the crisp lines of his suit. He could imagine it now—beneath that starched fabric, his belly was empty, hollow, aching for something to fill it. Akoura’s fingers curled into the fabric of his pants as he sat there, trying to steady his breathing. This was stupid.

He had no reason to be nervous. This was Kyo. The same man who had shoved him against walls, dragged him onto desks, and whispered the filthiest things into his ear while making him beg for more. The same man who had seen him at his most vulnerable, most desperate, most ruined. He should have no shame left. And yet, as he rose from the couch and crossed the space between them, his heart twisted. Kyo didn’t look up, too absorbed in his work to acknowledge Akoura’s presence right away. He was still typing, still reviewing whatever deal had his attention, his posture effortless and composed despite the hollow ache in his belly that Akoura knew had to be growing by the minute.

Akoura swallowed hard before forcing himself to speak. “Your stomach is empty.” The words came out hoarse—too quiet, too uneven. His throat felt dry, his nerves fraying in a way that made him want to kick himself. Kyo barely reacted. He didn’t even glance away from his screen. “I’m fine. I’ll eat later.” Akoura’s fingers twitched at his sides. A deep, rolling growl curled from Kyo’s stomach in protest, and Akoura felt his whole body shiver. His breath stuttered, his arousal mounting at the sound, but he pushed it down, steadied his voice. “No, you won’t.” That got Kyo’s attention. The typing stopped.

Slowly, finally, Kyo turned his head, his sharp gaze locking onto Akoura’s. His expression was unreadable, but there was curiosity there—a glint of amusement in his eyes. Akoura’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. He had said it. Now, there was no going back. Kyo studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp, analytical. Then, ever so slightly, the corner of his lips curved. “And what exactly do you mean by that?” His voice was smooth, controlled, but Akoura caught the hint of intrigue laced beneath it. It sent a thrill down his spine, a rush of heat pooling in his body. Kyo was interested.

Akoura moved closer, rounding the desk until he stood beside Kyo’s chair. He hesitated—just for a second—before reaching out, fingers curling around Kyo’s silk tie. With a firm but careful tug, he pulled him forward, just enough to make Kyo’s breath hitch. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Akoura’s pulse pounded. He was never the one to do this—to take control, to demand. But the way Kyo was looking at him now, his lips slightly parted, his posture shifting as if testing this new dynamic…It sent a thrill straight through Akoura’s veins. “I mean,” Akoura said, his voice just a bit steadier now, “I want your stomach to stay empty.”

Kyo blinked, processing. His stomach gave another low, drawn-out groan, as if it, too, was waiting for an explanation. And then, to Akoura’s immense relief—Kyo laughed. Low and quiet at first, then a little deeper, a little warmer. He wasn’t mocking him—no, this was different. This was amusement, curiosity, maybe even a hint of challenge. “Now this is interesting,” Kyo murmured, placing a hand over Akoura’s where it rested on his tie. “Is this a new kink of yours?” Akoura felt heat flood his face, but he didn’t look away. “Not new.”

Kyo’s eyes darkened, the shift almost imperceptible—but Akoura felt it, the charged weight of it settling between them. He moved slowly, deliberately. Rising from his chair, he let Akoura’s grip slide down the length of his suit jacket, his hands trailing over the silk before coming to rest against the flat expanse of his stomach. The heat of his body burned through the layers of his expensive suit, and then—there it was. A deep, drawn-out growl, curling through the silence between them. Akoura swore his knees almost buckled. Kyo tilted his head, watching him with knowing amusement. “So, tell me,” he murmured. “What exactly is the appeal?”

Akoura’s breath hitched. He had prepared for this—knew he’d have to say it out loud, to put words to the desires that had been simmering inside him for so long. But now, with Kyo’s body so close, his stomach still aching and empty beneath Akoura’s fingertips, he felt his face go hot. “I—” He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Kyo’s gaze. “It’s just—” Kyo arched his brow, expectant. Akoura exhaled shakily. “It drives me crazy… the sounds… the way it makes you desperate. The thought that you’re aching, and I get to decide when that ache ends.” His fingers flexed slightly, feeling the tightness of Kyo’s stomach beneath them.

Kyo pulled back just slightly, eyes flickering with curiosity as he studied Akoura’s flushed face. “And how long,” he asked slowly, “do you plan on keeping me like this?” Akoura bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to keep his confidence. His fingers traced the edge of Kyo’s tie, playing with the fabric as he responded. “Three days.” Kyo blinked. “Three?” Akoura nodded, feigning nonchalance despite the heat crawling up his neck. “For three days, I decide what you put in your stomach.” Kyo’s reaction was immediate. He groaned, tipping his head back slightly. “Three days? Akoura, my stomach will start eating itself.” Akoura rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” Kyo whined, resting a hand over his stomach as if to shield it from its impending fate. “Three days is forever.” Akoura scoffed, crossing his arms. “This from the man who edged me for a week straight?” Kyo paused. Then—A slow, wicked smile. “Touché.” Akoura smirked back. “So really, I’m being nice to you.” Kyo hummed in amusement, reaching up to brush a strand of blonde hair from Akoura’s face. “I suppose I should be grateful, then.” Akoura fought the shiver threatening to crawl up his spine. “You should.”

Kyo exhaled, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. “Fine. Three days.” He glanced down at his stomach, as if already lamenting its future. “What exactly are the… terms and conditions of this predicament?” Akoura’s heart pounded. “You'll eat only when I allow you to.” Kyo clicked his tongue. “And if I cheat?” Akoura tugged his tie, just slightly, enough to bring their lips a breath apart. “You won’t.” Kyo grinned, exhaling a soft laugh. “Well then, Akoura…” He tilted his head, pressing one last teasing kiss to Akoura’s lips before murmuring—

“Make me suffer.”

Hey guys!! I've been writing a bunch of stories and getting really into some new OC's, so let me introduce you to King Cassiel and Sir Lucian! After the war, Lucian returned home thinner than when he left, so Cassiel is determined to feed him. Let's just hope the two can keep their relationship under wraps in front of the watchful eyes of the court and the entire kingdom. This is a oneshot! So I might not come back to these characters unless you guys really love them. Contains stuffing, belly rubs, mentions of hunger, and full stomach growling.

The knights of Varethia arrived at the castle in droves, their armor gleaming under the late afternoon sun. It had been days since King Cassiel’s beloved knight, Sir Lucian, had returned from war, his body battered and fragile. Cassiel had watched over him in nervous silence as he ensured Lucian was waited on hand and foot. His wounds had been cleaned, his bruises faded from deep violet to the muted yellow of healing. But it was the hollow emptiness in his stomach, the weakness that had once threatened to take him from Cassiel, that had truly haunted the king.

For days, he had watched over his knight. Even as Lucian’s body healed, the sharp angles of his hunger lingered. He ate, but never enough. His habit of giving away his rations had left him accustomed to starvation, to taking only what was necessary and never what was sufficient. The sight of his half-finished plates gnawed at Cassiel more than he cared to admit. And so, the king had made his decision. A grand feast was arranged under the guise of honoring the returning knights, an extravagant display of gratitude for their service. But in truth, it was a carefully constructed deception—a lavish performance with one intended purpose. Lucian would eat.

The great hall was alive with the scent of seared meats, spiced wines, and honeyed bread, the tables adorned with more bounty than any man could hope to finish in one night. Laughter and raucous voices filled the space, yet Cassiel’s attention remained fixed on the only man that mattered. Near the head of the long table, beside the throne, stood Lucian. The knight was stiff, his sharp gaze flickering toward the long banquet table where his men stood waiting. Cassiel noted the tension in his shoulders, the way his armor hung loosely over his frame.

With a slow tilt of his head, the king gestured toward the chair beside him. A silent command. Sit. Lucian exhaled sharply through his nose, the only sign of his reluctance before he obeyed. But before he could lower himself fully into his chair, Cassiel leaned in, his voice a low murmur just for his knight’s ears. "I could hear your poor stomach rumbling from across the hall, Lucian. No need to be shy tonight." As he spoke, his fingers ghosted down Lucian’s side, the touch barely there, yet impossibly firm in its intent. The knight’s breath caught, his spine stiffening as warmth rushed to his ears. 

Satisfied, Cassiel straightened and turned his attention to the table. His gaze swept over the assembled knights, lingering for a brief moment before he spoke, his voice carrying through the hall with effortless authority. The hall quieted, the men standing at attention, their respect evident in the way they held their heads high. Cassiel’s golden eyes flickered with something close to reverence. "You have given your blood, your strength, and your loyalty to this kingdom. And so tonight, you will take from it. Eat. Drink. Be honored, as you deserve. Varethia stands because of you." A chorus of voices rose in response, the men raising their goblets in unison. 

Cassiel gave the briefest nod of acknowledgment before his gaze hardened, turning toward the servants stationed along the walls. "See to it that these men want for nothing," he ordered. The servants rushed to obey, pitchers of wine tipping, platters of food passed down the length of the table. The hall swelled with the sounds of indulgence—the scrape of knives against plates, the hearty laughter of soldiers no longer burdened by war. But Cassiel did not care for any of it. His attention was fixed on his knight, his beloved, who still hesitated, still held himself back. Cassiel watched as he lifted his goblet but only took a careful sip, his movements controlled, precise. His plate remained untouched save for a small piece of bread he had yet to eat. Unacceptable.

Cassiel reached forward and added more food to Lucian’s plate—slices of roasted meat, a serving of fragrant rice, bread still warm from the oven. Lucian eyed the growing portion on his plate with barely concealed apprehension. The rich aroma of the feast surrounded him—meats glistening with juices, soft bread warm to the touch, the delicate sweetness of wine and fruit. And yet, the sheer amount before him made his stomach tighten. "Your Majesty—" He spoke lowly, careful not to draw attention. "This is far too much." Cassiel didn’t spare him a glance, simply picking up his own goblet and taking a slow sip of wine. "It is exactly what you need."

Lucian exhaled, fingers tightening around his fork. "I am no longer starving, Cassiel. War has ended. I am—" The king turned to him, golden eyes dark and knowing. "And yet your belly remains empty." His hand tightened just slightly against Lucian’s thigh beneath the table. “You’ve been through too much. Eat. You deserve it.” Lucian’s breath hitched, something inside him unraveling at the quiet sincerity of the king’s words. Cassiel’s fingers brushed lightly against the edge of his plate, guiding it just a little closer. “Please,” the king added, softer now. “Fill your stomach, my knight. For me.” 

There was no defiance in Lucian’s sapphire eyes, only quiet acceptance as he found no argument. Swallowing down whatever weak protest still lingered on his tongue, Lucian relented. He took up his knife and fork and cut into the tender meat, lifting a piece to his mouth. Cassiel watched, satisfaction flickering across his face as Lucian finally began to eat. And beneath the table, his hand remained—steady, warm, and unwavering.

As the meal progressed and chatter echoed off the high ceilings of the grand dining room, Lucian found himself slowly loosening his guarded demeanor. At first, the knight ate with measured control, each bite slow and deliberate. But as the rich flavors unfolded on his tongue something within him stirred. He hadn’t realized how truly hungry he was. His body had adjusted too well to hunger, to rationing his meals out of habit even when food was within reach. But now, with the warmth of the feast settling into his bones, his appetite awakened. He reached for the golden-crusted bread, tearing off a piece and dipping it into the thick, savory broth pooled on his plate. 

Cassiel’s gaze traced the softened lines of Lucian’s face, his growing satisfaction as he indulged, the way the hollowness in his cheeks seemed less stark in the flickering glow of the banquet hall. Lucian was eating. Cassiel let the happiness surge through him, though he kept his expression locked into its usual composure. Still, the corner of his lips threatened to tilt upward as he lifted his goblet, all the while relishing the sight before him. The king had always been a man of indulgence. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it. And right now, every fiber of his being was drawn to the knight beside him. 

Lucian, lost in his meal, was oblivious at first, but Cassiel was watching intensely. The way Lucian’s body had softened just enough under proper care, the tension easing from his shoulders as warmth seeped into his bones. It was a sight more intoxicating than the finest wine. Cassiel’s hand, which had rested idly on Lucian’s thigh beneath the table, shifted. His fingers ghosted upward, slipping over the hard plate of Lucian’s armor, coming to rest against his stomach. Even through the metal, he could feel the warmth of his knight’s body, the slight rise and fall of his breath. Lucian stiffened, a quiet hitch of breath betraying him.

Cassiel leaned in, his lips just a breath away from Lucian’s ear. His voice was low, laced with mischief. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, my knight,” he murmured, fingers pressing ever so slightly over the metal. “I can feel how full you’re getting.” Lucian’s face burned, his grip tightening around the stem of his goblet. His stomach was certainly fuller than it had been in days, comfortably so, but with the king’s attention on him like this, it felt heavier. He swallowed, a flush creeping down his neck. Cassiel chuckled, pleased, his thumb grazing the cool metal between them. “Perhaps later, when the armor is gone, I’ll see just how full your belly is.”

Lucian inhaled sharply, his composure threatening to crack. “Cas—! Your Majesty!” A few soldiers glanced their way, though none seemed particularly invested—too enraptured by food and drink to notice the dangerous game their king was playing. Cassiel leaned back, his expression as composed as ever, save for the devilish glint in his golden eyes. Lucian, however, was still reeling from the king’s whispered words, his face hot with a flush that refused to fade. The food on his plate suddenly felt secondary to the warmth that pooled in his stomach, whether from the meal or from Cassiel’s touch, he wasn’t entirely sure. 

But not everyone at the feast was as oblivious as the knights indulging in their victory meal. The royal advisors had been watching. They had seen the lingering glances, the king’s subtle favoritism, the way his hands found Lucian as though he belonged to him. This was the final straw. A few of them exchanged wary glances before the eldest among them gathered his courage, stepping forward. He cleared his throat discreetly before bowing his head. “Your Majesty,” he began, voice measured and cautious, “Apologies for the interruption, but a knight, no matter how… valued, should not be indulged so publicly, sire. It raises questions.” 

Cassiel didn’t move at first. His fingers remained exactly where they were, splayed lazily over Lucian’s armor. Slowly, his gaze lifted from his knight, golden eyes cutting like a blade as they landed on the advisor. “Oh, forgive me,” he drawled, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “I wasn’t aware that ensuring my finest knight does not wither away was now a scandalous affair.” He shifted in his seat, tilting his head as he regarded the advisors like insects buzzing too close to his ear. “Do tell me,” he mused, voice deceptively calm, “since when did it become your place to dictate where my hands may rest?” 

The men stiffened, their confidence faltering under the weight of the king’s gaze. Lucian, though silent, could feel the tension in the air. He cast a glance at the advisors, then at Cassiel, whose fingers now tapped idly against the stem of his goblet, waiting for someone—anyone—to challenge him further. But no one dared. The advisors quickly dipped their heads, not before exchanging another glance. Cassiel smirked, victorious as the men sheepishly shuffled away. He reached once more, this time letting his fingers trail lightly over Lucian’s wrist before resting against his thigh again, reclaiming his space as if nothing had happened.

Lucian shifted slightly, the warmth of Cassiel’s touch seeping through his armor, his stomach fluttering from the display of affection. His king had never been one to shy away from arrogance, but this—this was something else entirely. Cassiel had put the royal advisors in their place without so much as breaking a sweat, all because of him. Lucian swallowed, lowering his voice as he leaned in, careful to keep his words between them. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his tone firm despite the way his pulse quickened. “You should be more careful, Your Majesty.” Cassiel’s lips quirked upward, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Careful?” he echoed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Lucian’s thigh. “And what exactly should I be careful of, my knight?”

The knight cast a brief glance toward the advisors, who had wisely retreated into their silence. Cassiel exhaled sharply through his nose, something between amusement and mischief. He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against Lucian’s ear. “You seem to forget yourself, Lucian.” The knight’s breath hitched. Cassiel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his fingers trailing up, barely ghosting over the armor covering Lucian’s stomach. “You are mine,” Cassiel said, his voice like velvet and iron all at once. “And I protect what is mine.” Lucian’s fingers tightened around his goblet. There was no arguing with the king—not when he spoke like this. Not when his eyes burned with a truth so raw and undeniable.

The great hall buzzed with the sounds of clinking goblets, the deep rumble of laughter, and the satisfied hums of soldiers indulging in a feast unlike any they had seen in months. Cassiel remained in his gilded chair, enjoying his meal with slow satisfaction. Lucian exhaled a quiet, satisfied huff as he set his utensils down, leaning back as his plate sat nearly empty before him. His stomach, which had spent too many days gnawing on air, now sat comfortably full. He shifted, absently pressing a hand to his middle as he let out a slow breath. Cassiel caught the movement instantly. His golden eyes flickered down to where Lucian’s hand rested before slowly, deliberately, he reached out and slid the plate back toward him. 

Lucian blinked. “Your Majesty—” “You’ve hardly eaten enough,” Cassiel murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing. He nudged the plate forward another inch, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Lucian frowned, glancing down at his plate. “My king, I am—” Cassiel leaned in, his voice dropping low. “If I ever see that hollow look in your belly again, I will see to it that you never leave my sight.” Lucian’s stomach gave a quiet flutter, it wasn’t quite full enough to be painful, but certainly content. But the king’s words weren’t just a command, they were a plea. Cassiel wasn’t asking him to eat for mere indulgence—this was a matter of care, of love, of showing him that his knight mattered.

Slowly, he picked up his utensils once more. Lucian hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between Cassiel’s expectant eyes and the plate before him. As his fork met his mouth, a soft, approving hum escaped Cassiel. “Good boy.” The king’s voice was like silk, smooth and rich with something that made Lucian’s heart swell. The knight’s breath caught, the sensation of the king’s hand rubbing over his inner thigh spreading warmth through his body. His stomach gave a soft rumble, but Lucian ignored it. The impending discomfort of too much food felt distant compared to the burning need to prove himself worthy of the king’s praise. 

The lively hum of the great hall stretched into the evening, the knights still indulging in their meals, their boisterous voices filling the space with warmth. But Lucian, though surrounded by his men, felt as if he were alone in the room with Cassiel. The fullness in his stomach had crept up on him, slow but relentless. The last bite had been a mistake—his belly, now stretched tight beneath his armor, ached with the weight of his indulgence. He let out a low, quiet groan, shifting uncomfortably as he set his fork down and pushed the plate away. His hand ghosted over his middle, tending to the discomfort. Cassiel, of course, noticed immediately.

The king’s sharp golden eyes flickered down to Lucian’s stomach, then back up, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. His fingers drummed lazily against the table. His hand, still resting against Lucian’s thigh, gave a slow, appreciative squeeze. Lucian swallowed thickly, his face warm from more than just the feast. He wasn’t sure if it was the fullness pressing against his ribs or the king’s constant attention making him breathless. Cassiel hummed with deep satisfaction. “You did well, my knight,” he praised, voice low and velvety, threading through Lucian’s senses like a siren’s call. “You’ve pleased me greatly.”

Lucian exhaled through his nose, trying to steady himself. Despite the dull ache of his overfilled stomach, the king’s words melted into him like honey. “I—” Lucian started, but the words caught in his throat as Cassiel leaned in, close enough that the scent of rich wine and spice curled around him. “Let me look at you,” Cassiel murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, something private. His gaze dropped once more, ghosting over Lucian’s frame with unfiltered admiration, lingering at the way his stomach now pressed subtly against the confines of his armor. “I missed seeing you like this.”

Before Lucian could react, the king let his fingers press just lightly against the plated armor at his stomach, the contact featherlight, almost teasing. Lucian stiffened, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He was so full, so painfully full, but the king’s attention, the warmth of his hand on his belly threatened to melt him then and there. Cassiel’s lips parted slightly, his expression sly as he pressed a fraction firmer. Lucian felt as though he might combust. He had been prepared for the battlefields, for the sword and the bloodshed. But he had never been prepared for this—for the way the king’s voice alone could unravel him, for the way he leaned into the king’s touch despite the ache. 

The fullness sat heavy and unrelenting, stretching him to his limits, and though he tried to keep his breathing steady, his body had other plans. A low, drawn-out groan rumbled through his stomach. Lucian clenched his jaw, willing himself to remain still, to ignore the discomfort. But another sound followed—an unmistakable protest from his overworked belly. His arms slowly folded over his stomach, as if to quiet the storm raging beneath his ribs. Lucian could feel the king’s gaze on him before he even dared to look. Cassiel had gone still, his goblet resting against his lower lip, his golden eyes dark with something unreadable. 

Lucian shifted minutely in his seat, his fingers tightening where they rested against his stomach. But before he could form a protest, before he could force himself to sit straighter and pretend he was fine, the king leaned in. Cassiel’s voice was low, meant only for him. “Oh, my dear knight…” Lucian’s breath stuttered. The warmth in Cassiel’s tone sent passion curling in his chest. The king’s fingers slid against Lucian’s armor, then lower, grazing just barely against the fabric beneath. “You’re so full,” Cassiel murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles. “But worry not.” His lips curled into something softer, something fond. “I will take good care of you.” Lucian swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as his stomach gave another soft, miserable groan beneath the king’s touch. 

Cassiel smirked, rising smoothly from his seat, his movements drawing immediate attention. The laughter and conversation among the knights dulled as all eyes turned toward him. Cassiel adjusted the ruby rings on his fingers before raising his hands slightly, a casual but powerful display of authority. “Continue your revelry,” he announced, his voice rich and commanding. “Enjoy the feast you have so valiantly earned.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, ensuring they were received before adding, “I will be stepping away to speak with Sir Lucian.”

Lucian stiffened. The weight of the knights’ gazes burned into him, and though their expressions remained respectful, some of their eyes held knowing amusement. A few exchanged glances, smirking into their cups, while others simply gave nods of acknowledgment. Goblets were raised, and a chorus of murmured appreciation rippled through the hall before, just as quickly, the men returned to their meals. Lucian’s blush burned hot. He should have protested, should have insisted that he was fine, that he didn’t need this—didn’t deserve this level of attention. But he didn’t pull away. He let Cassiel lead him from the table, his stomach still heavy, his limbs still warm from wine and praise.

The grand doors of the feasting hall had barely closed behind them when the hushed murmurs of Cassiel’s advisors reached his ears. Their footsteps quickened to follow, the rustle of fine robes trailing in their wake. Cassiel exhaled slowly through his nose, already exhausted by their meddling. Lucian felt the weight of their gazes boring into his back, felt the tension in the air shift as the advisors hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances before one finally dared to speak.

“Your Grace,” one of the older advisors stepped forward, his voice carefully measured, though not without a hint of concern. His eyes flickered between the king’s hand on Lucian’s arm and the telltale flush on the knight’s cheeks. “Forgive me, but… do you think it wise to be seen leaving so intimately with Sir Lucian?” Cassiel stilled. Another advisor cleared his throat. “There are already whispers, my king. If you are seen whisking away your most favored knight like this, people will start asking questions.” Cassiel turned his head just slightly, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous. “And?” 

The advisors hesitated. “With all due respect, Your Grace,” the man continued, a bead of sweat forming at his temple, “If Sir Lucian is in need of care, there are servants who would gladly tend to him. It is not necessary for you to—” Cassiel’s patience snapped. His grip on Lucian’s arm remained light, but the air around him shifted, heavy with the weight of his authority. He turned on his heel with a deliberate slowness, facing his advisors fully, his presence suffocating. “Are you suggesting,” Cassiel’s voice dropped into a low, simmering growl, “that I, the king of Varethia, require permission to tend to one of my own?” The man took an instinctive step back. The others exchanged nervous glances. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

The advisors shook their heads stiffly after a moment of silence, murmuring their assent before shuffling away, their backs rigid with suppressed unease. Cassiel watched them go, his smirk returning as he leaned in toward Lucian, his breath ghosting the knight’s ear. “Imbeciles,” he muttered. Lucian swallowed hard, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. His king’s fierce protectiveness, the weight of his words, the fact that he had defended him so brazenly— It was nearly enough to make him forget the fullness pressing tight against his stomach. Nearly.

The heavy doors of the royal chambers shut with a resounding thud. Before Lucian could even catch his breath, Cassiel was upon him. The king moved like a starved man—pressing Lucian against the door, his lips claiming his knight’s with a hunger that sent heat searing through Lucian’s veins. It was desperate, needy, as if Cassiel had been holding himself back all evening, waiting—aching—for this moment alone. Cassiel’s hands dragged over his body, tracing the contours of his armor, tugging at the clasps with expert precision. One by one, the metal plates came undone, falling away with dull clinks against the marble floor.

Lucian exhaled sharply as the constriction around his stomach eased, his overfilled belly finally given space to breathe. He swayed slightly, warmth pooling in his limbs from the wine, the indulgence, the dizzying weight of his king’s attention. Cassiel’s lips never left him, moving from his mouth to the sharp edge of his jaw, then down the column of his throat. His hands roamed freely—grasping, pulling, claiming—as though he sought to brand Lucian with his touch alone. Lucian’s breath quickened. "Cassiel,” he moaned, voice tight. The king was absorbed in the moment, his fingers dancing lower, ghosting over Lucian’s abdomen, his movements slow, teasing. Lucian’s stomach gurgled. His face burned.

“Cassiel,” Lucian tried again, more firmly this time, though the rasp in his voice made it far less convincing. He grasped the king’s wrist, stilling his wandering touch. “I—I can’t.” Cassiel finally pulled back just enough to look at him. Lucian swallowed, his pulse unsteady. “My stomach is too full,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. A beat of silence. Cassiel’s gaze flickered downward, his hands still resting at Lucian’s waist. He could feel the slight swell beneath his fingers—the way Lucian’s belly, usually taut and firm, now pressed tightly against his shirt, heavy with the weight of the feast. Another quiet gurgle sounded through his belly. Cassiel smirked.

The shift in his expression was maddening—equal parts amused and something far more indulgent. His fingers flexed slightly, a teasing touch against the sensitive skin of Lucian’s abdomen, making the knight tense. The glint of desire softened, amusement curling at the edges of his lips as he let out a breath of a laugh. “My love,” Cassiel murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to graze Lucian’s cheek. “What makes you think I brought you here to ravage you?” Lucian’s face burned hotter, heat licking at his ears. “I—” Cassiel cut him off with a tut, his touch turning feather-light as he ran his fingers over Lucian’s sides. “Your mind is in the dirtiest of places, Lucian,” he teased, voice dripping with playfulness. 

“I should be offended, truly,” the king mused, his lips brushing over Lucian’s temple in something far too soft for the sharp arrogance of his words. Lucian exhaled sharply, the heat in his chest turning into something warmer, something deeper. Cassiel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. And for the first time all evening, there was no teasing, no sharp wit—only an unwavering, quiet devotion. “I brought you here,” the king murmured, his palm sweeping gently over Lucian’s stomach, soothing, “because I promised to take care of you.” Lucian melted. The tension drained from his shoulders, his body leaning into the warmth of the king’s touch. He let out a slow breath as Cassiel’s thumb traced small, careful circles against his overfull belly.

Cassiel hummed in satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself. “My beautiful knight,” he murmured, voice dripping with indulgence. “You act so strong, yet here you are, utterly helpless in my arms.” Lucian tried to glare, but the warmth of the king’s embrace, the soothing cadence of his voice left him weak. Cassiel only smirked, tightening his hold as he lifted Lucian into his arms as though he weighed nothing at all. Lucian’s breath caught as Cassiel carried him across the chamber with ease, lowering him onto the bed with careful hands. The mattress dipped beneath him, the comfort of the silk sheets wrapping around his weary body like a warm embrace.

Before he could utter another protest, Cassiel was at his side, his hands finding Lucian’s stomach once more. The first slow stroke of the king’s palm had Lucian sucking in a breath. Then another, slow and steady, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the tightness in his belly. A low, pleased moan rumbled from Lucian’s throat before he could stop it. Cassiel chuckled, utterly delighted. “There we are,” he cooed, his voice slipping into something so warm, so affectionate, it almost felt foreign. “Just relax, my love.” Lucian shuddered. With every stroke of his hand, every tender caress against his aching stomach, his body surrendered to the king’s touch.

Hey all! I've been breathing some new life into some of my old OC's, so please allow me to introduce you to Marshall and Austin! They met at the beginning of college and are now madly in love with each other. I figured I'd get into the more spicy sides of their relationship where Marshall comes home after a show and needs a bit of convincing to fill his belly with food before filling it with Austin. This is my first time writing a more erotic scene, so pls let me know how it is! Contains sexual themes (y'all better be over 18, this is a threat), hunger, stomach growling, food as aftercare, dom/sub themes.

The door creaked open just as the last of the night’s buzzing energy hung in the air like an aftershock. Marshall stood in the doorway, guitar slung carelessly over his back, a perfect mess of sweat, messy gel, and smeared makeup. His hair was tousled from hours on stage, and the weight of the night seemed to rest heavy on his shoulders, each breath coming in slow and labored as the adrenaline wore off. But when his eyes landed on Austin, that exhaustion melted away into a soft, tired smile.

Without a word, he stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind him, and immediately leaned into Austin, the faint scent of booze, the sound of the music, and the pure electricity of the performance still clinging to him. His arms wrapped around Austin’s waist, pulling him in close, desperate for the comfort only his boyfriend could offer. He tilted his head up with gentle fingers, kissing him deeply—long and slow, the kind of kiss that seemed to pull all the remaining energy out of Marshall and into the warmth of Austin’s embrace.

Austin grinned against the kiss and, with a firm but gentle hand on Marshall’s shoulder, pulled him fully into the apartment. “Gods, you’re sexy when you play, you know that?” Austin murmured, his voice husky with admiration and affection. “Talented, too, baby… I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Marshall let out a soft chuckle, resting his head on Austin’s shoulder for a moment, eyes closing in exhaustion as his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. He pulled back just enough to look at Austin, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not so bad yourself, babe,” he teased, his fingers lightly tracing Austin’s collarbone. The quiet of the apartment wrapped around them like a cocoon, the pulse of the night still lingering in their veins, but here, in this moment, there was nothing but the two of them.

Austin’s hands were gentle as they slid down Marshall’s back, taking the weight of his guitar and setting it carefully against the wall. He could feel the stress in his boyfriend’s body, the strain of the performance still lingering in his muscles, so he moved with a tenderness that matched the quiet affection in his heart. He stripped Marshall’s leather jacket off slowly, his fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of his shoulders. Austin let his hands wander up Marshall’s arms, caressing him lovingly, his lips finding the sweet spot on Marshall’s neck as he murmured against his skin. “You were incredible tonight, you know that?” Austin’s voice dropped lower, reverent as he ran his hands over Marshall’s chest, his heart full of admiration for the man in front of him.

But just as the words hung in the air, a low, rumbling growl broke the silence. Marshall’s stomach gave an audible protest, the sound so loud it seemed to echo through the room, drawn out and painfully empty. Austin paused, his hand immediately moving to rest on Marshall’s thin stomach, feeling the way it trembled slightly under his touch. “Baby… did you eat at all today?” Austin asked softly, concern flickering in his eyes as his thumb traced the curve of Marshall’s belly. He winced slightly, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… Not since this morning. I guess it just slipped my mind.” His voice was a little sheepish, but there was a vulnerability there too—something Austin had always found endearing, even when Marshall wore that cool exterior like armor.

Austin’s concern deepened as his fingers gently pressed into the curve of Marshall’s stomach, feeling the way it seemed to shift beneath his touch. His heart ached a little at the thought of his boyfriend being too caught up in the whirlwind of his life to take care of something as simple as eating. “You need something, Marsh,” Austin insisted, his voice soft but firm. “At least a cup of ramen, yeah? Just something to put in your stomach.” His hands lingered there, rubbing soothing circles over his skin. Marshall only smirked, tilting his head as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Austin’s ear. “Oh, but I do want something in my stomach,” he teased, voice dripping with mischief, “and it’s not ramen.”

Austin’s breath hitched, the heat creeping up his neck almost instantaneously. His grip on Marshall’s waist tightened for just a moment before he willed himself to remain steady. “You—” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “You’re not serious.” Marshall only grinned wider, his hands skimming down Austin’s sides. “C’mon, babe,” he drawled, the exhaustion in his voice mingling with something sultry, “Doesn’t a nice hot shower with me just sound like heaven?” Austin felt the heat rise to his face, his heart skipping a beat. The thought of sharing a shower with his boyfriend, pushing deep inside of him and hearing his beautiful voice, was almost too much to handle. “You’re… you’re eating first,” Austin mumbled, his voice regaining its resolve, though his fingers still trembled slightly against Marshall’s skin.

Marshall let his weight lean into Austin, his head resting against his boyfriend’s shoulder as a low sigh left his lips. “I can’t eat, my stomach hurts,” he murmured, his voice taking on a breathy, pleading edge. “I just need you to rub it for me, baby.” Austin didn’t falter. His fingers had already been kneading slow circles over Marshall’s stomach, but this time, he flattened his palm against the bare skin, feeling the way Marshall’s body trembled under his touch. “Your stomach hurts because it’s empty,” he countered, voice steady. As if to prove his point, another deep, hollow gurgle rumbled from Marshall’s belly, vibrating against Austin’s palm.

Austin lifted his gaze to meet Marshall’s eyes, his soulful brown eyes filled with worry. “See? You’re starving.” Marshall groaned, rolling his head back dramatically. “You’re so mean to me,” he whined, though the teasing edge to his voice remained. He pushed further into Austin’s touch, shifting his hips slightly. “If you keep touching me like that, I might just forget about food altogether.” Austin’s resolve faltered for a fraction of a second, his grip on Marshall’s stomach tightening. Marshall smirked, immediately catching the way Austin’s body betrayed him. His voice was velvet now, dripping with mischief. He leaned in, lips barely brushing Austin’s ear as he whispered, “Baby, you’re getting hard.” Austin sucked in a breath, his hands twitching against Marshall’s skin.

That was all the confirmation Marshall needed. He slid his hands up Austin’s arms before slowly, deliberately pulling away, letting his touch linger just long enough to leave Austin chasing the warmth he left behind. “I’m gonna go get undressed,” he murmured, stepping back with that same effortless swagger Austin had fallen for years ago. “Feel free to join me.” Austin opened his mouth—to argue, to insist Marshall needed to eat first—but before he could get a word out, he was already untangling himself and slipping toward the bedroom, leaving Austin standing there, flustered and speechless.

Marshall stepped into the bedroom, lifting his shirt as the moonlight shone off of his skin. He was grinning to himself, knowing full well that Austin would follow soon—he always did. Austin could play the responsible, firm boyfriend all he wanted, but Marshall knew exactly how to unravel him. With a shrug, his shirt slipped from his shoulders, falling into a careless heap on the floor. His fingers brushed absently over his stomach, and that’s when he felt it—deep and hollow, a slow churning ache twisting beneath his ribs. A long, empty rumble clawed its way out, vibrating beneath his palms.

He was definitely hungry. It made sense—he hadn't eaten all day, too caught up in the adrenaline of the performance, the lights, the music, the sheer high of it all. But now, standing here in the dim light of the bedroom, the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones, he was only aware of one hunger. And it wasn’t for food. His stomach ached, but the idea of eating, of sitting down and focusing on anything that wasn’t Austin, felt impossible. He didn’t want to slow down. Didn’t want to acknowledge how badly his body needed something more than just the heat of his boyfriend’s touch. His fingers slid from his stomach, ignoring the restless churn beneath his skin as he reached for his belt instead. Austin would be here soon. And when he was, Marshall would make sure that every last ounce of his attention was on him.

Marshall had barely popped the button of his jeans when the door creaked open. Right on time. He sank onto the bed, legs spreading just enough to look inviting, his hands lazily dragging over his thighs as his jeans slid just below the waistband of his boxers. He glanced up, fully expecting to see Austin flustered and bashful like always, his smirk widened—until it didn’t. Because the way Austin stood in the doorway made something shudder deep inside of him. There was something sharp and smoldering in his expression, laced with quiet dominance and an unshakable resolve. His deep brown eyes burned, locking onto Marshall’s half-undressed frame like he was deciding exactly what to do with him. Marshall swallowed. His smirk faltered, just barely.

A slow, lingering heat curled in his stomach, fighting against the emptiness that still gnawed at him. He adored Austin’s usual soft and sensitive nature, the way he melted under teasing words and gentle affection. But these rare moments when Austin’s sheepish attitude hardened into something undeniable, something unshakable, excited him like nothing else. His fingers hesitated at the waistband of his jeans, breath catching in his throat. Austin stepped forward with the kind of unhurried confidence that made Marshall’s pulse spike. His gaze was heavy, teasing and dangerous, the way a predator might look at something already caught in its jaws.

Austin’s lips curled, amusement flashing through his eyes as he closed the space between them. He reached out, fingers ghosting over the bare skin of Marshall’s stomach, slow and deliberate. His palm smoothed over the tight muscles there, pressing just enough to make Marshall suck in a breath. “Still think you’re not hungry?” Marshall shivered, his excitement only sharpening. The game was on. His smirk returned, sharp and knowing, his defiance only fueled by the heat simmering between them. He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at Austin through half-lidded eyes. “I think,” he drawled, voice lazy, teasing, “you’re enjoying this way more than you’re letting on.”

Austin didn’t respond with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips ghosting against Marshall’s jaw before trailing lower, pressing slow, deliberate kisses down the column of his throat. The faint scent of sweat mixed with Marshall’s cologne—dark, musky, intoxicating. It made Austin’s pulse hammer against his ribs, but he wasn’t about to let himself get distracted. His hands pressed deeper against Marshall’s empty stomach. And then, right on cue, another needy rumble echoed between them, vibrating under his palms. Marshall inhaled sharply. Austin smirked against his skin. “There it is,” he murmured, lips brushing against Marshall’s collarbone. “You hear that?” His hands moved again, this time rubbing, coaxing more sounds from Marshall’s stubbornly neglected belly. “Your body’s begging.”

Marshall exhaled shakily. “My body’s begging for you,” he countered, voice low, dripping with heat. His hands found Austin’s waist, pulling him in until their bodies nearly touched. His fingers dipped beneath Austin’s shirt, teasing over dark skin. “That’s what I want.” Austin bit the inside of his cheek, his own resolve faltering for a fraction of a second—but he steeled himself. He wasn’t backing down. He dragged his teeth lightly over Marshall’s collarbone, his hands still firmly kneading against his stomach. “And what I want,” he whispered, voice turning sharp, demanding, “is for you to eat.”

Marshall’s body lit up at the touch, every nerve firing in anticipation, the tension and excitement building like a storm on the horizon. He could feel the heat between them intensify with every kiss, every press of Austin’s hands against his stomach, coaxing out the desperately hungry rumbles. But despite the way his body responded, Marshall’s defiance only deepened, a playful glint in his eyes as he met Austin’s gaze. “Make me,” he teased, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. His voice was thick with challenge, excited to see just how deep this side of his boyfriend went. Austin didn’t hesitate.

In an instant, Marshall found himself flat against the mattress, his wrists pinned above his head with startling ease. The sudden force made Marshall gasp, his breath catching as Austin’s weight pressed down on him. With Marshall stretched out, his stomach lay fully exposed—thin, taut skin quivering under Austin’s body. He let the moment linger, savoring the sight of Marshall flushed beneath him, squirming just slightly, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Then, deliberately, he released his wrists. Marshall barely had a second to process before Austin’s hands were back on him, sliding down, teasing over his ribs.

A smirk tugged at Austin’s lips as he pressed his palms flat against the taut skin, feeling the slight dip of hunger hollowing out Marshall’s stomach. The moment he pushed down, another deep, hungry growl rumbled from Marshall’s belly. Austin hummed, pleased, his fingers pressing in deeper, mapping out every empty pocket, every hollowed-out space that begged to be filled. Marshall moaned, his back arching at the sensation, a helpless reaction to the pressure, the attention. “Mm, all this noise,” Austin murmured, his voice thick with amusement, his thumbs pressing in slow, torturous circles along Marshall’s trembling stomach. “And you’re still gonna tell me you’re not hungry?”

Marshall’s breath stuttered, but his defiance was still there, lingering in the heat of his gaze. “N-No,” he rasped, his voice edged with something raw, something breathless. “I only want you.” Austin clicked his tongue, his grip tightening just slightly, making Marshall jolt. “You already have me,” he murmured, lips brushing the edge of Marshall’s jaw, “but that’s not enough, is it?” He trailed lower, his mouth ghosting over Marshall’s collarbone, over his chest, all while his hands stayed firm on his stomach, feeling every hungry tremor, every empty growl.

Marshall shuddered. He was dizzy with pleasure, the teasing, the undeniable hunger winding tightly through him. And yet—he still wasn’t giving in. Not yet. The tension in the room was thick, electric, every touch sending shockwaves down his spine. Austin’s thumbs found their place just beneath his ribs, right at the tender, hollow spaces framing his stomach, and then—he pressed in. Deep. A broken sound escaped Marshall’s throat as his back arched involuntarily, the pressure sending waves of pleasure and pain rolling through him. His stomach quivered beneath Austin’s hands, the empty space inside him giving way under the firm touch, compressing slightly, making his hunger pulse harder. The growl that followed was deep, drawn-out, proving just how empty he truly was.

Austin, pleased with the reaction, chuckled against his skin, warm breath ghosting over his navel. “Still gonna act like you don’t need it?” His voice was honey-thick, teasing, dripping with challenge. Before Marshall could shoot back a retort, Austin’s tongue dipped into his navel, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp, hot jolt through his entire body. Marshall gasped, his hands twitching where they were gripping the sheets. His lips parted, a moan spilling free before he could even think to stop it. Austin smirked against his skin, his hands pressing in a little firmer, still teasing the hollow space beneath Marshall’s ribs, coaxing another desperate gurgle from his belly. “Mmm,” Austin murmured, his tongue flicking over the sensitive dip again, “I think your body’s more honest than your mouth, babe.”

Marshall’s breath came in quick, shallow bursts, his face burning. His stomach rolled beneath Austin’s touch, aching, wanting—both from hunger and from the unbearable intensity of Austin’s dominance. And still, despite the fire curling low in his belly, despite the delicious pressure against his empty stomach, despite Austin’s mouth working him open in ways that made his head spin—he wasn’t ready to surrender. Not when pushing Austin further was this much fun. Marshall’s chest heaved with every breath, his skin flushed under the pressure of Austin’s touch. “Y-you think you can—” His words caught in his throat, shaky and weak, as his stomach rumbled again, this time louder, more desperate.

Austin’s hands slid slowly down the curve of his stomach, following the path of hunger that Marshall couldn’t deny. His touch was so light at first, teasing the skin over Marshall’s ribs, sending a shiver through him, before his lips followed suit, trailing down to the flat expanse of his bare belly. Marshall let out a low moan as Austin’s mouth pressed soft kisses against the taut skin, his lips warm against the quivering muscles, the taste of salt and desire lingering between them. And then—Austin’s teeth. They grazed his skin gently at first, just a brush, a warning. But then Austin’s teeth sank in, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Marshall gasp sharply, his body jerking at the unexpected sting of it.

“Still so stubborn,” Austin murmured against his skin. “You’ve got to be desperate by now.” He nipped again, harder this time, his teeth grazing just beneath Marshall’s ribs, making him gasp and moan. Marshall’s fingers dug into the sheets beneath him, his breath coming fast, erratic, every inch of him alight with the sensation of Austin’s mouth on his sensitive skin. Marshall’s body was shaking, his mind lost somewhere between the pleasure and the pride that refused to break. His stomach groaned louder, a desperate plea for food that Marshall could no longer ignore. But with each soft bite, each scrape of Austin’s teeth, Marshall could feel the last of his resistance slipping away.

“Please…” Marshall breathed out, his voice shaky with desperation. His eyes fluttered closed, his chest heaving, and even though his body ached with need, he couldn’t deny the hunger gnawing at him. Austin paused, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. His lips glistened with the trace of Marshall’s skin, his expression dark with determination. “You’re begging me to touch you,” Austin said, his voice low and controlled. “Not until you listen to your body.” Marshall whimpered, his hands instinctively trailing down his body, reaching for the heat that pulsed between his legs. But before he could get any further, Austin’s hands shot out to pin his wrists above his head, the movement firm and possessive.

“No,” Austin’s voice was sharp as he leaned down, his teeth sinking into Marshall’s stomach once more, this time harder, the bite more insistent, as if to reprimand him for his defiance. Marshall gasped, the pain laced with the sweetest pleasure, his back arching. “Stop trying to touch yourself,” Austin murmured against his skin, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You’re not getting what you want until you eat.” He nipped harder at the sensitive flesh beneath Marshall’s ribs, making the guitarist gasp, his body writhing under the touch. Marshall moaned, the sensation clouding his thoughts. “Please,” he begged again, this time the words filled with more need than resistance. “I’ll eat, just… just touch me.” His stomach growled loudly, a reminder that it was empty, aching for sustenance.

Austin’s eyes softened for a moment, the darkness giving way to something more tender, but his resolve didn’t falter. “Say it, baby,” he urged, his voice thick with desire, “Tell me you're starving.” Marshall’s breath hitched, his body trembling under Austin’s control. His eyes fluttered closed, and he whispered, barely audible, “I—I’m starving.” Austin’s face broke into a slow smile, the praise in his voice unmistakable. He pressed his body closer, his breath hot against Marshall’s skin as he pressed deeper into his belly, feeling the empty space that needed to be filled. “Good boy.” Marshall melted into the touch, his defiance now completely gone, leaving only the raw need for Austin to fill him in more ways than one.

The room was quiet now, save for the sound of their breaths slowly returning to normal, mingling together in the space between them. Their bodies were tangled under the sheets, Marshall’s head resting on Austin’s chest, his fingers tracing light patterns on his skin. A soft, contented hum passed between them, both still reeling from the intensity of everything that had just happened. Austin’s lips were warm against Marshall’s skin as he placed gentle kisses on his shoulder, savoring the softness of the moment. His hand rested lightly on Marshall’s waist, and he couldn’t help but smile, feeling Marshall’s body mold against him like it was meant to be. But then, as his eyes wandered down, his gaze froze on something he hadn’t noticed earlier.

There, over Marshall’s stomach, were faint red marks and bruises—a result of Austin’s pressing hands and the forceful way he’d touched Marshall’s empty belly. Austin’s heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment, all the warm fuzziness from the moment disappeared. “Oh Gods…” Austin muttered, his voice suddenly laced with concern. His fingers hesitated over the marks, his touch light and cautious as if afraid to hurt Marshall even more. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Marshall chuckled softly, a low, breathy sound, and lifted his head to meet Austin’s gaze. His eyes were a mix of affection and amusement. “It’s okay, baby,” he said with a smile that softened the air between them. “I got exactly what I wanted.” But Austin didn’t seem to take any comfort in that. His brows furrowed, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he gently ran his fingertips over the bruises. He hated seeing Marshall like this, even if it was just a result of their passion. His voice dropped to a whisper, his guilt resurfacing as he mentally punished himself. “I should’ve fed you first, before all of this. I really messed that up.”

Marshall smiled, reaching up to cup Austin’s face with a tenderness that was reserved for him alone. “Austin… I don’t regret it. I’ve never felt better.” His thumb gently traced the side of Austin’s cheek, and his lips curled into a grin. Austin’s heart skipped a beat at the warmth in Marshall’s voice, his guilt finally starting to ebb away. But his eyes still lingered on the bruises, his chest heavy with the need to fix what he felt he’d broken. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on the marks over Marshall’s stomach, as if trying to heal them with his touch. “I just… your poor belly,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice palpable. Marshall chuckled again, the sound rich and low. “I enjoyed every second of it,” he reassured, his hands tracing the outline of Austin’s jaw. “I’d love for you to do it again sometime.”

Austin’s lips quirked into a half-smile, relieved to see Marshall in such a lighthearted mood despite everything. He kissed Marshall’s forehead, wrapping his arms tightly around him as he sighed in contentment. “Okay, but now you have to keep your promise, you’re gonna let me feed you,” he whispered, his voice soft as he held him close. Marshall paused for a moment, his gaze flicking to Austin with a teasing glint in his eyes. He slowly reached down to press his palm over his stomach, where the marks lingered. “Mmm… you might’ve hurt my tummy, though,” he said in a playful tone. “Might not be able to eat after all. Could take a bit more convincing.” Austin huffed, his exasperation mixed with a soft smile. He kissed Marshall’s forehead again, his fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, getting up from the bed. “I’ll make that ramen anyway.”

Guys! Thank you so much for the love on part 1! I've had so many ideas rushing through my head for new fanfics and storylines, but my mind always goes back to the classic starved to stuffed. What can I say? I'm a sucker for it. This is part 2 of my story with Julien and Kobi where Julien finally gets a nice meal, perhaps he indulges a bit too much. Contains a little hunger, food as comfort, stuffing, and belly rubs. Also they may or may not kiss at the end :3

Julien woke up late, sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. The bed was a fortress of comfort, the only thing that had felt remotely like relief in the past few weeks. His body ached with exhaustion, and despite his stomach growling with need, he buried his face deeper into his pillow. Today was his day off. The day he’d stay exactly where he was. No shifts to rush to, no plates to perfect, no expectations waiting for him on the other side of a kitchen door. Just quiet. Just stillness.

Then, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Once. Twice. Insistent.

Julien groaned and rubbed at his eyes, reaching for it blindly. For a brief, petulant moment, he considered turning it off entirely and going back to sleep. The world could survive a few more hours without him. But the buzzing didn’t stop. With a sigh that felt deeper than his lungs, he cracked one eye open and glanced at the screen.

Kobi.

His jaw tightened before he could stop it.

"Hey! I’m making dinner tonight. You should come over :0"

Julien stared at the message like it was a dare. Dinner. Not her shoving a paper bag of food into his hands after a late shift. Not letting him collapse on her couch when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and the thought of going home alone made his chest feel tight. Dinner meant effort. Dinner meant time. Dinner meant intention. He shook his head faintly. The last thing he wanted was to get dressed, leave his apartment, and pretend he had the energy to be social. Not today. He typed back slowly, fingers heavy. “Not really in the mood to be your guinea pig tonight.”

Almost immediately, his stomach betrayed him with another sharp growl, louder this time, curling unpleasantly low in his gut. He exhaled through his nose, annoyed at himself, annoyed that his body always seemed to want things at the worst possible moments. Her reply came fast. “Yeah you are. Be here at 4 :)” Julien frowned at the screen. He didn’t like how sure she sounded. Didn’t like that she said it like it was already decided. Like she knew him well enough to call his bluff.

He waited a few seconds, half-expecting himself to type something back. A refusal. An excuse. Anything to reclaim a little control. Instead, his stomach let out another long, aching groan, twisting his guts uncomfortably as if to underline the point. Julien let out another heavy sigh and dropped his phone onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was going. Of course he was going. He hated that he wanted to. He was hungry—starving, really—and the thought of getting a proper meal, something that didn’t come out of a plastic container, was somehow more enticing than the warmth of his bed. But this wasn’t just food. This was her kitchen, her table, her company. The kind of thing people did when they cared. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for what that meant.

Julien didn’t remember deciding to get dressed.

One moment he was staring at the ceiling, the weight of her message still pressing against his ribs, and the next he was tugging on clean clothes, hands moving on autopilot. Keys. Wallet. Phone. He barely registered the click of his apartment door locking behind him, only that the quiet he’d been guarding all morning slipped through his fingers the second he stepped into the hallway.

By the time he was in the car, his fingers were already tapping restlessly against the steering wheel. The engine hummed to life, steady and familiar, and Julien turned the radio up louder than necessary. As if volume alone could drown out the low, insistent growl in his stomach—or the louder noise in his head, thoughts slipping out of order, piling on top of one another before he could catch them. He couldn’t believe how quickly things had changed.

A month ago, he’d been certain that distance was the only way to keep himself intact. That keeping everyone at arm’s length wasn’t just easier, it was safer. But somewhere along the line, Kobi had slipped past that boundary without asking. Little intrusions, spaced just far enough apart that he hadn’t noticed the pattern forming until it was already there. She’d seen him at his worst. Shaking legs. Missed meals. The way his focus frayed when exhaustion set in and the armor he’d spent years polishing finally cracked. But tonight wasn’t that. Tonight, she was feeding him because she wanted to. Inviting him in when he wasn’t unraveling, when he was upright and capable of leaving if he chose to. The thought made his chest tighten, anxiety blooming sharp and unwelcome beneath his ribs. This wasn’t about food. It was about intention. The thought made his chest tighten, anxiety blooming sharp and unwelcome beneath his ribs.

The car slowed as he turned into her apartment complex, the engine’s hum dropping into a low idle as he parked in front of the building. For a moment, he stayed there, hands resting on the steering wheel, breath shallow and measured. He stared at the entrance like it might move closer if he looked away.

Kobi stood in the middle of her kitchen, her eyes darting from the pot of simmering broth to the dishes spread out across the dining room table. The aroma of savory meat, rich spices, and roasted vegetables filled the apartment, making her mouth water in anticipation. But she wasn’t hungry. Not yet. There was still too much to do. She nudged a spoon through the pot, tasted, adjusted without thinking. A pinch of salt. A little more time.

The spread she’d put together was… a lot. More food than she ever made for herself, more than she’d planned when the afternoon started. There were bowls of perfectly seasoned rice, thick slices of tender braised beef so tender they barely held together, a soup she’d been nursing for hours until it tasted right. The mix of vegetables were perfectly caramelized, a beautiful golden brown. Kobi frowned at the table for half a second. Maybe she went a little overboard. The kitchen was a disaster, onions abandoned on the cutting board, vegetable scraps scattered across the counter. She’d been moving nonstop, bouncing from dish to dish, the rhythm of cooking settling her nerves the way it always did. When her hands were busy, her head followed.

The dishes looked beautiful, almost too beautiful for her tiny apartment. The thought of Julien seeing it all—the food, the effort she’d put in—made something tight flicker in her chest. Was this too much? The thought barely had time to land before she shook it off. He needed to eat. Really eat. Not pick at something between shifts or force down a few bites because his body demanded it. She’d seen how thin he’d gotten, how carefully he rationed himself like food was another resource he wasn’t allowed to waste. If that meant going overboard, so be it.

Kobi stirred the pot again, more out of habit than necessity, and glanced at the clock. Almost time. He’d be here any minute. She adjusted the placement of a bowl, straightened a napkin, and wiped her hands once more, the apron leaving faint white streaks on her palms. The knock at the door cut through the apartment. Kobi’s heart jumped anyway. She froze for just a beat, spoon still in her hand, pulse loud in her ears. Kobi took in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed for the door—because whatever this was, she’d deal with it the same way she always did. Head-on.

Julien stood in the hallway in loose-fitting jeans, a lavender hoodie, and sneakers—a far cry from his usual restaurant uniform. For a split second, the sight of him like this knocked the air from her lungs. There was something undeniably different about him without the starch and structure, something younger, softer. More human. The exhaustion was still there if you knew how to look for it, but it didn’t sit as heavily on his face. The sharp lines had eased, just a little, and Kobi caught a glimpse of the guy underneath it all—the one she hadn’t seen in years.

They both seemed to realize at the same time that they were staring. Julien shifted his weight, fingers tightening briefly around the paper bag in his hand, his expression caught somewhere between resolve and second thoughts. He cleared his throat, glancing past her shoulder and then back again. “I, uh…” He lifted the bag slightly. “I brought a bottle of wine. I figured I couldn’t show up empty-handed.” His voice was quieter than usual, the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks. For a moment, Kobi forgot how to respond. She wasn’t sure if it was his awkwardness or the unexpected gesture that had thrown her off balance.

“Wine, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at the bottle. Expensive. Of course it was. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” Julien huffed out a soft breath, clearly unsure if he was being teased or judged. “I panicked,” he admitted, shoulders lifting in a small, helpless shrug. “This seemed… safer.” That did it. Kobi snorted quietly and reached out, catching his sleeve to tug him inside before he could overthink himself right back into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a second, the air between them felt too thick—charged in a way that hadn’t been there before.

Kobi gestured toward the dining room table. Julien followed her gaze—and stopped. His eyes widened as he took in the spread, the sheer amount of food laid out in her tiny apartment. He didn’t move at first, like he wasn’t entirely convinced it was real. “Is… Is this all for me?” He glanced back at her, incredulous. “Of course not,” Kobi said immediately, deadpan. “I was planning to eat it all by myself.” She paused, then rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s for you, stupid.” Something in Julien’s posture eased at that, just a fraction. His mouth curved into a smirk, but his eyes gave him away, warm with something that looked a lot like gratitude. “Well,” he said, setting the bottle carefully on the counter, “I’m glad you didn’t set the bar too high.”

Kobi grinned, already turning toward the table. She gestured at the spread. “Sit. And don’t lie to me—I know you’re hungry.” Julien chuckled under his breath, the sound quieter now, more real. His gaze lingered on the food for a moment longer before he finally stepped forward, slipping out of his shoes like he’d done this a hundred times before. The dishes were vibrant and fragrant, filling the small apartment with the kind of warmth seeped inside of him. Platters of roasted meat glistened under the soft kitchen light, fluffy rice steamed beside them, and about a dozen side dishes added pops of color to the table. It was a feast, plain and simple—far more food than he could remember sitting in front of at once.

His stomach twisted sharply, a low, insistent growl vibrating through him before he could stop it. Julien stiffened, jaw tightening as if that might quiet it. He sank down in his chair, crossing his arms loosely over his belly, eyes flicking away from the table. “You planning on joining me at the table?” He muttered, “or is watching me part of the experience?” Kobi snorted, popping the cork free from the bottle and pouring wine into two glasses. “Tsk. No patience” She brought the glasses over, setting one in front of him before finally taking the seat across the table. Only then did Julien uncross his arms, his fingers flexing briefly against the tabletop.

He waited a beat longer than necessary, eyes flicking to her face like he was checking for permission before finally reaching for his fork. The first bite was careful. Measured. Polite in the way only someone very aware of being watched could manage. Then he took another. And another. His bites grew slightly larger, his pauses shorter. The tension in his limbs dulled as the warmth settled in, spreading outward from his empty stomach. He didn’t rush, but there was an unmistakable eagerness now, a rhythm to the way his fork kept returning to his plate.

Across from him, Kobi ate more slowly, her attention drifting back to him again and again. The way his posture softened. The way he stopped pretending not to notice the food. The way color began to bloom in his skin like his body had come alive for the first time. She took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. If she hadn’t already known how hungry he must’ve been, this was confirmation enough.

“So?” she prompted. Julien hummed noncommittally, still chewing. “So what?” Kobi rolled her eyes. “Don’t ‘so what’ me. The food, idiot.” Julien finally met her gaze, fork still poised over his plate. His expression was unreadable for a second before a smirk tugged at his mouth. “Not bad.” Kobi snorted. “Not bad?” Julien shrugged, his smirk widening as he picked up another bite. “Alright, it’s great. My compliments to the chef.” She clicked her tongue, but she couldn’t stop the small grin pulling at her lips.

Julien chewed for a moment, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. He swallowed, then added more seriously, “You should go into fine dining.” Kobi barked out a laugh. “Absolutely not. Are you insane?” He raised an eyebrow. “What? You’d do well.” She shook her head, stabbing at a piece of meat. “After seeing the way fine dining treats you, I take that as an insult.” Julien shrugged. “It’s not all bad.” Kobi shot him a flat look. “You literally ran out of there crying.” Julien flinched, shoulders tensing. He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple before topping off his glass. “Okay, that was…” he paused. “That was just a bad night.” Kobi hummed, unimpressed. “Yeah, and I don’t do bad nights.” She popped a roasted brussel sprout into her mouth, chewing pointedly before adding, “I like my job. I like my customers, and I don't like being told what to do.”

Julien exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. “I keep forgetting how stubborn you are.” Kobi smirked. “And yet you keep expecting me to change.” He shook his head, but there was something softer in his gaze now, something thoughtful as he watched her. He lifted his glass, taking a slow sip before muttering, “Still think you’d kill it.” Kobi scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she just reached for her own glass and filled it straight up to the brim.

The first plate had gone down easily Julien hardly trusted it at all. He felt the heat of the hearty meal bloom in his stomach, filling the hollow ache that had lived there for weeks, chasing it back inch by inch. It was grounding, heavy in the best way, like being reminded his body still worked. He forced himself to slow after that. Smaller bites. Longer pauses between them. He let his fork rest against the edge of his plate while he swallowed, breathing carefully through his nose the way he’d learned to do when things started to feel like too much.

But by the time the second plate dwindled and the warmth in his stomach edged closer to fullness, the feeling inside became harder to ignore. The pressure wasn’t painful yet, just insistent, a reminder that he was crossing a line he usually stopped well before. He shifted in his chair, adjusting the way he sat, and set his fork down again. That was when Kobi leaned forward and reached across the table without asking, dumping another generous helping of vegetables onto his plate. “You’re slowing down.”

Julien blinked at the plate, then up at her. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “I’m getting kinda full.” Kobi raised an eyebrow. “Full?” He shrugged, like if he didn’t put too much weight behind the word it wouldn’t mean anything. She snorted softly. “Please. You’ll be starving again by the end of the week. You're like... pocket sized. Might as well keep going.” The pressure in his stomach answered first—a quiet, uncomfortable gurgle as the food settled. Julien huffed and nudged his plate an inch away, more instinct than decision. “I don’t need to keep going.” Kobi didn’t miss a beat. “And I didn’t make all this to go to waste. Eat. You deserve it."

There was no sharpness in her voice, no challenge. Just a statement, simple and maddeningly calm. Julien sighed, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the table as he glanced back down at his plate. His stomach was full enough that he could feel every breath press against it, sensitive against the lavender fabric of his hoodie. “It’s not about wasting food,” he muttered. “I just—” He trailed off, then shook his head. “I don’t wanna feel like shit later.” Kobi tilted her head, studying him. She didn’t push the plate closer this time. Didn’t tease him. “Then don’t eat fast,” she said. “Take your time. You don’t have to clean it.”

Julien hesitated, then let out a quiet, humorless breath. He glanced at his rounded stomach, hand resting briefly against it, feeling the solid, comforting warmth there. With a reluctant shake of his head, he picked his fork back up. “You’re gonna regret this when I throw up all over your nice tablecloth,” he said, mostly to steel himself. Kobi smirked, finally lifting her glass again. “Bring it on.” He took another bite—slower this time, deliberate. The food settled heavier than before, his stomach stretching around it, full and undeniably present. Uncomfortable, maybe. But not dangerous. Not yet. He could do this.

As the night rolled on and the plates of food dwindled to scraps and sauce-smudged porcelain, Kobi leaned back in her chair with a dramatic huff, setting her fork down in defeat. Across from her, Julien was much less obvious about it, delicately wiping his mouth with his napkin. But Kobi wasn’t fooled. She saw the slight shift in his posture, the way his hand hovered near his stomach as if debating whether to rub at the discomfort there. She hesitated for a moment before clearing her throat. “So, uh…” She rocked her chair forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I also made dessert.” Julien let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “There’s no way I have room for it.” His stomach felt full in a way he's never felt before—heavy, rounded, the kind of fullness that made every movement feel sluggish. He pressed his lips together, riding out a slow shift of pressure as the food settled lower.

Kobi shrugged, leaning her cheek against her palm. “I dunno. I heard somewhere that sugar helps expand your stomach or something.” Julien finally looked up at her, brows knitting together. “Is that true?” She tilted her head, feigning deep thought. “Beats me. I’m not a biologist.” Julien rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He leaned back, letting his eyes slip closed for just a moment. His stomach, now fully aware that it had been fed, seemed to grow heavier by the second. Guilt crept in quietly. He hadn’t meant to eat that much. Hadn’t planned to let himself go back for seconds. Or thirds. He swallowed, glancing at the near-empty serving dishes, embarrassment prickling faintly under his skin.

The sound of the fridge opening made him tense instantly.

Julien’s eyes snapped up as he watched Kobi pull out a small porcelain bowl, her expression satisfied as she reached for two spoons. “Make a little more room.” Julien’s stomach gave a pathetic rumble in protest, and he shifted in his seat. “Kobi, I—” “Nope.” She turned, setting the bowl down with a quiet clink. “I’m not listening to whatever excuse you’re about to make.” Julien exhaled through his nose, gaze fixed on the bowl as she lifted the lid.

Golden broth steamed gently in the air, sweet and fragrant, soft, round dumplings floating just beneath the surface. He froze. Tangyuan. For a long moment, he forgot about the heavy pressure in his stomach. The scent alone curled into his chest, warm ginger and sugar pulling memories up with it—sticky fingers, crowded kitchens, his mother’s voice telling him to eat slowly.

Kobi shifted beside him, suddenly less confident. “You mentioned once that your mom made these for you when you were a kid, so…” She shrugged, like this was nothing, like she hadn’t just cracked something open inside him. “Figured I’d give it a shot.” Julien stared at the bowl, throat tight. His chest felt full in a completely different way now, emotion pressing where food already sat heavy. “Kobi,” he said quietly, hand returning to his belly. “I don’t know. My stomach—” She gave him a look. “It’s just soup and a few rice balls, Jules. You’re telling me you can’t make room for that?”

Julien hesitated. This wasn’t just hunger anymore. This was want—sharp and inconvenient and dangerous. The guilt flared again, louder this time, telling him he’d already gone too far, that indulgence always came with consequences. But underneath it, there was something else. A simple, aching desire to say yes. To let himself have this. Just once. Kobi didn’t rush him. She didn’t push the spoon into his hand. She just watched, hopeful, patient.

“…Fine,” Julien said finally, breath leaving him in a slow exhale. He shifted his hand away from his overfilled stomach as she slid a spoon toward him. “But only a little.” Her smirk was immediate. “That’s more like it.”

He ate slowly, much slower than before. Each bite slid down warm and sweet, settling on top of an already overfull stomach until the pressure bordered on painful. He paused between spoonfuls, breathing carefully, but he didn’t stop. By the time he and Kobi scraped the last dumpling from the bowl, the blue flowers painted at the bottom of the porcelain were visible. Julien leaned back with a quiet groan he hadn’t quite meant to let out, one hand automatically returning to his stomach, now undeniably distended and heavy. Kobi stretched beside him, arms lifted over her head as the food settled in her own belly “You look like you’re about to pop.” Julien shot her a flat look. “Thanks. Very helpful.”

Before he could complain any more, Kobi reached over and took his hands in hers, pulling him gently to his feet. Julien let her lead him toward the couch, wincing as the movement sloshed everything inside him. He let out a breath as he sank down onto the cushions, both hands finally settling over the firm, rounded swell under his hoodie. He pressed lightly, trying to ease the pressure, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

Kobi slid in next to him, tucking her legs up as she turned toward him. “You really don’t know how to pace yourself, huh?” Julien scoffed. “I wasn’t given much of a choice.” She shrugged, strawberry blonde locks falling in her eyes as her bun loosened. “You could’ve stopped.” He gave her a tired, knowing look. “Could I?” Kobi huffed, but a smile tugged at her lips. She let him sit like that for a moment, watching the way his brows furrowed as he tried to ease the strain in his stomach. Then, after a beat, she shifted closer.

Gently, carefully, she reached out, resting a palm against the firm swell of his stomach. Julien tensed. “What—what are you doing?” His voice cracked slightly. He wasn’t used to being touched like this. Her palm moved in slow, careful circles over his bulging stomach, pressing just enough to soothe the discomfort but not enough to make it worse. His skin burned beneath his hoodie, warmth pooling in his face just as much as in his stomach.

Kobi only hummed. “Relax. It’s kinda my fault you’re like this.” She pressed gently, testing, rubbing one slow circle over the taut curve. The fabric was warm from his body heat. He sucked in a breath, hands twitching but not pushing her away. Then, before she could think better of it, she hooked her fingers under the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up just enough to press her palms against his bare skin.

Julien flinched, one hand flying to cover himself half-heartedly. “Kobi—! Ah!” Her hands were warm as she resumed those slow, steady circles. His stomach was more muscular than she expected, the skin warm beneath her fingertips, but still taut from how much he had eaten. Julien sucked in a sharp breath, hands twitching slightly where they rested at his sides.

Kobi felt the way his stomach gurgled faintly beneath her palms. “Don't worry. I’m not gonna bite. Unless you keep complaining.” She didn’t stop, though. And Julien—despite the initial flustered tension in his shoulders—didn’t ask her to. Instead, after a moment, he exhaled slowly, letting himself sink into her touch, into the warmth of it. Julien swallowed, his eyelids growing heavy as the warmth of her touch, the rhythm of her movements. Kobi shifted, adjusting her position as she continued to rub deep, slow circles into Julien’s stomach.

And then—without thinking too hard about it—she moved to straddle his lap.

Julien stiffened, his voice caught in his throat. Her touch, once just comforting, suddenly felt intimate in a way that made heat shoot up his spine. His breath hitched as her fingers pressed deeper into his stomach, working out the tension, and—God help him—it felt good. Kobi, seemingly unaffected, only murmured, “This’ll help more,” as she leaned in, bringing their faces closer. Julien swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure where to go—if he should hold onto her hips, if that would be too much, if it was already too much.

But the slow, methodical movement of her hands, the way her thumbs pressed just right, had his eyelids growing heavy, his body sinking into hers. And then—the tension changed. It wasn’t just about his overfilled stomach anymore. Their faces were close now. So close he could see the flecks of brown and green in her eyes, the way her breath hitched just like his. The air shifted, something unspoken passing between them, something undeniable.

Kobi hesitated, her lips parting slightly. Julien’s gaze flickered downward—brief, fleeting. They both leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative. But then—deeper. Julien’s hands finally settled on her waist, pulling her closer as the ache in his belly momentarily faded under a rush of heat

When they finally pulled apart, Julien exhaled shakily, his chocolate brown eyes still half-lidded as he took her in. He smirked. “…Damn… if I’d known stuffing myself stupid was the way to get you to kiss me, I would’ve cleaned my plate years ago.” Kobi blinked, heat burning across her face. Scowling, she sank her fingers into his belly. Julien yelped, his hands drawing up to meet hers. “That’s what you get, stupid,” she muttered, cheeks still flaming. He groaned, glaring weakly at her. “That was uncalled for—” But neither of them pulled away.

Ahhh this is a long one! I've had this idea cooking for a while so forgive me for indulging. This is a hungerfic about two of my other OC's, Julien Lee and Kobi Theres. They both attended the same culinary school and that's where their rivalry began, but those feelings are soon pushed aside when Julien begins to overwork himself. Contains hunger that is eventually satiated, stomach rumbling, and food as comfort. Let me know if you'd like to see part 2 where we stuff Julien to his limits :))

Kobi wiped her hands on the front of her apron and glanced up at the clock on the wall. The ice cream parlor had just closed, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only noise in the otherwise quiet space. The sweet scent of vanilla and caramel still hung in the air as she began to pull her jacket over her uniform. It wasn’t a glamorous job by any means, but Kobi didn’t mind. At least she was on her own terms. The other job offers after culinary school had all felt like a trap—a stepping stone to something that wasn’t hers, something that wasn’t her dream. She shoved her hands into her pockets as she stepped outside into the crisp evening air.

The bright lights of Le Ciel, the fine dining restaurant, gleamed across the street, catching her attention like a moth to a flame. Through the large windows, she could see the bustle of service—silver trays in hand, waiters weaving expertly between tables, the quiet elegance of it all. But then her eyes found him.

Julien Lee.

She remembered the way Julien used to walk into every room with the confidence of someone who knew they were always going to get the top grade. The way he always had the best knives, the finest ingredients. The best of everything. Meanwhile, Kobi had scrimped and saved just to get by, working part-time jobs and never feeling like she could catch up. She’d spent hours laboring over dishes that he would finish in half the time, his pristine work barely breaking a sweat while she wrestled with the pressure. He had it all, she thought, the bitterness creeping up in her chest again. The day they graduated from culinary school, they promised they’d never speak to each other again. Kobi’s luck, however, ensured she ended up working just across the street from him.

But as she continued to watch him, something past her resentment made her furrow her brows. Julien looked much different. He wasn’t the confident, untouchable figure from school. His movements had lost their precision; his face was too pale, and there was something about the way his shirt clung to his frame that made him look even thinner than before. Her arms crossed instinctively as she leaned against the bus stop sign.

Kobi’s silvery eyes rolled as a smug smirk tugged at her lips. It served him right. After all, this was the guy who always thought of her as an underachiever. Who always got what he wanted. He deserved to know how the struggle felt. “Sucks, doesn’t it, Lee?” She muttered under her breath into the chill air. But as the minutes passed, and as she saw how ragged he looked, something about the way he hunched over the counter, wiping his brow, felt wrong.

He moved frantically, dashing from one end of the restaurant to the other, adjusting silverware, delivering dishes, coordinating with the kitchen. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled, his dress shirt too loose over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up in a half-hearted attempt at efficiency. The stress that flashed through his eyes sent a pang of pity through Kobi’s chest, much to her annoyance. “It’s not your business.” She mumbled. Yet, she couldn’t pull herself away.

She let out a huff and pushed off from the bus stop sign. It wasn’t her business, but something told her she couldn’t stand by and watch him crumble without at least saying something. She marched across the street, ignoring the discomfort that crept up on her at the thought of facing him. Just a few words, nothing more.

Stepping into the restaurant, she felt all the familiar weight of the place, the high-end decor, the clink of fine china. She wasn’t supposed to be here—wasn’t supposed to be this close to the world Julien had created. She was just a speck in it. Kobi waited by the entrance, watching him scurry across the room. Then, finally, he looked up, and their eyes met. Julien’s face went stiff, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t have time for her now.

His eyes darted around the room before quickly making his way towards the girl standing in the middle of his dining room. “Do you need something?” he said, voice cold, clipped, chocolate brown eyes scanning her as if trying to figure out what she was doing here. Kobi smirked, though it felt hollow. “I was just passing by. I noticed you’re not lookin’ so hot.” She tilted her head with a teasing grin. “Not that you looked any better before.”

Julien’s jaw clenched. The briefest flicker of frustration crossed his face. “Go away, Kobi. I don’t have time for your crap.” She caught the words and took a small step forward, her smirk faltering slightly as she looked him over again. There was something about him that felt different. More fragile than she remembered. His hair was too messy, his eyes sunken. But instead of pushing those feelings away, she pressed on.

“Are you getting enough to eat?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it, and for a moment, they both stood there in silence.

Julien blinked, taken aback by the question. His lips parted, but the words got caught in his throat before coming out. “What kind of question is that?” he finally scoffed, though the sharpness in his voice didn’t match the exhaustion in his eyes. “I work at a restaurant. I’m literally surrounded by food.” Kobi didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his sides, nor the slight hesitation in his tone. He was offended. And yet, she could see something else beneath it—something raw.

“Yeah?” she challenged, arms crossing over her chest. “Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?” Julien bristled. His mouth opened, but before he could fire back a retort, the low, painful sound of his stomach rumbling filled the space between them. Kobi almost thought she imagined it. But the way Julien stiffened, his entire frame going rigid, told her she hadn’t.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kobi raised an eyebrow. Julien’s face burned. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he turned his head away sharply, jaw tight. “Tch. It’s just—” “Oh, this is rich.” Kobi smirked, tilting her head. “Julien Lee, starving in a restaurant? You see the irony, right?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, too quickly, too defensive. But Kobi wasn’t buying it. She had spent too much time competing with him, too much time watching him, to not notice when something was wrong. “You’re running yourself into the ground,” she muttered, her voice lower now, not teasing anymore. “Are you even—”

“Excuse me, madame?”

A voice cut through the air, and Kobi turned to see one of the waiters eyeing her with mild confusion. The man, a polished and poised server with a neatly pressed vest, flicked a glance between her and Julien. “Is there a problem?” Julien straightened immediately, as if shaking off whatever vulnerability had slipped through. His lips pressed into a tight line before he turned to the waiter. “No,” he said coolly. “She was just leaving.” Kobi scoffed. “Oh, come on—” Then, just as subtly as ever, Julien shifted his foot—just enough to nudge her ankle. It wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to send a very clear message: Drop it. Kobi shot him a glare, but the waiter was already waiting for her to move along. Julien didn’t look at her again. With a sharp exhale, Kobi rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She spun on her heel, throwing a pointed look over her shoulder as she walked away.

But as she stepped out of Le Ciel and back onto the quiet street, her smirk had faded completely. She knew what she saw. She knew what she heard. And whether Julien liked it or not, she wasn’t going to let this go.

Another day, another close.

Kobi wiped down the counter of the ice cream parlor one last time before tossing the rag into the sink. The shop was already dark, the lights dimmed save for the neon sign flickering outside. It cast a soft glow onto the sidewalk as she locked up, stuffing her keys into her pocket. The night air bit at her cheeks as she made her way to the bus stop, but for once, the relaxing ride home wasn’t the first thing on her mind. It was Julien.

Kobi scowled to herself, arms crossing over her chest. She hated that he was taking up so much space in her thoughts. It made no sense. She didn’t care about Julien Lee. He was an arrogant, insufferable workaholic who had spent all of culinary school one-upping her at every turn. Yet she couldn’t shake the sharp cut of his cheekbones that hadn’t been there before, or the way his stomach had betrayed him with that awful, hungry growl. It nagged at her—biting, insistent.

With a huff, Kobi reached the bus stop, but she didn’t sit. Instead, her gaze drifted across the street to Le Ciel, the restaurant’s pristine glass windows revealing the usual flurry of movement inside. But before she could spot Julien—

Bang!

The glass doors of Le Ciel swung open violently, crashing against the frame as a figure burst through them. Kobi’s breath hitched. Julien.

He staggered forward, his steps unsteady, his chest heaving. His hair was a mess—strands sticking to his forehead with sweat—and his normally pristine uniform looked disheveled, the sleeves rolled up unevenly. Then, without warning, his knees buckled.

“Shit,” Kobi whispered, already moving before she even realized it. The Maître d' rushed out after him, his polished demeanor cracking just slightly as he hovered over Julien’s collapsed form. “Lee!” The older man’s voice was clipped, impatient, but there was a sliver of concern beneath it. “Are you alright?” Julien pressed a trembling hand against his temple, trying—and failing—to push himself upright. “I’m fine,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarse, barely above a breath. The Maître d’ didn’t look convinced. “Should we call an ambulance?” Julien’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp with something close to desperation. “No. I don’t— I just need to… Stay here for a moment.”

Kobi felt something twist in her chest.

The Maître d’ exhaled through his nose, clearly weighing the situation. But after a beat, his shoulders relaxed, and the concern in his gaze dulled—like Julien’s insistence was enough to settle the matter. “Well then,” he said, straightening his sleeves, “catch your breath, but I expect you back inside in ten minutes. Understood?”

Kobi froze. Seriously? Julien didn’t even have the strength to stand, and this guy was still expecting him to work? Julien, for his part, said nothing. He only gave a small, tight nod, his fingers curling into the pavement beneath him. The Maître d’ took that as confirmation, brushing nonexistent dust off his cuffs before turning on his heel and heading back inside. The glass doors shut behind him, the restaurant returning to its usual elegance, as if nothing had happened at all.

But something had happened.

Kobi didn’t rush. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she knew Julien would bolt if she came at him too fast, or maybe it was because she still wasn’t sure why she was doing this in the first place. Either way, she took slow, deliberate steps toward him. Julien was still on the ground, one knee bent, his palm braced against the pavement as he tried to steady himself. When he caught movement in his periphery, his head snapped up. His shoulders went rigid. Kobi stopped a few feet away. She wasn’t close enough to crowd him, but she wasn’t far enough to ignore, either. For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—something raw, unguarded—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His features smoothed over, his usual mask slipping back into place, though there was a crack in it now. A fracture.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, voice quiet but sharp. Kobi almost rolled her eyes. Typical. Even now, when he was at his absolute lowest, he still had his pride. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let out a slow breath before lowering herself down beside him, stretching her legs out like she had all the time in the world. Julien’s gaze snapped to her, eyes narrowing. Kobi didn’t look at him. She just stared straight ahead, arms draped over her knees. “I don’t pity you,” she said simply. “But I do know when something’s seriously wrong.”

Silence stretched between them. Julien’s jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. His hands curled into his pant legs, as if trying to physically hold himself together. Then, before he could come up with another excuse—

Grgggllrrrrk.

The sound that tore from Julien’s stomach was long, raw, and absolutely miserable. Kobi blinked. Julien stiffened, his entire body going taut. His hands clamped over his abdomen like that would somehow take back what had just happened, but there was no hiding it—not from Kobi, and certainly not from himself. His face burned. “…Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible. Kobi arched her brow. “You talkin’ to me or your belly?” Julien groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “For the love of—”

Another deep, pained rumble rolled through his gut, cutting him off. He clenched his teeth as his stomach twisted, curling in on himself slightly as tears pricked his eyes. Kobi didn’t smirk. Didn’t taunt. Didn’t take the easy win. Because for the first time, she wasn’t thinking about the guy who had beaten her at everything back in school. She wasn’t thinking about the smug, arrogant, privileged chef who had looked down on her. She was looking at Julien—the person. The man who was clearly in need of help, too exhausted to even eat. And something inside her softened.

“How long?” she asked. Julien blinked up at her. “What?” She didn’t waver. “How long has it been since you’ve had a real meal?” His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked away, his grip tightening on his slacks. Another slow, hollow growl gurgled from his stomach, dragging out into the night air. Finally, in a voice so quiet it nearly got lost to the wind, he admitted: “A few days.”

Kobi exhaled through her nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Julien let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. “I wish I was.” He leaned his head back against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes. “I get home, and I’m too damn exhausted to cook anything. So I just… sleep.” His stomach clenched again, the sharp pang pulling a small wince from his lips. Kobi saw it—saw the slight twitch in his brows, the way his fingers dug into his knee.

She sighed, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair. “…Alright,” she muttered, pushing herself up. “C’mon.” Julien cracked an eye open, wary. “What?” She rolled her eyes. “You need food, dumbass,” she said, extending a hand.

Julien didn’t move right away. He glanced at her outstretched hand, then back at the restaurant. The golden glow of Le Ciel’s grand entrance spilled onto the pavement, its pristine glass doors shut tight, but inside, Kobi could see the movement of staff weaving between tables, the ever-rotating dance of fine dining. Julien exhaled sharply through his nose. “I need to be back in a few minutes.” Kobi snorted. “No, you think you need to be back.” He shot her a look, but she crossed her arms, unimpressed.

“Come on, Julien,” she said, tilting her head toward the restaurant. “With your degree, your qualifications, your reputation—do you really think they’d fire you over one meal?” He hesitated. She could see the war waging in his mind—the deeply ingrained fear of failure, of being seen as anything less than perfect. But then—

Grgghhhrrkk.

Julien flinched as another slow, dragging groan rolled through his stomach, louder than the last. Kobi grimaced at the sound. His ears burned red. “…Shut up,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her. Kobi sighed, shaking her head. “That thing’s practically begging you to eat, dude.” She extended her hand again. Julien let out a quiet, defeated breath. His shoulders sagged slightly, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached up. His fingers curled around hers, his grip weak but warm. Kobi steadied him as he shakily rose to his feet, his body sluggish, stiff from exhaustion and the deep hunger that curled within him. He wobbled slightly, and her grip instinctively tightened. “…Fine,” he muttered, voice low. “Where are we going?” Kobi smirked. “I know a good place.” She gave his hand a small tug, and this time Julien followed.

Kobi led Julien down the street, her pace slower than usual to match his sluggish steps. The crisp night air carried the distant hum of the city—passing cars, muffled voices, the occasional flicker of laughter from a late-night wanderer. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, their glow casting long shadows on the pavement. Beside her, Julien walked in silence, shoulders slightly hunched.

Kobi’s eyes flicked toward him. His stomach had been growling non-stop since they started walking, each protest more insistent than the last. He kept his gaze forward, jaw clenched, but she didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward his midsection before balling into a fist. Kobi hesitated. For a brief, fleeting second, she considered reaching out—placing a hand over his stomach, a quiet attempt to soothe the ache. But she quickly stomped down the thought. She was just making sure he didn’t keel over from sheer stubbornness—that was all. She wasn’t here to coddle him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and picked up the pace.

A few minutes later, they arrived. Kobi’s favorite 24-hour diner, just as dingy and reliable as she remembered. The warm glow of neon signage flickered above the entrance, casting a soft pink hue onto the sidewalk. Through the glass windows, Kobi could see red vinyl booths, a long counter lined with spinning stools, and a few scattered night owls nursing mugs of coffee. A bell chimed as she pushed open the door, stepping into the inviting scent of butter, bacon, and maple syrup. Behind her, Julien froze. The smell of food hit him like a freight train. His stomach let out the loudest growl yet—an aching, hollow sound that made him recoil slightly as it rippled through him. Kobi glanced over her shoulder, watching as he stiffened, his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

She smirked. “Guess your stomach likes the place.” Julien groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Kill me.” Kobi chuckled. “Eat first. Then I’ll consider it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside.

They slid into a booth near the window, the red vinyl cool against Kobi’s arms as she leaned forward. Across from her, Julien settled in stiffly, his fingers absently tugging at the cuffs of his dress shirt, as if trying to compose himself. A middle-aged waitress with a warm smile approached, flipping open her notepad. “What can I get for you two tonight?” Kobi stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milkshake.” The waitress jotted it down with a nod before turning to Julien. “And for you, sweetheart?” Julien hesitated. His eyes flicked to the menu, scanning it as if searching for the smallest, least intrusive option. “…Just a—” He cleared his throat. “Just a side of toast.”

Before Kobi could say anything—

Grrrrrrrggggghh.

Julien shut his eyes, exhaling slowly as his stomach let out another deep, drawn-out groan.

The waitress raised a brow, biting back a smile. Kobi didn’t even try to hold in her laughter. Julien slumped, dragging a hand over his face. “…Sorry.” Kobi grinned, nudging his menu toward him. “Don’t be modest, chef. You’re not impressing anyone.” The waitress chuckled. “She’s right, hon. You sound like you need more than toast.” Julien sighed, clearly reluctant to let himself indulge. Kobi rolled her eyes and plucked the menu from his fingers. “He’ll take a double stack of pancakes with extra butter, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon.” The waitress hummed approvingly as she scribbled down the order. “That’s more like it.”

Julien shot Kobi a look. “I didn’t agree to all that.” She smirked. “Your stomach did.” Julien groaned, slumping against the booth as Kobi grinned in triumph. The waitress chuckled, flipping her notepad closed. “I’ll have that out in a jiffy.” As she walked away, Kobi rested her chin in her hand, watching Julien with an air of amusement. “You’re so bad at taking care of yourself, Lee.” Julien sighed, shaking his head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

The diner hummed with late-night chatter, the clinking of silverware against plates filling the comfortable silence between them. Kobi tapped her fingers against the tabletop, debating whether she should let the quiet linger or dig a little deeper. Against her better judgment, she chose the latter. “So.” She leaned forward slightly, watching him. “Why are you running yourself into the ground? Neglecting your poor belly like it’s some kind of inconvenience?” Julien exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the booth. “It’s just… expected of me.” Kobi raised a brow. “To starve?” Julien quickly shook his head. “To work myself to the bone.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on them. “My family has high expectations. They invested a lot in me. It’s my job to meet them.”

Kobi studied him. His exhaustion was so deep, the kind that seeped into a person and made a home there. This wasn’t the Julien she knew from culinary school—the arrogant, well-fed prodigy who seemed to have everything handed to him. No, this was someone else entirely. The person underneath what his family wanted him to be. A pang of something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. Pity? Sympathy? She shoved it down before she could give it a name. Julien’s stomach let out another miserable groan, louder and longer this time. He shut his eyes, as if that would somehow block out his body’s very clear demand. Kobi sighed, shaking her head. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Julien let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I know.” His voice was quieter now. More unsure. “I just… I don’t know what to do about it.” Kobi watched him for a moment before leaning back against the booth. “Well, for starters, you can stop acting like you’re above basic human needs.” Julien shot her a dry look, but before he could retort, the waitress arrived, balancing two plates stacked high with food.

The waitress set the plates down with an easy smile. “There you go, hon. Get some food in that belly, yeah?” Julien lowered his gaze, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was clear. Kobi didn’t comment on it. Instead, she picked up her burger and started eating, figuring it would make him feel less like she was watching his every move. From the corner of her eye, she saw him hesitantly take his fork, twirling it between his fingers before spearing a small bite of food. Slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure if his stomach would accept it. The first bite went down fine. Then another. His chewing was methodical, almost reluctant, as if some part of him still thought he didn’t deserve this.

But then something shifted.

The moment the warmth of the food settled in his stomach, his body seemed to realize just how deprived it was. His hunger fully awoke, clawing at him from the inside, and before he could stop himself, he was eating faster, each bite filling a void that had been gnawing at him for days. Kobi glanced up briefly, watching as his careful restraint crumbled under the sheer force of his need. He wasn’t just eating—he was devouring, as if he were afraid the food might disappear if he didn’t finish it fast enough. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tease or make some smart remark. She just let him eat.

Julien set his fork down with a quiet clink, his plate wiped completely clean. For the first time in what felt like days, his stomach wasn’t hollow and aching. Instead, it was pleasantly full—maybe even too full. Kobi, still working on the last of her meal, glanced at his empty plate and let out a low whistle. “Damn, you really were starving.” Julien stiffened slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. He sat back in the booth, exhaling slowly as his overworked stomach settled heavily against his shirt. The comforting warmth of the meal was quickly giving way to a dull pressure, and he shifted in his seat, trying to discreetly ease the strain.

“I don’t usually eat food like this,” he admitted, rubbing his fingers along the seam of his cuff. “I think it… sat a little heavier than I expected.” Kobi leaned her chin against her palm, studying him. She could tell he was trying not to grimace, and that only confirmed her suspicion—his body wasn’t used to eating this way, not with how long he’d been depriving himself. Idiot. Still, she decided not to call him out on it. Not directly, at least. Julien reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills and setting them on the table, but before he could push them toward the check, Kobi reached over and snatched it up first. “I got it,” she said simply.

Julien frowned. “Kobi—” She gave him a look, daring him to argue. “You can get the next one.” His brow furrowed, processing the weight of that statement. The next one. For the first time since this night started, he allowed himself to believe—just for a second—that maybe this wasn’t the last time they’d share a meal.

As they stepped out of the diner, the night air hit them with a crisp chill, a stark contrast to the warmth of the meal settling in Julien’s stomach. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before instinctively glancing down the street. The glowing sign of Le Ciel flickered in the distance, the restaurant still alive with movement. “They’re gonna be pissed,” he muttered, more to himself than to Kobi. She barely spared the restaurant a glance, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “They’ll be groveling at your feet by morning,” she said with a dismissive snort. Julien huffed but didn’t argue. As much as he wanted to dispute it, the truth was… she wasn’t wrong.

They fell into step beside each other, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between them. Julien still couldn’t quite understand how they got here, how they went from barely tolerating each other to this—whatever this was. Then Kobi spoke up again. “You should come over.” Julien turned his head sharply. “What?” She shrugged. “My place,” she clarified, her tone casual—too casual. “Figured you could use a proper night’s sleep.” His brows knitted together, suspicion creeping into his expression. “Why?” Kobi rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Because somebody has to nurse that stomach ache of yours. And, well…” She shrugged. “Thought maybe you could use some company.”

Hey all! This is a oneshot hungerfic about my OC's Ash and Juliana post-story events (a whole lot of stuff happens, they save their village, fight a bunch of monsters, etc.) Contains hunger that is eventually satiated, exhaustion, belly rubs after a meal, and overall Ash trying to do his best to prove himself to the village.

Frosthaven had always been a place of cold winters and warm hearts—at least for those who belonged. Smoke curled from chimneys, lanternlight glowed against the snow, and neighbors greeted one another by name in the narrow streets.

For years, Ash had walked those same streets as something apart. The half-vampire boy had arrived thin, exhausted, and half-starved at eleven years old, and though the village had taken him in, it had never quite welcomed him. Whispers followed in his wake. Doors closed a little sooner. Eyes lingered too long on the sharpness of his smile.

That changed after the Veil. After the night the Heart was sealed away and the shadow creatures were driven back into the dark beyond the world.

When Ash and Juliana returned, Frosthaven saw them differently. The villagers had watched the two of them stand against the darkness. They had seen Ash fight not as the monster they feared, but as a boy who had chosen their home as his own. And slowly, the frost between him and the village began to thaw. It was the working men who reached out first.

Mathis, once his loudest critic, had been the first to extend an invitation. The man had taken note of Ash’s enhanced strength, of the way he could lift things twice as heavy as the average villager without breaking a sweat. One morning, he clapped Ash on the shoulder and said, “If you’re going to stick around, might as well put that strength to good use.”

It started small—hauling lumber, carrying supplies—but soon, Ash was working alongside the men, helping repair homes, clearing snow-heavy roads, even lending a hand at the forge. The days were long, but for the first time, Ash felt like he had a place in Frosthaven. A purpose beyond mere survival.

But today, the village seemed to need him more than ever.

Ash wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath misting in the cold air. The midday sun hung low in the sky, doing little to chase away the winter chill, but he had been working hard enough to feel warmth beneath his layers. The morning had started simple enough—helping Mathis and the others reinforce the eastern palisade—but one task led to another.

“Hey, kid! Can you give me a hand with this?” “Ash, we could use you over here!” “Ash! Just one more thing, if you’ve got the time!”

He had the time. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

His body had adapted over the months, filling out from his once-scrawny frame, the hard labor sculpting lean muscle where there had once been only skin and bone. He didn’t mind the work. He liked the feeling of being needed. But now, as he finished stacking the last bundle of firewood near the town square, a deep, gnawing ache curled in his stomach. His hands stilled on the logs, breath coming slower as he pressed a hand against his abdomen to feel the low vibrations coming from it. He hadn’t eaten since early morning. That was hours ago. It was easy to ignore at first. The hunger always started as a whisper, something distant. But as the day wore on, it grew louder, clawing at him from the inside.

Both hungers.

The human one, the one that made his limbs feel weak, his head light. And the other—the hunger buried deeper, thrumming just beneath his skin. That one was easier to push down.

“Ash!”

He turned at the sound of his name, blinking past his haze of exhaustion. It was Thedric, an elderly man whose cottage was just past the village center. He was waving Ash over with a hopeful smile. “I hate to ask, lad, but do you think you could help patch up my roof? Last storm took a few shingles, and my back isn’t what it used to be.” Ash swallowed, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the heaviness settling there. He should stop. Should take a break, find something to fill his offending belly. But the words that left his mouth were automatic.

“Of course, I’ll take care of it.”

Thedric beamed. “Good man.”

Ash forced a small smile in return before heading toward the cottage.

His stomach let out another deep, aching growl.

He ignored it.

By the time the sky had shifted to dusky hues of orange and purple, Ash could barely stand. His fingers trembled as he secured the last shingle on Thedric’s roof. His legs felt heavier than they should, each movement sluggish. The hunger had settled into his bones now, a deep, dragging weight that made every task feel twice as difficult. He climbed down the ladder, exhaling heavily as his feet hit the ground. “Fine work, lad,” Thedric said, clapping him on the back. “Haven’t seen a roof patched up that quick in years.” Ash mustered a weary smile. “Glad I could help.”

Just then, his stomach let out a long, deep rumble.

Thedric raised a bushy eyebrow before chuckling. “Hah! Sounds like you’ve been working more than you’ve been eating.” Ash huffed a short laugh, rubbing a hand over the offending organ. “Something like that.”

“A boy your age, with all that strength? You need to eat like a bear before hibernation,” Thedric teased, shaking his head. “Tell me you’ve at least had a good meal today.” Ash hesitated. He could lie, but Thedric was looking at him expectantly. “I had something this morning,” he offered. Thedric snorted. “This morning? Lad, the sun's about to set.” Ash shrugged. He knew. He knew exactly how long it had been. He knew how hollow his stomach felt, how his limbs ached with something beyond exhaustion. But stopping—pausing, indulging—it had been so easy to push aside when the village needed him. Thedric gave him a pointed look before shaking his head with a chuckle. “Well, I won’t keep you from getting some food in that belly of yours. Go on now. You’ve earned a warm meal.” Ash nodded, offering a quick thanks before heading toward home.

The village had quieted, the usual hum of evening chatter filling the streets as families gathered inside for supper. He could smell it—roasted meats, fresh bread, thick stews. His stomach twisted painfully, but the thought of making something for himself felt exhausting.

He’d just sleep. Sleep would be easier.

His cottage came into view, and just outside the door stood Juliana. Arms crossed, eyes sharp, smirking like she had been waiting for him. “Well, well,” she drawled as he approached. “If it isn’t Frosthaven’s hardest worker. Thought you were gonna build an entirely new village before the sun even set.” Ash let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “Not quite.” The girl raised a brow. “Oh no? Because I saw you sprinting all over town today. Chopping wood, fixing roofs, clearing roads—I was half-convinced you’d start building a whole new house just for fun.” Ash rolled his eyes, stepping onto the porch. “Jules—”

Then, like a cruel betrayal, his stomach let out a deep, insistent growl. Ash wrapped his arms around himself, biting back a grimace as his face flushed pink.

The teasing faded from Juliana’s face. Her smirk softened into something else—concern, quiet and steady. She stepped closer, peering up at him, taking in the way he swayed slightly, the way his hands curled into loose fists as if trying to keep them from shaking. “Ash.” Her voice was softer now. “Have you eaten today?” He hesitated. She already knew the answer. “I’ll eat in the morning,” he muttered, brushing past her toward the door. “Just need sleep.” Juliana’s hand caught his wrist before he could disappear inside. “Ash, no.” He turned, frowning. “Jules, I’m fine.” She shook her head, her blonde braids swaying over her shoulders. “You’re not., you're starving.” There was no sharpness in her voice now, no teasing edge—only quiet certainty. She pulled him gently, guiding him inside, toward the small wooden table. “Sit.”

“Jules—”

“Sit.”

He exhaled slowly, too tired to argue, and sank into the chair. Juliana moved toward the hearth, setting a pot on the stove. Soon, the scent of broth and herbs filled the space. Ash watched her, head resting in his hand, exhaustion making his limbs feel heavy as he tried to ignore the incessant rumbling from his belly.

Minutes later, she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him and sat across from him, chin resting in her palm. “Eat.”

He hesitated.

“Ash.” Her voice was gentle. “Let me take care of you for once.”

His throat tightened slightly, but he picked up the spoon. The first bite sent warmth spreading through his body, easing the ache in his stomach almost instantly. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed this. Needed her. He ate fast, too fast—spooning mouthfuls of the thick, hearty broth past his lips, chewing through tender pieces of meat and root vegetables as if he were afraid it would disappear. The first few bites only made the hunger sharper, but soon, that hollow ache in his stomach began to fade.

And then, somewhere between his third and fourth serving, it returned—just not in the way he expected. Ash set down his spoon, exhaling sharply as he leaned back in his chair. His stomach, once painfully empty, was now full to the point of discomfort. A dull ache pressed beneath his ribs, and he shifted slightly, letting out a soft groan. Juliana, who had been quietly watching him, smirked. “Overdid it, huh?” Ash sighed, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “Maybe.” She shook her head, moving closer. “Scoot forward.” He blinked at her. “What?” She stood. “Just do it.”

Too tired to argue, Ash obeyed. Juliana stepped behind him, slipping her hands over his shoulders before trailing them down to his stomach, rubbing gentle, slow circles over the ache. Her touch was firm but soothing, her fingers warm even through the fabric of his shirt. Ash sighed, the tension easing from his body. “You didn’t have to—” “Yes, I did.” Her voice was softer now. “Ash, you don’t have to burn out just to prove something. You can put yourself first sometimes.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. The weight of the day, of everything, melted away.

For the first time in hours, he felt warm.

Felt safe.