winsteadlindgreen86

[wintersettled]

They could make 50 benoit blanc movies and i will enjoy each and every one of them infact i want them to make 50 movies

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[lottiies]

RESTORING NATURAL BEAUTY

ᡣ𐭩 Pure fluff!! Leon takes your makeup off for you

WC: 700+

NOTE: this is completely self indulgent because i do in fact love doing a full face of makeup it’s so fun (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) um lowkey think the tags are pretty dead right now but it’s okay idm

MASTERLIST

Putting makeup on is always fun, but laziness sets in whenever the time to wash it all off arrives. You wish you could cover your ears and sing ‘la la la, I can’t hear you’ to the knowledge that sleeping with a full face was in fact harmful to your skin. But you couldn’t. The world is becoming more and more advanced but they still haven’t been able to create products that you can sleep with? What a joke.

You’re cuddling with Leon, smushing yourself against his chest, your dolled up face threatening to smudge foundation and powder all over his shirt.

“I’m so tired, Leon. I wanna go to sleep.”

“And what’s stopping you?”

“This.” You say in a grumpy tone, lifting your face and looking up at him through your false lashes.

“Ah. Don’t pout, I’ll take it off for you.” He smiled fondly at you, holding you as he stood up from the bed. Leon was well aware you didn’t want to get up, so he easily scooped you into his strong arms, carrying you over to the bathroom and setting you down on the closed lid of the toilet. You didn’t even have to move an inch or ask him to do anything. What a man.

Leon hadn’t known much about makeup removal prior to dating you, but he was pretty much an expert now. Micellar water, cleanser, face wash, and then tons of kisses to your face was the solution. He was smart, a quick learner, he was sure he even knew how to apply your makeup just the way you liked it at this point just by observing you. His hands were steady, they had to be in order for him to have a good aim when the world was in peril…surely doing your makeup wouldn’t be too difficult, right?

He washed his hands thoroughly then pat them before going over to you, the scent of soap lingered on his skin.

“Close your eyes, princess.” Once you did, he carefully took your falsies off. He always felt a bit uneasy at this step, what if he hurt you or accidentally pulled your actual lashes off? He’d never hear the end of it.

He put some micellar water onto a cotton pad. One of his hands held onto your jaw oh so gently, making you tilt your head back a bit. He couldn’t resist, leaning down momentarily to steal a kiss from your pouty lips, you were always so sulky when you were tired. But his sweet gesture made you smile.

“There’s my girl, you’re so pretty when you smile.”

“So I’m not pretty when I’m not smiling?”

“You’re cute when you’re sulking and pretty when you smile.”

“What about when I’m mad?”

“Adorable. Like…” He tried to come up with an example. “When a kitten tries to scratch at you but it’s too cute to do any damage.”

Silence followed, you couldn’t make a comeback so you just changed the topic instead. Typical.

“Would you ever let me do your eyeliner?” You asked, relishing the way he tilted your face side to side to ensure he was running the cotton pad over all areas of your face.

“Mm…” He hummed in thought, purposely taking a long time to answer. “Yeah, I would. Why? You wanna make me look all pretty like you?”

“You’re already really pretty, silly. I’ve always told you that you’d totally rock the eyeliner look.”

He would. Eye makeup would look amazing on him. Or maybe having that cute cupid’s bow of his be more pronounced with some lip liner. You secretly hoped he would never ask you to put foundation on him though, maybe you were being a bit hypocritical but you internally couldn’t help it! Leon was crafted with so many dreamy details. You were blessed enough to have the chance to see them up close and adore them. The faint set of wrinkles between his brows from the stress of his job that made him furrow his eyebrows all the time, all the little acne scars and skin imperfections he held. You’d be devastated if he hid them all. But the most he has asked is for you to use concealer on his eye-bags.

“Maybe tomorrow then, if you’re up for it?”

“Okay! Um, I might mess up a bit though…my hand gets all shaky.”

“That’s what this micellar water is for, isn’t it?”

He rubbed off all your makeup, admiring all your natural features that shone through. Leon had always been attracted to your talent of applying makeup, having watched you switch styles and improve over time. He always liked sitting with you as you did your makeup, you always acted like you were doing some type of YouTube tutorial and he found it so fucking cute. Like, he would smooch you over and over if he wouldn’t be putting your routine into jeopardy. The surge of affection that rushed through him when he laid eyes on your bare face was indescribable.

Gorgeous. Cute. Pretty. Beautiful. All of the above, he wished there was a word that combined all of those into one.

[pascalswift]

BURNING DESIRE

STEPDAD!JOEL x F!READER

SUMMARY : after all Joel did marry your mother, but she was oblivious to the motive behind it. Not silly love, it’s was you. It was always you, His sweet little stepdaughter.

WARNINGS : age gap (reader is early 20’s Joel’s late 30’s), dark!joel, perv!joel, step-cest, oral (f receiving), boob play, pet names, fingering, overstimulation, daddy kink, manhandling, mutual pinning, established relationship, (This is Short, sorry my loves )

JOEL MILLER WASN’T A EVIL PERSON, NO. HE WAS JUST CALCULATED. A very smart man, seemingly very stoic but once you break past the multi layered concrete you’d find someone that you’d never want to leave. Maybe that’s what enthralled your mother to jump into marriage so quickly, she truly believed he was deeply in love with her and she was he. She believed that she just happened to meet a professor at your college whom was single and yearning for the domestic things in life, but she was so utterly wrong.

To Joel miller, well he had found an in. One that allowed him full access to you, free to stare, free to do whatever he imagined without having to worry about a college or a student noticing the way he seemed to linger on you. After all, it was no accident that day when he and your mom “crashed” into each other.

So here he was now, arms crossed over his chest, Dress shirt screaming at the push from his large arms. The older man staring sternly at you as you sat on your bed promptly ignoring him. “I told your mother we’d meet her there.” Joel persisted and you huffed rubbing the heel of your palm over your eyes.

Your mother wasn’t your favorite person, she was money hungry, and self absorbed. She tried to claim she loved you, even more attempting to smother you after your father desperates this life a few years ago but time after time her true colors would peer through the blinds. So sitting at a dinner with her and her husband wasn’t something you’d like, especially if your step fathers brother/business partner was gonna be there. Your mother seemed to love his company…

Joel wasn’t dull he knew his wife likes his brother. But he also knew his brother wasn’t like that.

“Why can’t I just stay here? Tommy’s gonna be there and he’s good company.” You shrugged and Joel’s jaw clenched as he dropped his arms. “But I want ya’ there sweetheart.” Your heart raced as he walked closer to you, doe eyes looking up at him as his rough hand gripped your jaw angling your face upwards. “You just want attention huh?” Joel cooed before he bent down pressing his lips against your plush ones.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You mumbled as Joel pulled away, his brows raising as he crouched in front of you. He tossed the sheet off your legs angling your legs to the side of the bed, Your knees level with his neck. He tilted his head placing his hands on your knees as you were only in a pair of white cotton shorts with a tiny pink flower in the front center right under your belly button, and a plain pink tank top. He eyed the way your nipples imprinted the fabric of your thin tank top.

“Y’know what I mean baby.” Joel stated, his voice a bit lower. “If ya didn’t you wouldn’t be reactin’ like you are.” His hand slid up grazing your clothes nipple and you sucked in a breath. “If I give you somethin’ you promise you’ll get dressed after?” He was smirking, because he knew how to make you comply. You demeanor had changed from refusing to go to nodding with vigor whilst looking at your step-father.

His large rough hands slid up your thighs leaving goosebumps in its wake as his hands reached your shorts. He stood up hands grasping your waist as you tossed you further up the bed, a light giggle escaping your lips that made him smile as he climbed between your legs. Your heart rate was through the rough as he pulled your shorts and panties down in one go tossing them somewhere around the room.

He watched as your chest heaved and he yanked your tank top down letting your breast spring free and he groaned as he ground his hips into the bed to relieve some pressure. He leaned up taking a nipple into his mouth and your head lulled back with a whimper that turned into a light moan when his teeth grazed it. He pulled away pinching your other nipple before he lowered himself between your legs. Groaning at the mess of slick in your folds.

“Baby’s already wet f’me.” You nodded as he kissed your inner thighs, so close to wear you want him. “Word’s.” Joel muttered biting your inner thigh before soothing it with his tongue. “Just f’you daddy.” It escaped your lips and Joel nearly moaned at the way you said it, his hips moved on the mattress getting some relief as he finally flattened his tongue and licked a thick harsh stripe up to your clit.

You hands pulled at his hair as you moaned. Joel had quickly lost himself between your legs, it was supposed to be a little treat but it quickly just became a frenzy. His tongue dipping into your tight hole as You writhed. His arms were locked under your thigh pushing your stomach down not giving you much room to move. “s’good- mmgh”

Joel sucked your bundle of nerves harshly before, letting his tongue trace it before his hang slipped lower and his thumb pressed on your clit pulling up lightly, watching as you held onto your breast absentmindedly pinching and pulling at your nipples, before he returning to sucking and you felt tears brim your eyes as your abdomen felt hot. “D-daddy.” You whined as his other hang slid up between your boobs and both of your hands grabbed onto his larger one.

“I know baby, your bein’ so good f’daddy.” He mumbled as he used the pad of his tongue to lick down towards your weeping hole. His free hand that you were holding coming down as he poked at it with his index finger. Your hips jerked and you whimpered. “Gotta get you ready for later princess, ya’ want that hm?” You nodded eagerly but moaned loudly when you felt his thick finger enter inside you. Joel himself moaning at how warm and tight your walls were, barley just accepting his one finger he could only image what his cock would feel like inside of you.

He was so tempted to just fuck you after this but he didn’t wanna raise any flags. His finger pumped in and out of you and he already felt the way you clenched down on his one finger, your cries only spurring him on. Without warning he pushed his middle finger inside of your hole that was pouring arousal. The stretch was a sweet burn but quickly became just sweet as Joel’s mouth went back on your clit and his fingers pumped deeply inside of you.

He curled his fingers upward and you let out a particularly loud moan as the coil tightened in your stomach and heat slowly started to build up. “P-please- mgh. Daddy I’m g-“ Joel only sped up watching as your face contorted into pleasure. Mouth open with harsh breaths and brows furrowed. He curled his fingers up and sucked on your bundle of nerves watching as your orgasm hit you.

As he fucked you through your orgasm you were sure you blacked out for a minute. The pleasure washed over your body making your head push further into your pillow as you babbled incoherently. When you finally came down from jumping multiple feet in the air you felt Joel’s mouth still on your clit, his fingers still inside of you and your thighs attempted to close. Only to be cut short by his strength. “Daddy s’to much- m-“ you were unable to form a coherent sentence as Joel kept going, seemingly In a trance.

Tears started to fall down your cheeks as you yanked on his hair attempting to push him back but not outwardly telling him to stop, the pleasure being to enjoyable. “Gimmie one more baby.” His voice was raspy as he lifted his head only for a second before returning back to his place between your thighs pulling his fingers from your slick full hole. His fingers covered in your arousal as he smeared it over your clit, hearing your whimper of emptiness.

His hand slid up your neck and his finger tapped your bottom lip letting you taste yourself while he used his tongue to make you cum again.

Before you reached dinner you had already came three times, and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to handle later.

thanks for reading <333

if you wanna be tagged just lmk and message me with requests I’m happy to write mostly everything <33

[hotchscoffeecup]

banana pancakes

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: E

Category: Fluff (tooth-rotting)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: On a Sunday morning, you wake to find Aaron making breakfast in the kitchen. He surprises you with slow dancing to old country music, Jack is cute as all get out, and of course, banana pancakes.

“Jack?” you ask groggily. You prop yourself up on your elbows and note Aaron isn’t in bed beside you. “Hey buddy, is everything ok?” You glance at your phone plugged in on the nightstand where the numbers blink back 8:37AM aka too early on a Sunday.

Jack giggles quietly. “Daddy is being silly in the kitchen.”

Knowing that could mean anything to a six year old, naturally, your brow furrows. Your lips quirk into a half smile as you regard his own happy face. “What do you mean, silly?”

Jack’s little hands fly to his mouth as he stifles another laugh. “I’m going to go play in my room!” And just like that he bounces off of the bad and darts out the door into the hallway.

Now curious, you push the sheets back and slide out of bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill passes through you. Before leaving the room, you pull on the gray cotton robe that falls to your mid-calf and tie it loosely over your sleep shirt and shorts set. As you step into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something baking fills your nostrils. Your stomach rumbles gently in response to the sweet aroma.

Quietly, you make sure way down the hall. When you’re close enough to peer into the kitchen, you lean against the doorway and watch. The stove is along the far wall, so if you’re cooking, you’re turned away from the doorway. He doesn’t see you, not at first.

Dressed only in a white t-shirt and boxers, the apron decorated with images of wine glasses on it contrasts sharply with the plaid pattern of his undergarments. George Strait is playing on the stereo. He gently shakes his hips back and forth as he quietly sings along to the country ballad. As he flips the pancakes over, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You bite your thumbnail as you watch him and when he turns around, the stunned look on his face causes you to smile even wider.

“Now how am I supposed to bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed?” he questions, the dark slash of his brow arching as he regards you with warm, brown eyes.

“You can blame the little man,” you reply cheekily. “He woke me up to tell me daddy was being silly in the kitchen.”

Hotch smiles, revealing the left dimple in his cheek. “Oh yeah?” he says, tone playful as he saunters toward you. Stretching his hands out toward the ties on your robe, he takes hold of them and pulls you in toward him. Looping one arm around your waist, he uses the other to swipe at the dial on the stereo. The volume cranks up and he takes your hand in his. Turning in a slow circle, he sways to the music, pulling you along with him.

He presses a kiss to your temple and holds you close as he dances you in small circles around the kitchen. Putting a deep country vibrato into his voice, he begins to hum and sing along against your cheek.

“I cross my heart,” he sings, “and promise to, give all I’ve got to give to make your dreams come true.”

You drop your head back and laugh as he whirls you around in a dramatic arc. “Aaron!” you cry giddily.

He continues to sing. “In all the world, you’ll never find a love as true as mine.”

The acrid smell of something burning starts to singe your nostrils. “Aaron, the pancakes!”

“Oh, let them burn!” he croons.

You playfully slap at his chest before breaking free from his hold. In turn, he slaps you on the ass. You shriek gleefully and he laughs as you dash over to the stove and pull the quickly blackening pancakes off the pan. Fortunately, he has a bowl half full of batter still off to the side alongside a plate of about half a dozen perfectly golden brown pancakes.

“Daddy! Daddy!” The pitter patter of small feet slapping against the linoleum echoes as Jack tumbles into the room. Aaron grabs him around the middle and swoops him into the air.

“Hey buddy!” he greets as he kisses him on the cheek.

“Daddy, it’s our song!”

Aaron quiets for a moment as he listens to the stereo and Jack is right. The track had changed over to another George Straight song, Love Without End, Amen.

As Aaron dances Jack around the kitchen, swinging him high and low and singing lyrics fractured with laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with joy.

“Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, it’s a love without end, amen.”

You couldn’t begin to imagine a more perfect Sunday morning than this.

“It’s a love without end, amen!” Jack sing-shouts as the song comes to a close.

Aaron sets Jack down on the floor and you start to clap and cheer. “What a show!” you exclaim. “Jack, that was amazing!”

He grins sheepishly, “Thank you.” He tacks your name to the end of his thanks as he runs to the kitchen table to climb into his chair and you can’t help but feel all the more grateful in return for how much Jack has welcomed you into his little family with him and his dad.

“I’ll get the pancakes,” Aaron says with a quick peck on your cheek as he scoots past you to pick up the plate.

“I’ll get the coffee!” you say in turn and pull two mugs down from the cabinet. As you fix yours and Aaron’s (black for you and splash of milk and two sugars for him), you make sure to grab a third mug from the cabinet to make Jack a glass of chocolate milk. Drinking out of a mug while you two drank your coffee made him feel like one of the grown ups, after all.

You carefully pile all three mugs into your hands and make your way to your seat at the table. Aaron sets a plate in front of you and Jack and you serve yourself and him two pancakes each.

“Oh! Do we have any—” you start and stop as Aaron places a small bowl of sliced bananas beside your plate.

He eyes you knowingly. “You think after all this time, I’d forget your favorite?”

You cup his cheek in your hand and press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Yuck!” cries Jack as she shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“I do love banana pancakes,” you say as you scoop a spoonful onto the fluffy rounds in front of you.

Aaron hugs you from behind before taking his seat at the head of the table. “And I love you more than you love banana pancakes.”

[sserpente]

A/N: This is short and silly and I enjoyed every second of writing it.

Words: 685 Warnings: none

You sighed as you let your head fall back to admire the stars. Thousands of piercing little lights dotting the night sky. It was rather beautiful, and for the first time ever since you had gotten into this mess (and a tadpole had gotten into you), you felt… content.

Perhaps it was because despite all this—you let your gaze wander over the campsite—fate decided to give something back. Someone. Your eyes found Astarion, brooding over one of the books you had recently picked up. Gods, you longed to take a bite right out of him the way he stood there in those tight and dark trousers and his white cotton shirt. It was quite incredible this handsome man… vampire spawn… liked you back. Not only that but you had mutated into his… lifeline, so to speak. Absentmindedly, you brought your hand to your neck, fingertips ghosting over the two puncture wounds his fangs had left behind last night. It had become a pleasurable and enjoyable ritual for you both now.

You’d have dinner with the others and at night, once everyone else was asleep, Astarion would get his fill and have supper for himself.

Another sigh. Dinner had been quite amazing and filling today. Gale had volunteered to cook after you found a crate full of abandoned supplies. Potato chips, carrot soup, garlic bread, and even lasagne… a chef would have slapped his palm against his forehead at the combination of all of these things for one evening but alas… you hadn’t eaten this much in over a week.

You were practically drunk on a full belly and that was before having a glass of wine already. Speaking of which… grabbing your empty glass, you got up from your bedroll, sauntering over to Astarion’s tent.

His head lifted as soon as he sensed you—and you actually liked to think that he could smell you, your blood, before he could hear or see you. A slight smile played on his lips when your eyes locked and he shut the book in his hands, putting it aside.

“Have a glass with me?” you offered, tilting your head as you waved the chalice in the air.

“Oh? Are we celebrating something, darling?”

“No… I’m just in a really good mood today.”

Astarion smirked in response and reached for the bottle of elven wine on the small table next to his tent.

“Well, given the current state of things, I’ll drink to that,” he purred, filling both your glasses. You clinked them, each taking a big sip before the vampire spawn took yours from you and set them both aside along with the bottle.

“Now would you say… you’re also in the mood for a bit of fun tonight?”

You grinned when he pulled you close, his face only inches from yours. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You closed your eyes, allowing him to lean forward and capture your lips in a hungry kiss.

“Ow! Gods, damn it!”

All of a sudden, as if stung by an adder, Astarion released you, half-blowing raspberries and cursing as he coughed as if you had poisoned him.

“What… are you alright? What happened? Oh… oh gods!” Realisation hit you only a second after.

“Oh no… Gale made garlic bread tonight! I completely forgot you can’t… oh, Astarion, I am so sorry. Let me have a look, is it bad?”

“I’m fine! It’s not going to kill me, it just… burns. Gods!” A few more curses followed as he brought his fingertips to his lips, assessing the damage done.

“I’ll go rinse my mouth, alright? I’ll be right back.”

The sound of acknowledgment he made was hardly an answer. It was enough for you to turn back around though, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were holding back a grin.

“It could be worse… I mean… I could have put my lips elsewhere.”

“Very funny, darling.” Still, there was a hint of amusement swinging in his voice and you certainly couldn’t help the little chuckle forcing its way out of your throat. He had to admit… it was hilarious.

A/N: I'm on my second playthrough as Durge right now and I realised one thing about myself: As much as I love villains and misunderstood bad guys, I'm really bad at being evil. 😂 I feel soo bad every time I make a mean decision, hahaha!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i just remembered this post or comment somewhere online where some girl said her bf accused her and thought she was cheating cause he didn’t know what discharge was (in her underwear)….. reminds me of konig 🧍 LOL

My dear lovely anon, König is so in this picture and he doesn't even know it ❤️

"Who is he? "

König marches into the room like a storm cloud. You've gotten so used to his delusional behavior by now that the only thing that makes you flinch is his tone of voice, now more hostile than ever. You're hanging your clothes to dry and try to turn as softly as you can, be as calm with your question as you can.

"What…? Who?"

He stands there with his feet planted wide, shoulders raised to his ears, chin to chest, eyes blazing inside the hood.

"Your lover."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't play innocent. You even let him cum inside you?"

He throws your blush pink panties on the floor, the dirty ones he's clearly picked up from the laundry basket, and it takes a while for you to understand that he thinks the white stains on them are some other man's sperm.

Just the fact that he just threw your dirty underwear on the floor like murder evidence, just the sight of them there before you makes you feel awkward and uncomfortable, but it's his absurd accusation that brings your hands over your mouth.

He thinks you have some other man you run to when he's away, who fills you up when he's not there to please you, that you come home with his cum dripping out of you…

"I can't believe you, Engel," he almost trembles with rage, his voice booming from thinking you're cheating on him. "After everything we've–"

"König," you stop him in the middle of his fit, dropping your hands back to your sides.

"Baby. It's not... sperm," you explain calmly while he's breathing like an enraged bull before you.

This is crazy... Crazy and ridiculous.

"It's just discharge," you continue to explain. "It's how a woman's body works. There's period blood, and then there's… this."

You can't believe you're having this conversation with him. You can't believe you had to live to see the day you have this conversation with any man.

The panties are still there between you, and his confused gaze flickers from them to you. Slowly, his breathing starts to even, but there's still that look of Are you just trying to fool me? in his eyes. You go to him, stepping over the cute little underthings. Placing a hand on his chest, you try to soothe him with touch.

"Did you smell it…?" You ask hesitantly, with heat gathering up to your cheeks.

"Yes," he squares his shoulders proudly, as if it's a normal, decent thing to do: to go around sniffing women's underwear.

"Did it smell of cum?"

"...No. It smelled of you."

"Well there you have it," you soothe the wrinkles on his shirt with your hand. The tension in his broad shoulders finally starts to release. The relief in his aura is palpable as the realization sinks in, the realization that you've always been faithful and it's only his angel's sweetness staining that cute, pink cotton.

"You're silly," you declare, giving him a small smile as you cup his face through that black hood. He grumbles softly, and a warmth spreads to your chest: it doesn't really matter if he's agreeing or disagreeing with your announcement, as long as he's calm again.

"What were you doing in my laundry bin anyway…?"

[javiscigarette]

Just Focus on My Love

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie just thinks there are better things to do than play a silly video game called Stardew Valley (or a very self-indulgent sweet baby boy Frankie fic)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only!! No use of Y/N smut duh, oral (f receiving), a bit of body/pussy worship, fingering, squirting, spitting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, he adds a finger just for funsies, creampie, cum play, frankie loves to run his mouth when he's horny, also I know this man has killed people but he is just a baby

Word count: 4k

A/N: Inspired by Focus by miss Charli xcx!! Also this is dedicated to all the real gamers out there who play Stardew. May your crops flourish. Also this may secretly be the first part of a lil series I'm cookin up but you didn't hear that from me!

Frankie finds you on the sectional in the basement in full veg mode. You’re sitting in the corner of the couch with your legs stretched out on the cushions in front of you with the lights down low.

You’re playing the same game you’ve been playing for months now, the game Frankie is slowly starting to despise. He had actually been the one to suggest finishing the basement and creating this little sanctuary for you to play video games.

But he didn't think about how if you started spending more time curled up playing your games, that would be less time spent with him.

“Babyyy” Frankie whines from where he’s standing near the foot of the couch, at the end of your outstretched legs. 

“Hi, Francisco” you reply calmly, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Frankie takes that as an invitation. 

You pause the game and giggle as he climbs on the couch before ungraciously collapsing on top of you. He rests his head on your chest that’s covered with one of his t-shirts. 

“Don’t distract me, Frankie” you say firmly between little giggles while he gets comfy. 

“No promises.”

He snakes his arms around you, trapping his forearms between your waist and the couch cushion You roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck to hold your control behind his head. You unpause and go back to the game and Frankie gives you almost five whole minute before he sighs again. 

“You’ve been down here for hours, bebita. What even is this game? Skyblue Valley? ” Frankie groans. 

“Stardew Valley. And I told you I’m so close to finishing the community center and I want it done this weekend” 

Frankie grumbles again and turns his head to look at you straight on, his chin resting on your chest, his face inches away from your’s. 

“But I’m bored and we should be spending time together. Strengthening our bond, yanno” 

You snort at that. 

“Strength of our bond?” 

“Yeah! Quality time! One of the love languages.” 

“Frankie, baby, we spent the whole day together. And as soon as I’m done with this we’ll spend the rest of the night together”

“C’mon, cariño.” Frankie whines.

He shifts around again until suddenly there’s some pressing hard against the front of your hip. It’s not surprising - Frankie can’t keep his hands off of you. He’s needy too, requiring almost the same amount of your attention that a 3-month old puppy would.

“Not gonna work, Francisco. You’ve gotta try harder than that” you say plainly, keeping your eyes glued to the screen. 

You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. 

Frankie immediately sees the challenge and lunges at it like a rabid dog. He narrows his eyes at you, his lips curling up in a mischievous smirk. 

“Frankie…” you try to warn him, already seeing exactly where this is going.

“Just keep playing your game, hermosa” Frankie says calmly, turning his head to rest his cheek on your chest again. 

He moves to unpin his arm from underneath you and starts to fiddle with the hem of your (his) shirt. The cotton is soft and worn, just like all the other shirts and sweaters that you’ve stolen from him.

He never complains, not even when half of his clothes end up on your side of the closet. He loves seeing you in them, seeing how they fit on your body, how they smell like you at the end of the day. He can never get enough. 

He slips his fingers under the hem and traces the pads of his fingers over the smooth skin of your stomach and your hips. It’s mindless, the way his hands roam your body, tracing paths that he’s traced millions of times before. 

He gets lost in it for a few minutes. He shuts his eyes and lets his hand drift all over you like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel under his fingers and his palms. It’s soothing for him too. Grounds him and reminds him that you’re real and you’re here. 

His palm is hot on your skin, leaving a burning trail as it roams your body, sliding over every square inch of skin that he can reach. It’s a simple and fairly innocent gesture, but you already feel something swirling in your tummy. 

Eventually Frankie remembers his mission and gets back to work. 

He slowly slides his palm from your rib cage down the front of you until just his fingertips dip under the elastic waistband of your sweatpants. He doesn’t stay there for long before sliding his hand back up to where he started at your rib cage. He repeats the process a few times, his fingers sliding further and further under your waistband. 

He looks up at you but you’re still unbothered, completely focused on your game. Internally, it's a completely different story. You’ve been wet since the moment he laid down and you can feel the damp cotton of your panties sticking to your core. He always gets you going like that. But you genuinely did want to finish this. And more importantly, you wanted to see what Frankie has up his sleeve. 

He pushes himself up until he’s sitting between your legs with enough room to slide your pants off, pulling your underwear down too in the same motion. Frankie parts your knees, slowly spreading you open and revealing your wet seam. His cock lurches almost painfully and he whispers “Jesus christ” to himself at the sight of your pussy already swollen and glistening without him even properly touching you. 

He settles between your legs once again, laying on his abdomen with your dripping cunt inches from his face. 

He takes his sweet time though and scatters sweet kisses on your inner thighs. He can’t help but stop every so often to nibble and suck at the smooth skin, leaving fresh red marks among the fading ones that he gave you yesterday and the day before and the day before that. 

He feels your muscles twitch under his lip and he glances up at you, but you’re still focused on your game. Damned and determined, he slowly kisses his way up your thigh and stops when his face is inches away from your burning core. 

With no further preamble, and because he can’t wait any longer, he dives right in. 

And he’s fucking ravenous with it. 

He flattens his tongue and groans into you as soon as the taste of you touches his tongue. He licks you from your leaking hole up to your clit before taking the swollen nub between his lips. He takes his time, sucking on your clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue before letting go and licking back down to your hole where he dips his tongue inside, his head going dizzy when he feels you clench around his tongue. And the sound of it is crude, the sucking and slurping and his ragged gasps for air as he dinks you down and feasts on you. 

He’s greedy too. He spreads your lips open with his thumb and forefinger, holding you open so he can plunge his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly can with his nose bumping against your clit and he groans deeply into you again when he feels you clench around his tongue. 

Your eyelids flutter and your eyebrows draw together while your eyes roll back a bit. With a quick sideways glance, you see him with his eyes closed as he loses himself in you. Every bone in your body wants to sing but you bite back your moans, determined not to give in so easily.

Frankie takes his mouth off of you with a wet pop. He’s breathing heavily, delightfully out of breath. You haven’t paused your game yet, but your hands are motionless on the controller. Your chest is heaving with quick breaths and your bottom lip is red and puffy from you gnawing at it while you try to bite back your moans. 

He’s almost there. 

Frankie knows what makes you tick. He has spent hours and hours between your legs mapping out every inch of you and carefully studying your reaction to his every touch until he memorized every single little thing that made you shake and squirm and scream. 

So that’s why he uses both thumbs to spread you open before spitting onto your already dripping seam and listens happily to the groan he knew you would let out. He doesn't even bother looking up at you when you make a noise. He’s too enamored with watching the way his spit glides down your cunt before settling around your pulsating hole. With his mouth watering, he latches back onto you. 

And he’s messy with it. He buries his face in your pussy, overindulging in the way your slick leaks out onto his tongue and drips down his chin, moving his face side to side and smearing it all over his beard and your inner thighs until you’re both a mess.   

You’re quickly losing this battle and like clockwork, your thighs start to tremble just slightly. 

He’s got you right where he wants you.

He unwraps an arm from where it’s locked around your thigh and brings his hand up between your legs. With no warning, he sinks two thick fingers inside of you. He moans loudly against you when you gasp, your back reflexively arching and your hips grinding up against his face. 

Finally, you surrender and toss your controller to the side and grip onto Frankie’s fluffy curls instead. 

You moan his name, the sweetest sound on Earth Frankie thinks, as you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull his face impossibly closer into you and hold him in place there. Frankie doesn't miss a beat and sucks your clit in between his lips as he steady pumps his fingers in and out of you. He hums in delight, tingles running from his scalp down his spine and to his toes as you start to rock your hips against his face. The vibrations of his sounds against your core cause hot flames to start licking at the base of your spine. 

Despite your fingers tugging harshly in his hair, he pulls back from you just enough to mumble “Ride it, cariño. Ride my fuckin’ face,” his voice raspy and breathless before latching back onto your aching core. 

You listen to him because why the fuck would you not. You tighten your grip in his hair, and his jaw goes slack as you start to rock your hips up off the couch and back down again, sliding your dripping cunt up and down his awaiting tongue. 

Frankie could die happy right now. He moans when your thighs squeeze either side of his head while your hand on the back of his head keeps his face pressed into you so firmly he can't get a good breath. But he’d rather pass out than move an inch away from you right now. And the sounds he’s making are obscene, his muffled grunts and groans and whimpers going straight to your lower abdomen where the pressure of your impending orgasm is quickly multiplying. 

Everything feels so perfect, his fingers rhythmically sliding in and out of your pulsating hole, expertly stretching you out and filling you up as you hold onto his hair for dear life and ride his tongue, letting his scruffy beard scrape deliciously against your inner thighs. 

Frankie knows you’re close, he can hear the way your moans are quickly growing more and more desperate and can feel you clamping down around his fingers.  It’s time for his final move.

He pushes his fingers inside of you as deep as he can get and instead of pulling them out again, he keeps them in place and curls them upward. The sound you make is angelic and Frankie’s cock twitches hard from where it’s pinned against the couch cushion. He hasn’t paid a single ounce of attention to his throbbing length. And he doesn’t want to. He wants to, needs to devote himself entirely to your pleasure, so fucking desperate to feel you come underdone under his tongue. 

He breathes heavily through his nose as your hips start building up speed as you grind against his mouth. He keeps working his tongue while repeatedly pressing the tips of his fingers into your g-spot until there’s no more air in your lungs and your head is fucking spinning.  

It starts in your hips, the way your pace falters lets Frankie know what’s about to happen. He doubles down on his efforts and his eyes roll back when your thighs start shaking violently on either side of his head. 

“Frankieee” you whine, your nails starting to scrape against his scalp. He gives you a low and throaty growl a nonverbal way of saying “I’ve got you, let go for me. Give it to me, please baby” 

And you do. 

Your orgasm crashes down on you, knocking all the air out of your lungs as every muscle tenses in your body. Frankie doesn’t stop, not for one second, even when you start to gush around his fingers. The groan he lets out is animalistic, as you squirt against his face, your juices pouring down his hands and dripping down his face and chin onto the couch below him. 

You buck your hips and squirm underneath him as your pussy clenches with each wave of pleasure but he keeps his mouth glued to you, drinking you down. He can’t get enough. He keeps lapping at you, trying not to waste a single drop but it’s impossible with how hard you came. 

He keeps going as you ride it out, just basking in the noises you’re making and the feeling of your fingers tugging sharply at his hair, never wanting this to end. 

But your intense pleasure is fading away and sensitivity is starting to quickly replace it. You let him have his fill for a few more seconds as he desperately laps up everything you gave him. But it quickly becomes too much and you start to push him away. With a pitiful whine, he pulls back reluctantly and rests his head on your thigh. 

But you’re an absolute sight to behold in front of him. Your inner thighs and your puffy cunt are drenched, so messy and wet with a small wet spotunder the couch from your juices that Frankie couldn't lick up. Your inner thighs are rubbed red from his beard and there are crescent marks on the top of your thigh where Frankie was gripping you. 

“You’re so fucking sexy” Frankie whispers, watching your cunt clench weakly around his fingers as he slowly slides them out of you, moaning quietly as a small amount of liquid dribbles out of you and onto the couch. 

He tries to give you a break so you can catch your breath. But you’re just as impatient as he is. So you card your fingers through his hair before tugging slightly, a small mewl slipping past your lips. 

Frankie looks up to meet your gaze and raises an eyebrow when he sees the desperation still clouding your eyes. You just look back at him and whine pathetically but he knows exactly what you want. 

He doesn't tease you, doesn’t even mention the fact that your game is unpaused on the TV. Because he’s fucking needy too. And there’s a wet spot on the front of his briefs from where he was leaking precum while he was grinding mindlessly against the couch as he ate you out to prove it. 

And now, with you looking like this, he needs you bad. 

Without saying anything and keeping his eyes fixed on you, Frankie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he just finished eating a fucking 5 course meal and stands up from the couch to quickly shed off all his clothes. But he moves too fast though and hits his shin on the coffee table. You hiss and grimace at the sight but he barely reacts to the pain before kneeling back down on the couch between your legs again. 

Your mouth waters when you see his cock, impossibly hard and angry red, the tip wet and shiny with precum as it bobs between his legs, thick and heavy. 

“Gonna let me have you, cariño?” Frankie asks through a gravelly grumble before spitting in his hand and coating his cock in it as if you needed any more lubrication. It can’t hurt though, Frankie is thick and no matter how wet you are or how many times you take him, he stretches you out with a delicious burn. Every. Single. Time. 

“Yes Frankie, I’m please I need it, fuck” you whine. 

Frankie shushes you and lines himself up at your entrance, his fat tip pressing against your aching hole. You try to roll your hips up but he brings his free hand down to your hip, effectively pinning you in place with one broad palm. 

“Just take it, baby,” Frankie whispers. “Let me give it to you.” 

With a heavy sigh, Frankie pushes into you. He tries to go slowly, but you’re so wet that he sinks in with ease and it doesn’t help that your greedy cunt is practically sucking him in. He bottoms out with a broken moan and brings his other hand to grip your hip. 

You’re a mess underneath him, keening and moaning freely as your walls clench wildly around him. You know he’s not going to last long and being so close to the tailend of your last orgasm, there’s not much hope for you either. 

But Frankie is going to take as much as he possibly can from you. 

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size and the feeling of being stuffed full of him. The stretch burns pleasantly as your walls flutter around him. 

“F-Frankie, fuck you feel so good s-so fucking deep, baby” you babble in between moans and gasps for air. 

He tightens his grip on your hips as he pulls out halfway and drives back into you. His cock throbs inside of you at the sound of your moan. 

“I know, baby.” Frankie sighs. “But you take it so well. Always take it so well. Letting me stretch your perfect little pussy out, huh? Such a good girl making room inside in that sweet cunt for my thick fuckin cock, letting me fill you up. Your fucking perfect, cariño. So fucking good, I’m so lucky”  

Sweet, sweet Frankie. The human embodiment of a basket of puppies that runs his mouth and fills your head with filthy words behind closed doors.

Frankie knows he should give you more time to adjust to his size, but he can’t help himself. He starts to build up a steady pace, not wanting to waste a single second of being inside you, grunting at every beautiful sound you make. 

You just lay there and take it, moaning at the feeling of him splitting you in half as he pounds into you, desperately chasing after his own orgasm. 

He slides his hands down from your hips to your inner thighs before prying them apart and pinning your legs to the couch, leaving your pussy on full display for him. He lets out a strained moan when he sees the way your lips are gripping him as he pulls out and sucking back in as he slams back into you. 

“M’not gonna last long, baby” Frankie pants with his eyes glued to where your bodies are connected. You’re already hurtling towards your second orgasm but you manage to fight the overwhelming pleasure that’s rooting itself in your bones again to open your eyes and look up at him. You’re presented with the most gorgeous sight of Frankie fucking  you with no regard. His curls are flopping down in front of his eyes as he stares at where he’s disappearing inside of you, his jaw is slack and hanging open, and his heaving chest is starting to glisten with sweat. 

“Mmmm cum inside, Frankie. I wanna feel it” you moan when you feel his hips stutter.

He grunts before dragging his eyes up your body from your wet pussy to your blown out pupils. He stares into your eyes for just a few seconds as he keeps fucking into you. 

Then he winks at you. 

Knowing that can only mean trouble, you watch him with bated breath. He drops his gaze back to where he’s pounding into you. His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he moves one hand from your thigh and brings it to your mouth. 

He gives you just one finger, slips his index finger past your lips and watches intently as you swirl your tongue around his digit, getting it wet with your spit. When he’s satisfied, he pulls it out and brings it back down to your core. 

He slows down a bit and you gasp when he traces where he’s stretching you out with his wet finger. 

“Think you can take a little more?” Frankie asks, looking up at you while continuing to prod at your stretched entrance. 

“Yes” you moan, not giving it a second thought because if Frankie thinks you can, then you know you can. 

“Thank you, cariño” Frankie whispers.

You give him a weak nod and try to suppress the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat when he stops moving until he’s still inside of you. 

You do whimper, well more of a strangled moan, when he starts to work his finger covered in your saliva into you, right alongside his thick cock. 

“Holy shit” you cry out, one of your hands flying up to claw at his bicep. 

“Is it too much?” Frankie asks, his eyebrows drawn together in concern as he tries to read your facial expressions and your body language. 

You shake your head fervently and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“N-no, keep going” you pant. “Feels so good, Frankie, please keep going.” 

And because Frankie is trained to follow commands so well, he keeps pushing his finger inside of you, cursing under his breath as you squeeze around his finger and his cock. 

“Jesus christ, baby” Frankie hisses as he starts fucking into you again. 

With the added thickness of his finger (which is ridiculously thick by itself), you genuinely feel like his ripping you open in the best way possible. You can’t hold on for much longer and the sounds he’s pulling out of you are insane and as he delivers you into the awaiting arms of your second orgasm. 

“C’mon, baby. Can feel every fucking inch of you squeezing me” Frankie huffs as he continues to plow into you. “Soak my cock, baby please. I wanna see it this time.” 

There's a long moan of his name and the sound of it bounces around in his head before traveling as a tingle down his spine. He watches you in amazement as you lift your hips off the couch as you start to gush around him again. He doesn’t stop pounding into you though. And the sensation of your slick leaking out around his finger and his cock and sliding down his to his palm and his balls as you clench around him is too fucking much. 

His own body takes him by surprise, his hips faltering as he starts to cum inside you with no warning. He grunts loudly as he empties himself inside of you and it’s so much that he can’t remember the last time he came this hard. 

The two of you stay there for a minute, just trying to catch your breath. Frankie starts to go soft and once the stretch isn’t so much, he slowly slides his cock and and finger out of you. He groans softly in his throat and watches with heavy eyelids as his cum, mixed with your own release, starts to leak out of you, adding to the dark spot on the couch from earlier.

As if he’s on autopilot, Frankie mindlessly gathers his cum that’s seeping out of you on two of his fingers before he pushes them back inside of you. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, marveling at the way your hole leaks around them until you whimper and squirm at the overstimulation. 

He carefully removes his fingers and slides them into his own mouth because he can never get enough of you. Never ever. You watch with hooded eyes and a dopey smile as he licks your slick and his cum off his fingers, closing his eyes and making a small noise in his throat as he does so. 

He takes his fingers out of his mouth with a strand of saliva briefly and obscenely connecting his tongue to his fingers. He opens his eyes and gives you a goofy grin, too entirely pleased with himself. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. He laughs through his nose when you eagerly lick into his mouth in an attempt to get a second hand taste. 

After a playful bite to your bottom lip, he pulls back to look at you. 

“You’re greedy” Frankie teases with a smirk. “And messy” he adds when he looks down to the wet spot on the couch. 

The same couch that the two of you bought a couple months ago because ironically, your old couch was starting to collect some stubborn stains. Frankie knows you’ll give him shit about it later and will probably be the one on his knees cleaning the cushion in a few minutes, but he doesn’t care one bit. 

“Don’t even try, Morales” you say with a chuckle and an eye roll. 

Frankie giggles sweetly before ducking down to give you another quick kiss. He then straightens up and turns his head to look over his shoulder at the TV. He turns back to look at you with a shiteating grin. 

“You left it unpaused” he tries to say plainly, but the glee is evident in his voice.

He won. 

Your face drops from sated to stressed as you look over at the TV screen and see that the game has advanced three more days while Frankie was playing with you. 

“Francisco Morales!” you shout, reaching behind you to grab a pillow and throw it at him. He scrambles off the couch and runs away cackling before you can hit him.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Is it fair that I haven't written anything Shouto related in months– even though he's one of my absolute favorites? No, no it's not, so here is a little silly something to make up for it.

It's one of those chilly nights..

The falling snow is moving in rhyme with the playful wind outdoors, tapping on the giant glass of your living room window before succumbing downward to join the beautiful cottony carpet that's covering the roads outside.

You sigh contentedly and shift your eyes from the mesmerizing sight to focus on the heavenly one right before your nose.

_ "Isn't this amazing?" your whispered words pierce the quiet atmosphere surrounding you, but they don't seem to startle the man laying on top of your relaxed form.

_ "It is, I don't even want to move at all." and you can faintly sense the curve of his lips against your neck as he breathes the reply.

_ "We don't have to, we can sleep here if you want." your fingers move through his soft bicolor hair, brushing it away from his handsome face.

You bite down on your lip to stifle a giggle when you realize how impractical your suggestion is, because as big and comfortable as it is, this poor sofa was not made to contain your boyfriend's giant stature, though he doesn't seem to share your concern as he humms in agreement before nuzzling you deeper.

You gently caress his broad shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his flexing muscles beneath your touch as he hugs you tighter.

His fair skin is concealed under a long sleeve cotton shirt, but you are aware -more than anyone else- of every single cut, burn and scar he has acquired over the years of being a hero, after all, you've always been the one treating his injuries after every single mission.

You kiss the top of his head affectionately, once, twice, thrice, and a couple more times because you simply cannot get enough of this man, your man.

He's big and heavy, almost knocking the air out of your lungs while trapping you beneath his weight, but you don't mind it at all, there is nowhere else you would rather be but right here with him, tucked away from everyone else.

It's a simple thought and a simpler wish, and the breathy laughter it has brought out of you is hard to miss.

_ "What's going on?" he props his chin against your chest and looks up at you with curious mismatched irises, though an adorable grin has already found its way to his lips as he anticipated your response.

_ "It's nothing, I'm just thinking how lucky I am to have you."

He is caught off guard by your words, and the wide blinky eyes staring back at you are proof of that.

He is cute, always has been to you, especially when as lost as he is right now, stirring you up to the point where you cannot help but cradle his cheeks and bring his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

_ "I love you, you know that?" he murmurs huskily before leaning back a bit to gaze into your eyes.

The warmth of his words is spreading throughout your body to leave a blissful tingle behind, and your fingertips are tracing his handsome features to linger over the burn scar surrounding his left eye.

You smile widely as you recall the first time you kissed him there, right on the mark reaching halfway down his cheek.

Back then, he was as surprised with your action as he is tonight with your random confession, but he didn't hate the feeling of your soft lips on his scarred skin one bit, in fact, it was the salve he didn't even know he needed.

_ "I love you too, Shouto."

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo ii

[ part one ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of “y/n”) / 7.3k words / NSFW

cw: body modifications in the form of könig's split tongue, references to monsterfucking, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, actually pretty sweet all things considered. a.n.: this literally kicked my ass during the two months it took to write it, and i sincerely hope you enjoy! sweet to the first half's sour, with a little surprise at the end if you read between the lines. ETERNAL thanks to @dotcie for beta-ing this for me, it wouldn't have been half as lovely without you, and to @parttimeprophet for helping me with my german so i wasn't making silly mistakes <3

The safehouse is a two-story, narrow shed shoved between two other, significantly older, significantly more robust stone buildings. A shithole that looks like it was made of tinder and afterthoughts, but it’s as glorious as an oasis after ten miles of hiking east over craggy, stony hills under a searing sun-fall. 

The fading light cooks your back, and there is an uneasy, but needy tension between you and König in the aftermath of a successful and gruesome assassination. Neither were strangers to such orders handed down by KorTac, but you were both experts in carrying them out with bloodthirsty perfection. 

When you’d left the campsite staging area in the center of the forest–where König taken you into his lap and fucked you senseless–he hucked you up on his back and hauled you through the forest without asking.

He was not a difficult man to read, at times; he’d felt bad for making your cunt sore. 

The thirteen hours of broiling under the harsh Adriatic sun in full-body ghillie suits didn’t ensure an easy or pleasant slog into the city proper. After the maniacal fuck that König required to jailbreak his emotional regulation, you were lucky you were walking at all. 

It seems to your eye that, sometimes, he views the world as an iPhone in the hands of an angry fourteen-year-old, and all his ailments are caused by wanting to watch porn outside of their parents’ childlocks. He could do that, and easily, if only he could aim his destruction at the proper target. Holding that thought, you have to remind yourself that König didn’t have any kind of a phone until he was eighteen. 

His parents had been of an older generation and had little interest in advancing technology, and no interest in throwing their scant money toward any of it. They’d continued to stagnate in the past–rotting in a poverty-burdened, filthy hoard house, amongst kennels of well-bred Doberman dogs that were better loved than he–while König had moved into the city and the modern era. But he still enjoys jailbreaking his iPhones, if only because he can. 

Maybe because he hates restrictions and authority. Maybe because they are the only concepts he understands, even as he struggles against them–though he always ultimately succumbs. 

Well. He hates restrictions and authority that doesn’t make him cum. 

You’re both dressed down to hiking civvies, and he’s got a black cotton gaiter pulled up his face. You’re sweating in sheets that cascade down your breasts, stomach, and back. Your thighs soak the legs of your pants, and every stride renews the raw, dull ache of chafing skin. There is not a stitch of clothes on your body that does not cling disgustingly to your overheated skin, making you feel beastly. 

By looking at König, and his sweat-blackened shirt and narrowed eyes, you can tell he feels the same. A shower cannot come soon enough. 

The exfil vehicle that had been waiting after the hike has done well enough of a job, but the closer you got to the safehouse, the narrower the roads became. Ultimately, it has to be abandoned several streets down. Left in a back alley, you pull yourselves out and pop the back hatch, where he pulls the strap of a surplus rucksack over his shoulder. He also  takes yours without asking, and adds it to the weight.

“What the fuck are you doing,” you say, not even allowing the end-pitch of a question.

“You can carry the case,” he replies. What an utter gentleman, allowing you to slug your own equipment, like you hadn’t spent years and years humping full packs across the hottest hellholes on the planet under active fire. You’re too tired, and too close to heatsick to argue it too much. The streets around here are mostly dark, quiet and full of Bosnians that mind their business. 

Baščaršija is a beautiful place. The old town is full of ancient mosques and minarets on stone-paved streets, some narrow, some wide. There’s one slim street in particular that you pass down, by far older than the necessity of wide paths for motor traffic, where the shops lining it are all broad, tall windows, the lights from within warm and softening the darkness fading into the city. 

You pass antique stores, bistros, couples and gaggles of friends crowding around each other, listening to music from their phones, smoking cigarettes, laughing. It’s nothing like home, a completely different animal, but it pulls you in. No one in this city knows that you and the man you walk beside are the cause of four monstrous deaths in the hills. 

You are two strangers, finding solace in hands reaching for hands, a moment of exhaled relief when contact is made by the tentative and exploratory brush of fingers. For a brief moment, you let yourself buy into the thought that you are just a backpacker, finding your way to lodgings with your boyfriend, carrying an odd case that could be anything. 

König’s grip becomes more insistent, a thick layer of dependence in its tight hold, and he looks dead ahead, head lowered, shoulders bunched. You give him three quick squeezes–I love you–and he answers it back with four–I love you, too. You now turn your attention to getting a read on him.

Normally, he is amped after a successful mission, but he was already needy. His jaw is set hard, and his eyes are flat and flinty. He’s looking, but not seeing. You know that he’s turned against himself.

The pair of you had fallen together in a frenzy. To call your fall for one another an orbital strike would be an understatement. Yours was a crash site made home, and the months of settling under the strange, but welcome and cherished atmosphere of a relationship had begun to peel away the dermis, revealing the sensitive nerves and muscle below.

There lives a hatred in König’s soul that often turns inward. Would that he could rip himself to shreds like a sheet of paper folded and twisted under nervous hands. And he does. You still haven’t found a way to break through those walls–hell, you don’t think he even knows how he erected them, because he would also see them crumbled and turned into utter wreckage. 

If you were going to pull logic out of the chaos that’s occupied his body since he was thirteen, you would have to admit to yourself that there isn’t anything you can do. That he’s the one that has to somehow find away to break apart and rebuild the way he thinks, nearly on a molecular level. 

With no other help to offer, feeling weak and useless in the face of his battle, you hold his hand, and you walk beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he says after two blocks of walking. Spits it out sudden-like, not meeting your eyes. His posture is fucked, slumping him forward. 

“Stop that shit.” No heat, you never use heat with him; the man’s been burned enough. “Wouldn’t I tell you if I didn’t like the way you handled me?”

There is a telling pause, you can feel the lie he’s building on his tongue become too big to swallow or spit. He grinds it down between his molars, and his hand grows tighter around yours in desperation. 

“I think you would lie to make me feel better.” 

It’s an earnest and brave bit of truth–the man developed a frightening skill with white lies through his life to survive all of the shit hands he was dealt, and his skin crawls under the admission. But your love is dissection, vivisection: it has given you months of slow, thorough study, and an understanding of what patterns his thoughts led him down to land on that conclusion. 

It is what he would do to make you feel better.

“Lee,” you say, using the part of his real name that he finds acceptable, and only from you, “you know I give more of a fuck about your security than your comfort when it comes to shit like this.”

The blunt admission makes him stifle a wince, but he holds tight when you slip out of his hand to wrap your arm around his waist, his arm around your shoulders.

The moment you’re through the threshold of the safehouse, the Steyr’s case hits the floor, along with your packs, and out come the sidearms. You and König slide right into formation, clearing the building room by room, call and response in flight like crows. 

He takes the lead, and you follow–as much as he might not like the designation dumped in his lap, he is good at it, running hot with his jaw ticking, eyes engaged and unblinking. It was a barb during the fuck, calling him an insertion specialist, but there is not another soul at KorTac that you would trust with your safety on the ground the way you put your life in his hands.

After the building is confirmed clear, it comes time for your speciality. Both of you are experts in urban warfare, but where his skill lies in blunt force, yours burns brightest in paranoia. 

Paratrooper by training, guerilla tactics by experience, tearing apart the house in search of bugs or aberrations. Anything wrong, anything out of place. It takes longer than the clearing, König helps, and at the end, the safehouse is as spotless as it can be from a tactical standpoint. 

Standing in the attic bedroom, you stretch your back. “I’m radioing in. You hit the shower.”

He shakes his head and makes an argumentative noise. “Nah. Give me your pieces, I’m breaking down and cleaning everything,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. 

He presents his .50 GS–a literal hand cannon, and a fraternal twin to your own–without asking, and holds it out to you by the barrel. You do not like the way your hand feels wrapping around the checkering on the grip. You do not like that it’s aimed at his stomach. 

You take it anyway, holding it loose in one hand with your finger on the trigger guard, and pass him your P99 and matching .50 from the holsters under your arms. There is sore white all around his eyes, and he is not blinking. 

“Where are you setting up?” he asks, voice tense like a wire-plucked.

Your initial report runs smoothly, getting in contact with Majka on a secure, encrypted line on the tablet usually kept in König’s possession. For this operation, your call signs are Schakals. Jackals. Wild things, unafraid of humanity. Wandering far too close, with teeth too ready to reveal under peeled chops.

König stays close, breaking down your guns a mere cushion away on the couch where you’ve planted your ass, hips aching and thighs tight now that the aftershocks of sex have long, long faded. His head remains bowed, and his gaiter remains in place. Every few minutes, he rolls his shoulders back. Forcing the blades of bone together, trying to release tension that will not let go.

When your report closes out, and you move to sit forward reaching for your cigarettes and lighter, König jerks as he turns to you. “Where’re you going?” His question is brittle, and keyed-up, eyes darting over your body as you settle back a bit.

“Nowhere, calm down,” you tell him, lighting two cigarettes. “Can I pull down your mask so I can give you this?”

He responds in a subtle nod, and you reach for his trappings to tuck the cigarette into the corner of his scarred mouth. König tries to follow your hand when you pull away, a nigh-unconscious tell that gives away his endless desire to be near you, always. It’s a level of wantedness you still grapple to understand–and it’s gut-turning fear mixed with crushing want that makes you pull your hand away instead of cupping his jaw.

You were never told what to do with the parts of yourself that somehow remained soft through the abuse of years. You’re stuck having to teach yourself, and it is not an easy process, though König has helped break an innumerable amount of those barriers. 

He looks kicked when you sink back into the armrest of the couch, until you shove your feet under his thigh, flicking your eyes toward the neatly disassembled handguns on the trunk-cum-coffee table before him, a silent nudge of keep going. 

Some peace washes over him as he cleans the broken-down guns, heeding your urging. 

His eyes don’t ever soften, not that you’ve ever really seen–except for rare moments, when he looks at you, and you wonder what visual information his brain is processing from his retinas. It puts you in a wondering state: curious if he thinks of you in the poetry of weapons engineering, or nuclear physics, or the black shine of blood spilled at night–but his gaze isn’t dagger-edged in concentration. 

Neither would you call it contentment. You know König is only content when he’s burned through all of his bad energy, and all the screaming in his head has died down to guttering, airless moans.

“Do you want to go out and get food later?” you pose to him, thinking back on the smell of kebabs roasting over burning coals overwhelming your memory and empty gut, and he nods again. Neither of you speak Bosnian or Serbian, but his Croatian is conversational, and passable enough. 

“Saw a couple booths doing Turkish coffee on the way. You’ve ever had that?” he asks half-mumbled, his attention unevenly divided. 

“You can do it on a stove, but it’s not the same as…,” he says, drifting, and your mouth twitches toward a smile when you realize he’s moved past the other half of his sentence. A good half inch of ash clings to the end of his cigarette, and it falls on his thigh, utterly unnoticed as he slides the guns back together slow as syrup. 

It’s a bit fun to watch as he pours his attention into the flow of his hands. On the field you’ve seen him breakdown and rebuild these same guns in seconds when demanded. There’s some measure of novelty in watching him take his time.

Your guns are handed back to you, cleaned first and checked over for defects. You slide them back into your holsters, just like coming home as you silently observe him moving onto the Steyr. 

The god-killing gun falls apart in his hands–pulled piece by piece in diagrammatic sequence from the molded foam from a case twice as expensive as your monthly rent–as if waiting for his attention, spread across the coffee table in a way that seems almost indecent to your eye. 

Maybe it’s a situation of projection–identifying with the horrendous and heavy weapon that, just today, took four lives in one of the most brutal ways imaginable. Thinking of yourself in precision machined pieces, willing and eager to disassemble under König’s hands, because you know he will dedicate himself fully to your continued existence and function. 

The Steyr’s all spread out before him like you often are, a pile of components unmade at his hands: unscrewed barrel, its bipod assembly, its scope and sights and grips, its magazine and receiver.You feel yourself pulse, clit throbbing in time with your increasing heartbeat. 

Maybe you should be more open and honest during your next psych eval, if you’re getting this wet over thinking of yourself as similar in nature to a rifle.

This process takes longer, but when König is finished, handing you the cigarette butt to put out, he puts the pieces back into the appropriate slots in the case. He stretches back, smelling like the slick, oily residue of DW-40 and the metallic odor of the faintly acidic oils on his skin reacting with the weapon’s metal. It clings to and pinches your soft palate like the sting of a sweat bee, something you can feel just under your eyes. 

His spine cracks, releasing a hard, meaty sound as the joints give, and he grunts in relief, turning his head toward you. He looks like he’s about to say something, but stops right before the words can gather behind his teeth.

Shit, you must be obvious. Can’t help the pull on your lips as you look up at him, shifting your legs, your thighs pressing together, amplifying the thump of your blood. “Hey.” Stupid thing to say really, but your come-on lines have never been all that stellar. But he’s always excited you, made you feel giddy and frivolously young and unburdened. Like you’re finally able to have all the things were denied as you grew into adulthood, shoved aside in favor of trauma that demanded the attention more.

“Hey,” he says, laughing a bit. He pulls what he can of his scarred lips between his teeth, wetting them, his brow furrowing. “I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Briefly, there is a twitch in your stomach, watching him go, and the anticipation and giddiness twist for a moment toward sickness. Sometimes, you worry he will leave and not come back. That he’ll have decided that he’s had enough, even with his threshold as high as it is, and he will simply be gone.

But, true to his word, he’s not gone long at all, just gone to the kitchen on the other side of the room, and you are bad off all over again. Watching him bow his head and hunch slightly to fit his hands under the stream of steaming water, soap foaming clear up his wrists, is making your mouth flood and your throat clicking dry. Big bastard, he’s doing it on purpose, hitting all of your buttons.

And the way he maintains eye contact with you all the way back, his hips loose and rocking, his pants already beginning to tent. His deep breathing gives him away, nevermind the fact that he hasn’t pulled his gaiter back up.

He sits back down, turned toward you, and pushes his hands under the hem of your shirt, his palms warm and soft from the wash and scrub. His thumbs knead into your skin, and his lids droop as his fingers tuck into the waistband of your pants. The pressure in his fingertips is possessive, greedy, starved like a street dog. He savors your skin, tracing patterns where he knows your tattoos live beneath your skin, pressing the heels of his hands into your hips.

Your tongue feel like lead. Everytime he touches you like this, it reads loud and clear that he’s holding onto something–someone he considers his. He’s surveying the scope of his lands, his dominion, and, dear god, does he love this country he calls home. 

“Bitte, Schatzi,” he mumbles, leaning forward so minimally anyone else in the world would need a micrometer to measure the distance moved, “let me have your cunt. I’m starved, and you look like you’re having fits.” A wicked smirk flickers over the corner of his mouth as his eyes darken, and his hands grip tighter where they’ve slid to your waist. “I’m probably the world’s biggest asshole, but I can’t stand to just watch you suffer because of me.”

You pull your tongue along the bottom edge of your teeth, thinking of how he was in the woods earlier–sharp-edged and demanding, unrelenting, holding you in place over his cock as he rammed into you over and over, until you literally saw stars and couldn’t breathe. Aggression, all claws, borderline unfit for human companionship, all under a soft gold sunset. And, here, you still would not say the man before you is a different man at all. He’s just König. He’s just Leopold Königsbacher, from Schladming, Austria, who juggles kitchen knives to make you laugh.

“You just wanna sink down there til you grow gills or something?” you ask, a bedroom, sliding your leg into his lap, soaking up the look of relief on his face. His hands slide farther down, cradling the swell of your hips, as you undo your belt and zipper, pushing your pants and boxers down. 

He helps pull them down as far as either of you can, looking fucking ridiculous as your clothes can’t go farther than your boots. Doesn’t pay to take them off, no matter how long you’re going to be here, you might have to run, and it’s easier to keep everything within pulling distance. 

Flicking his eyes over your body, a small, caught-out smirk touches his lips. “Hah. Yeah, jawohl. Would live between your fucking legs, if I could.” His hips roll against nothing, rubbing his hard cock against the strain of his pants. You know there’s an anxiety in him that screams to fuck and to fuck now, and it’s raising its head. 

König has the sort of anxiousness where if the things he desires do not happen immediately, they will not happen at all. His mind works in such a way that even small things become so desperately escalated into needs, he can hardly function without answering those demands.

On the best of days, you’re not much for words, and he has no natural talent for them–he can talk at screeching speeds, expelling high levels ideas that are baffling or frightening with ease, but his delivery is lacking, and leaves his listeners shifting uncomfortably or looking for exits. You, on the other hand, are simply not good at them. Too cold, too strange. Too blunt, or removed. But König understands you as you understand him, and he coaxes sweet nothings out of you more than anyone else has ever managed.

Despite the sweetness that spills from your lips being an understood language between you,  none of your words are the soft, looping things most would like to hear muttered into their skin. In the bedroom-dark safety of bodies-meeting-bodies, you and König still snap out the sounds of predators, and anyone scenting as prey would fail to find the beauty in your phrases as he does. 

And, beyond that, you’re not sure you could even find words. Not with him towering over you between your legs, though he bows lower. Not with the light from the kitchen behind his head hitting the wheat-colored curls escaping from his hair tie, illuminating him like a saint. Lord, he looks like dreams you used to have. 

You reach for his neck, and you tug him down, permission passed without even parting your lips, and the relief that relaxes his eyes is colossal. Like he’s walking his way home in the dark on a path he would know blind and numb, he finds his way to your cunt with the ease of muscle memory. 

But König is still König, and his anxiety will always outweigh his softness tenfold. He lets out this nervous, pitchy hyena laugh of excitement. Not waiting for permission and not giving a second of preamble, he licks you from asshole to clit in a broad, wet swipe with his long, split tongue.  

Electricity shoots straight up your spine. Almost immediately, he buries back in, massaging the halves of his tongue around your clit like he’s painting in brush strokes. 

He ropes an arm around your leg and over your pelvis, weighing you down, and fits his free hand into the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Using that as extra leverage, he pulls himself further in, and pushes your legs further back–hobbled as they are by your clothing around your ankles. Your skin burns like an oil derrick in flames every spot you’re touched, and his mouth is volcanic; you only just this moment realizes how badly you needed to thaw.

You were a barracks bunny before König and your mutual, supermassive possessive streaks; always easy to put out, wet on your own command, perpetually bored and looking for fun stolen minutes at a time. You can easily say sex is a sorely jaded topic in your roster. 

But, holy fuck, every time he hits his knees to devour you feels new, and alien, and strange. 

Not only his tongue—practiced, clever thing it is now that he’s been able to take his natural talent for it to use with you, drawing figure eights and pinching and pulling at you, teasing your hole and your clit at once—but his utter, sustained greed pitched against his plain desire to serve. How he gets more focused and desperate, sucking on your lips, groaning into you, sounds become wetter by the second. 

“Pretty, fuck, your pussy’s so pretty,” he mutters, panting, pausing to kiss your seam. Between your cunt and thigh, your perineum, making you squirm and whine. His dogmatic fervor has always been borderline chilling–you’ve never been handled with this level of desire, or needed so fiercely you function akin to air that is needed to live. 

No one has ever loved you this way–no one before him. If you could wrap the threads of fate around your forearms like the reins of horses, to exert your horrid and steely control over them, he will never have a successor. 

It will always be only him.

You reach down and grab him by the hair at his temples, which you’ve never ceased to be charmed to find is gray before his years. “Fuck me—with your tongue, right now,” you command him, and he complies, only reaching up to hook his thumb in your shirt and bra to ruck them up over your breasts. 

The instant stretch makes you dizzy, squeezing your thighs tight around his head. Don’t his cheekbones just cut right into your muscle, and doesn’t he just moan and heave a whole body shudder under you?  Greedy fucking man, pushing his tongue deeper, scissoring the halves of it wide in all directions, curling against your walls as he finds an angle for his neck that fits him to thrust in and out of you. Feasting, feasting, feasting.

It’s a fullness you’ve only recently gotten used to with him–too much dexterity, too fluid and swirling, and it reminds you shamefully of all the times you’ve masturbated to the point of wrist-aches with tentacles, and aliens, and monsters on your mind. Fevered, otherworldly, inhuman beasts dying of desire, with the sparkling-sharp sentience to know exactly how to slake their thirst and sate their hunger. 

His hands grip tighter, nails digging into your flesh, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don't care. It only gets better when he cracks his eyes, a picture of anguish and ecstasy, moaning deep and rumbling in his chest. 

It seems he brings himself under some form of control. His mouth turns pliant, and the way he tastes you turns indulgent, slow. The only man you’ve ever met who could self-soothe by eating pussy. And, shit. Doesn’t that work out perfectly for you.

Your hands soften, brushing over his tied-back hair, playing with loose ringlets. Staring down at him, watching the creases fade from his forehead and from around his scars, he looks satisfied, and at peace. It’s a look you’ve seen only rarely, not even in his sleep. 

He sighs and groans, kneading your thighs, when he makes you come on his tongue, sliding it in and out of you as lazy as late, humid afternoons; rumbling deep in his throat when you arch off the cushions, groaning and clenching your thighs to keep them from squeezing around his head again.

“Aw, fuck, Kö—,” you half-whine, making him hum a nasal laugh, pulling out of you agonizingly slow. The lower half of his face is a mess with your slick, shining under the light, and his pupils are dilated to the size of fucking 10-cent pieces. 

There’s a proud, giddy cut to his expression, his scarred-crooked mouth pulling into a lopsided grin, chest heaving. 

“Did you like that, Schatzi? Did it make you feel good?” he pushes, his hands coming to your knees, fingers pressing firmly into your flesh. 

“Yeah,” your voice drags as you speak, laughter raspy. Your racing heartbeat is only just starting to slow, and the whole of your body pulses in time. There is delight in being rocked by ground-shaking tectonics of pleasure. There is divinity in the way he looks down at you–starving, an acolyte wanting to worship. “Have a condom on you?”

A quick nod is your answer, and he starts to pull up your body, dropping your legs. It’s ridiculous and hurried, and the laugh that bursts out of you is huge, taking on a life uniquely its own when he starts climbing in between your legs and your pulled-down pants, “What are you fucking doing?”

“Path of least resistance, even though it looks like the path of most resistance!” he barks in return, laughing too loudly and frenetically, filling the room. He hikes your pants up over his ass and onto back, yanking you further down the couch, and deeper into his lap. As simple as if you were just a jump harness he had to wrestle into. “I’m thinking on that fifth dimension shit right now! You have to catch up, Schatzi,” he says, giving you a maniac, you get it? grin. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you accuse him, but you’re beaming and cackling all the same, unfastening a chain from around your neck with zero thought, working a fully blind impulse. 

“No, you’re fucking an idiot,” he shoots right back, “really, Liebe, you have to at least try to keep up.”

Oh, and what the fuck. This is König–the one that you dream about, the one you go looking for when the world wants to crush you in its titanic fucking grip. Thinks himself so dog-ugly, dog-tired. Distempered, foul, and unworthy of anything but beating. 

He’d probably sneer, roll his eyes, and insult you if you compared him to the sun, but the thought remains firmly anchored in your head as your hands slide the thin, cheap chain around his neck twice, fixing the clasp at his nape. König’s too distracted to notice much more than lifting his chin to afford you access, as he pulls out his cock and rolls the rubber down it.

When he lines himself up with your cunt, looking too eager, the two fingers you keep tucked between a strand of the chain and his neck tug, tightening the links around his skin. At once, you’ve got his full attention, his chest heaving as he holds himself above you.

“What’s that?” he asks, licking his lips, beginning to tremble, leaning into the pull of pressure. “What’re you doing?”

“I was thinking about playing with your air a little bit. That okay?” you purr, giving the chain another small tug. “Nothing big. I won’t cut your breathing off completely. But I thought you might like it.”

“Oh, fuck.” He starts up laughing again, but it’s dripping with a rotten core of sudden need. “Bitte–think you have to, now. Can’t just tease me with that shit and not deliver.”

It was in your head to pull him down over you, but your breath catches in your throat looking at him. With half your body bound to him by tangled clothing and your own greedy legs anchoring tight to his sides, each of you flush with laughter and arousal, your heart is a bleeding stone on your tongue. Instead of staining your teeth as the blood rolls out of your mouth, it spills in reverse, and you can hardly drink your fill of it before you begin to choke. 

“I love you—” It snaps out of your mouth and dies, the harsh need to hide away your face makes you pull him down, moaning as he slides deeper, and, fuck, it hurts. You’re still so tender, and bruised, and god knows what else from this taking just barely managing to handle the way he’d fucked you that afternoon that anything but slow, sweet, and shallow was going to be an agony endured. 

His hips buck and jag, entire throat filling with the moan of your real name. He tries so hard not to fuck into you fully, planting his hands on either side of your arms as if he’ll bar himself from giving into his own body. 

“Don’t do that, don’t do that, don’t do that,” he begs and rambles, shuddering, breathing in shallow, clipped laps as if freezing. His hips and legs shift, nearly nervous–a horse spooked and dying to run. “Oh, fuck, don’t do that,” he pleads, hanging his head, trying hard to catch his breath.

The chain is so easy to use, and he listens to the summon of pressure, sucking in a breath to hold it tight. His body sways, buffeted by arousal as if he is a ship on deep-rolling seas, and his head ends up sunken within whispering distance of your lips. So close you can smell the sweat cooling through his curls. So close you can taste the copper-tinged scent of his skin without ever licking him.

“You’re so good, Schatz,” you say, tapping on a name you rarely call him, borrowing his language. “Such a good boy. Such a loving boy.” The pain dulls to a throbbing ache that can be enjoyed, his hips slowing as he rocks into you. Already, he runs ragged, but his rhythm is bursting with devotion and slow-melting sweetness. 

There is a monster that lives in your chest, cradling, always, the molar-cracking force with which you love König. The beast beneath that calls your ribcage a prison and a home does not know a single way to handle things in half-measures. There are no lengths you would hesitate to go for the man above and inside you, head bent and buried into your shoulder in supplication.

Your pillow-talk starts to spill out, eyes sliding closed, as you revel in the breath making your skin humid, “I couldn’t stand seeing you with anyone else, Schatz. If you ever left me–ever started fucking another person–think I’d kill ‘em. I’d lose my shit, not being the last person you ever took to bed.”

“I wouldn’t–oh, sheiße–Schatzi, I would never,” König vows in a moan, the sound filling the dip above your collarbone like collected sweat or blood pooled from a spilling neck wound. 

He loses sense of his rhythm, rutting like an animal in heat. It becomes difficult to ride it out with him, timing his peaks with the pull on the chain, forcing him higher and higher. You’re too sore to cum like this again today, but his mouth had seen to it that you were finished. Now it is a matter of making him match as he rides you, pressing more and more of his weight down.

“Cum. God dammit, König, you need to cum,” you command him, breathless, pulling the chain taut now. It’s been entirely too long now that he’s been keyed up, desperate for your cunt, gripping you to his body like he needs the touch to simply survive. The way he breathes, when you allow him, is the heavy heaving of brittle-dry sobs. His skin burns against yours, sliding with the sheer amount of sweat pouring from his body. 

It’s almost enough to make your eyes roll back, listening to him whimper, “I’m trying, I’m trying, bitte, Liebes, I promise,” his voice unraveling into an escalating, hysterical, almost panicked moaning. 

“I know–I know you are, honey. Christ–fuck–you’re killing me. Love how you fuck me. Love how hard you get when you kill people. How you act all fucked up, and vile, and need to cut loose,” you gasp, more of the vulgarity breaking out of you as your ragged pants barely manage to pull air into your lungs. “Know this isn’t that. I know you’re–being gentle on purpose. Fucking me like you need me, ‘cause you do. You couldn’t move on from me–there is no one else, is there?”

There is one last ruthless constriction of chains against his throat, holding him tight. This time you really do cut his air, metal biting into your fingers. The last stretch of his desperation draws longer–long enough you wonder if it was a mistake–as every roll of his hips slides him deeper. 

A sound chokes in his throat, and he holds himself rigid, his shoulders quaking with suppressed trembling as his wrapped cock kicks inside you. He’s not even breathing, obeying the constriction around his neck, and he rocks the longer it draws out. For a stupid moment, you wonder if he’s somehow blacked the fuck out in his frozen state, until the links holding the chain’s clasp give, the necklace snapping.

He pulls in a huge gust of air and collapses on top of you, forcing your chin to slot over his shoulder as his weight crashes down, pushing the wind out of you.

“Shit–damn, baby, was it that good?” you ask, relieved and shaking in time to match his. You didn’t cum, but you didn’t need nor want to. You find yourself perfectly satisfied, the heady, filthy contact of skin sticking together its own prize.

“Shh,” he admonishes you, taking a huge breath, sloppily kissing your neck. 

“We didn’t even shower.”

“Shh,” he now insists, lazily lifting a hand to cup it over your mouth, and he rumbles with contentment as you place your teeth on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger.

After an indecently thorough shower, you both dress in the small cubby of a bathroom afforded to you. It’s a slow process, König seemingly spending more time kissing you and touching you than actually dressing. The sadness and desperation had gone out of him with the sex–it could even be called lovemaking, but. Well. You’re both on the far side of skittishness when it comes to naming something so gently.

But, in turn, you are softer. Kinder. Thawed. When his hands slide into yours, you massage his palms and the heel of his thumb. You squeeze his fingers, and brush the soft veins of his wrist with your fingertips. 

Your love is dissection, vivisection, but there is a reason that flesh is cut and dermis, fascia, and muscle are pulled apart. 

It is to learn the body beneath your hands, and you are so acutely learned in König. When you kiss his palms, he breathes in tightly. When you put a hand over his chest, as if to hold his oversized heart, you swear he would let you cradle it to calm the slamming it produces.

“I love you,” you say to him, sliding your eyes up to his, liquid-smooth, flowing. This time it is said with intent. It is not a burst of confession in the midst of blistering heat, where it feels guilty and fraudulent. This is a surety. This is your heart speaking with a projected voice.

He takes your hand off his chest, his face softened with a weak expression and glittering eyes, and he presses his lips to your knuckles. After the kiss, he holds you there, simply nuzzling your skin. “Ich liebe dich, auch, mein Liebe,” he murmurs, lids sitting heavy over that blue you know so well.

Baščaršija had awoken as you two had hidden in one another’s bodies. The sky is dark as pitch, and the light pollution from the bazaar blots out the stars, but the air smells spiced and warm, with a faint tinge of sweat-touched skin leftover on the locals who had spent their days under the sun.

While waiting in line for the coffee König had mentioned as he’d broken down and cleaned your guns, he examines the snapped length of your necklace. “It’d be an easy fix. Might have to wait until we’re home, but–no, yeah–two minutes, tops,” he says, pinching the stretched-out link that had caused the failure below the free edge of his thumb nail.

You lift a shoulder in a shrug, looking down at his hands. “It’s cheap, I’m not worried about it. I have to have a dozen and a half just like that in my junk jewelry box,” you snort. It’s an easy let-go. It’s garbage silver over copper, and it’s not worth the money that made the tag that once hung from it. 

“Always with the shitty jewelry,” he sighs, bemused, but it’s not a real jab. He still winds the chain around two of his fingers to make a little bundle, and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s not going to let it remain broken, simply because it’s yours. He’s quiet for a moment, though he hums warmly when you turn around and press your back into his chest, your boots between his boots while you wait in the queue. But he starts, “You know…”

You press back into him, humming, “Hm?” in answer.

“I could buy you jewelry, if you want. Real jewelry,” he begins to venture, tone a completely different animal than you’re used to meeting eyes with. It’s almost hesitant, and isn’t that just so massively strange when it comes to this man. “Or…a diamond.”

The word lands like an anomalous warhead–something gargantuan and frightening, that does not detonate on impact. It’s still a terrifying occurrence, but not an instant death as should be feared. Your back straightens against him, and you fall into a controlled breathing pattern in the same way you’d fall into a plummet when running off the back of a cargo plane. Good god, you hope your chute opens.

“Do you like diamonds?” he queries further, soft and anxious. He begins to shift and fidget. He’d hoped for a faster answer to this question-beneath-a-question.

Reaching behind you, you draw your hand down the length of his arms, until he pulls out of his hoodie pocket. Relaxation floods his body the moment you lace fingers with him, squeezing him tight, three times, I love you, and his four beat answer comes quickly. 

“Diamonds are pretty,” you start, slow and careful in navigation of the thoughts ricocheting around your racing heart. Exhilaration? Dread? Hope? You can’t possibly tell, but you know exactly what he’s asking. “I’d want a lab grown one, though. Think we have enough blood on our hands without jumping for something mined,” you further, in small beats. “What about a, uhm. What do you think of a sapphire? Maybe…something heirloom.”

Callused fingers brush your knuckles, and a scarred mouth hidden by a black cotton gaiter lowers to your ear, nuzzling your hair. “I’d love how you look wearing a sapphire,” he murmurs in utter reverence. It makes you scoff a little under your breath–he holds you in higher esteem than he’d ever held any god–but you reach up and offer benediction in the form of your free fingers sliding into his freshly washed curls.

“Maybe that’s something we’ll talk about more coming up, huh?” you ask and assure. It is not a no, you are not putting out his flame completely, but this is something that should not be spoken of while clocking hours with kills. You’d rather not have anything between you and König defined in a setting where blood could shower at any moment. You’d like neither blood diamonds, nor blood proposals. “But, yeah, Schatz. I’d wear your jewelry.”

He presses a kiss to the spot in front of your ear, and quickly pinches your ass, laughing hyena-pitched once again. “Good. You wouldn’t get to take it off, you know. I’m going to put it on you, and a mortician is going to have to remove it.”

You rub the spot he’d pinched, giving him an eye roll over your shoulder. “Ah, I see, so you’re also telling me that you get to die, first,” you deadpan, though you can’t stop the smirk that curls your mouth.

“Of course. Why would I want to hang around any fucking place you’re not?” he throws your way, and in the pit of your heart, you know he means it.

tag-list: @alittleposhtoad @bitchoftoji @jaredhopworthsknickers @kastlequill @miyabilicious @moths569 @pssytrux <3

[tightjeansjavi]

The Birthday Boy

A/N: couldn’t miss out on the birthday celebrations for my favorite fictional man <3 I am wishing the happiest of birthday’s to Mr. Joel heartthrob Miller. P.S this is not proofread. It’s definitely a little silly and fluffy but that’s what my man deserves on his special day (let’s just pretend the outbreak never happened 😇)

~word count: 2.1k~

Pairing | horse dad! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: it’s your first time celebrating Joel’s birthday after starting the transition process of moving in with him and Sarah. You want to make sure the birthday boy knows just how loved he really is.

Warnings: none! Just a lot of fluff, feels, cheesy banter from our favorite horse dad!, implied smut bc it wouldn’t be a birthday without some birthday sex, teasing, family love, light swearing, no outbreak! This takes place in the blue jeans universe but can be read as a standalone, Joel is 35 and not 36 in this universe, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

master list series master list

September 26th 2003: Joel Miller’s birthday. He wasn’t particularly a huge fan of his special day. He never was the type to enjoy any kind of spotlight. He preferred a more simple and quiet birthday compared to some extravagant party where he would have to worry about entertaining his guests. No, he would much rather enjoy a night in with Sarah on his one side, and you on his other. Your only request was make him a cake. He begrudgingly complied to your thoughtful request, but before any cake baking could take place, you had to wiggle your way out of his death grip that he presently held on you under the soft duvet of his bed. The whole sleeping over every other day was proving to be an easy transition for all three of you, and at this point you were practically moved into the Miller household.

Your mornings always started with Joel doing his utmost best to keep you tangled between his legs for a few minutes longer. This morning however, you were all his. You had slept with him intimately enough times to pick up on all his specific quirks and mannerisms that were tailored to him. He snored, but only when he was laying on his back. If you got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or get a glass of water, he would be cuddling with your pillow until you returned. Sometimes his feet would get cold and he’d tuck them under your thighs to keep them warm. He talked in his sleep on the rare occasion. Most of it was gibberish, but you’d hear Sarah’s name and yours like the faintest of whispers.

You knew he was awake by the way his bare arm tightened around your waist as he lassoed you against his chest. His fingers were gently splayed under the soft cotton fabric of your sleep shirt (his of course) as he buried the bridge of his nose against the back of your neck. You could feel him inhale deeply through his nose before exhaling a warm breath of air that caused gooseflesh to pebble on your skin.

“Is the birthday boy finally awake?” You softly mused with your eyes half open like a crescent moon as you stretched your legs out under the warm confines of the comforter.

“Mmm, nope. The birthday boy is not awake right now. You’ll have to try again later my darlin.’” He teased, voice thick, gravelly and sticky with sleep as he pressed what felt like a dozen open mouth sweet kisses to your soft skin.

“Joooel” You giggled, warm and sweet as your hand brushed across his that rested across your middle. “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Baby, you can’t be mean to me when it’s my special day. Y’take that back right now.” He chuckled as he pulled you as close as he physically could. It never was enough, of course. He’d do anything to just crawl inside of your skin and make a little home for himself there. (not in a deranged way you sickos). That’s just what love did to him. It made him turn into this ushy- gushy softy that sometimes used you as his own personal heater.

“Well, if the birthday boy isn’t awake, then he doesn’t get his present.”

Well, that did it.

You barely finished your sentence before your man was nearly rolling over on top of you with a soft grunt from the ache in his back. “Okay, okay! The birthday boy is awake, and ready for his present.”

“Gotcha.” you peeked one eye open to find his not so impressed expression as a stray curl cascaded across his forehead. Dear god, he was truly so handsome, it hurt.

“You’re a lil’ tease, Y’know that? Gettin’ me all excited jus’ to go’in and break my heart!” He grasped his fist to his chest in mock despair as your sweet giggles filled the domestic air.

“Relax, Shakespeare. I’m only teasing!” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his theatrics before you playfully pushed him onto his back just so you could straddle his hips.

“Shakespeare? Nah, I ain’t no Romeo, baby cakes, but you can be my Juliet?” He had a shit eating grin plastered on his kissable lips as you grabbed his wrists gently and pinned them above his head.

“That was so painfully lame, even for you, cowboy.”

“Yeah, but I jus’ know it made your puss–” You cut him off with a swift kiss to his lips that sent his heart melting into a puddle. Sweet, and filthy. What a lucky son of a bitch.

“Is the birthday boy going to be good so I can give him his present?” You mumbled against his lips as he kissed you back languidly.

“Ain’t I always bein’ a good boy for my baby?” He hummed as he rolled his hips slowly against yours.

“That’s a coin flip, cowboy.” He could feel your mischievous little grin blossom like flower petals as you slowly followed the rhythm of his hips with your own.

“Christ. Y’gonna fuck me or get me all riled up, baby? C’mon, please fuck me, honeybun. The birthday boy shouldn’t have’to beg.” he spoke with that deep Texas twang that always had you caving on the spot.

“We’re getting to that part, cowboy.”

Some gibberish followed by a deep moan that traveled deep from within his chest when you finally sank down around him.

“Shell?” Joel asked with a small grin and arch of his brow as Sarah set a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of him.

“Yep! Saved some just for you.” She teased. “I’m just kidding, Dad. There’s no shell! I promise.”

Joel seemed unconvinced as he used his fork to play around with his plate of scrambled eggs. “Hmm..are ya sure about that, kiddo?”

“Daaad.” Sarah placed her hands on her hips with a huff which only caused Joel’s grin to grow wider before he was reaching out and pulling his baby girl in for a hug as he pressed a gentle kiss to her mess of curls. “I trust ya.”

Sarah wrapped her arms back around him in a gentle hug, but she was smart to move away quickly when he attempted to tousle her hair.

It wouldn’t be a regular day in the Miller household without Tommy showing up with his own shit eating grin as he made a b-line straight for the fridge.

“Help yourself, why don’t ya?” Joel muttered with a mouthful of eggs.

“What’s it look like I'm doin?’” The younger Miller brother responded with a cheeky wink as he pulled out a container of leftover chicken wings from the fridge. “How old is grumpy today anyway, 50?”

“Do I look like–”

“He’s 35, but who’s really counting?” You chimed in as you pressed a quick kiss to Joel’s cheek before sitting down beside him.

“35 and he’s already gettin’ some gray’s I see. Gonna have to wear diapers soon.” Sarah teased as she took a bite of her eggs.

“Who says I don’t already?” Joel quipped back as he washed his eggs down with a big swig of coffee.

“Babe?”

“Yes, my darlin?’”

“Your shirt is inside out.”

Joel tossed his fork down with a huff as he wasted no time to pull his t-shirt over his head and switch it the right way around.

“Y’girls still plannin’ on bakin’ me a cake?” He asked as he checked the time on his phone before standing up.

“You bet your fine Texas tush that we are. It’s going to be the best birthday cake you’ve ever tasted.”

Joel probably would have said something highly provocative if Sarah and Tommy weren’t listening in, so he opted for a quick kiss and a slight ass grab.

“Bus is leavin’ in five. Can’t wait to come home later and taste this delicious cake that you’re gonna make me, baby.”

“Gross.” Sarah nearly gagged as she picked up her plate and brought it to the kitchen sink.

“Hey, sugar? You think you can spare me a bit of cake too?” Tommy asked cheekily as he ducked down before Joel could thwack him upside the head. “Y’gotta be quicker than that, big brother.”

“G’nna kill him one of these days, I swear.” Joel mumbled as he looped his arms around your waist and pulled you in close. “Y’gonna pick Sarah up from school still? Dunno what time I'll be home later, but hopefully it ain’t too late.”

You looped your arms around his neck as your fingers gently played with the curly tendrils of hair that rested along the nape of his neck. “I’ll be there to pick her up. Try to not be home too late, okay?”

“G’nna do my best for my girls.” He closed the short gap between the two of you with a sweet affectionate kiss with a mumbled I love you before he was reluctantly pulling away when he heard Tommy beep from his truck in the driveway.

“Did you get it fixed for him?” You asked Sarah as she climbed into the passenger seat of your car outside of the watchmaker's shop.

“Yep!” She beamed brightly up at you as she held the watch box up proudly.

“He’s gonna love it, kiddo.”

“What did you end up getting him?”

“Well, a little birdie whispered in my ear and told me that Curtis and Viper 2 is his absolute favorite movie. It’s the version with the deleted scenes.”

“Oh, wicked! He’s going to be soo happy!”

“As long as we don’t royally fuck up this cake. I don’t know the first thing about baking. Do you?”

“Well, if we happen to burn it..we can always cover the burnt spots with frosting?” Sarah suggested as she carefully slipped the watch box into her backpack.

“You’re a genius.”

“Oh, I know.” She winked before buckling up.

The cake turned out to not be a disaster..well, minus the first cake mix not rising properly. The best part was getting to decorate it with Sarah’s help. She insisted on the frosted red hearts while you piped out the letters spelling, happy birthday. It was nearing 10pm when Joel had finally arrived home. He was already feeling guilty for the fact that he was home later than he promised, but that all washed away when he found his two favorite girls cuddled up on the couch watching re-runs of Property Brothers on HGTV.

“Sorry I'm late. They gave us the wrong size for the headers. Took way longer than I was expectin.’ What are we watchin?’ He softly asked as he kicked his heavy duty work boots alongside the doormat.

“Property Brothers.” Sarah mumbled with her cheek gently pressed against your shoulder.

“They’re pretty good lookin.’” Joel added as he maneuvered his way over to the couch and plopped down. “Y’all make that cake you’ve been ravin’ about?” He gently draped his arm around the back of the couch where your head was presently resting.

“Well, we almost had a serious mishap, but it’ll still be the best damn cake you’ve ever eaten.”

“G’in get it f’me, darlin.’” He nearly yawned from being exhausted on the job all day as you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his temple before you got up and headed into the kitchen.

“Y’all didn’t burn it, right?” He asked his daughter who had shifted positions so she could cuddle up with him now.

“Nope. The first batch didn’t rise correctly, but two-times a charm, right?”

“That’s not how it goes, baby girl. Good effort though.” He chuckled softly as he wrapped his arm around her just as you came out of the kitchen with one hand supporting the base of the cake while the other was held close to the candles to keep them from burning out. Joel could see your eyes twinkle brightly from the flames of the candles, as a soft smile spread across his lips.

“Wow, y’all made this? Didn’t buy it from the store?”

“Homemade, just for you, baby.” You smiled warmly at him as you set the cake along the coffee table in front of him.

“Well, I'll be damned. That’s one fine lookin’ cake.” He nearly whistled.

You and Sarah sang Happy Birthday to him under the soft light of the candles glow while Joel listened proudly with happy tears glistening in his warm espresso colored eyes. All three of you were wearing silly little party hats from the dollar store, despite Joel’s protesting. (He looked damn cute in that hat) The cake was nothing short of delicious, and he was more than appreciative over both of his gifts. He might not have always been the biggest birthday person, but he was now all thanks to his favorite girls.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika

[f10werfae]

Hey beautiful I was wondering how lumberjack Henry would react to shy wife getting drunk? Is she a happy giggling drunk? Or just randomly confident and not shy at all? ❤️

Lumberjack!Henry Dealing with Drunk Shy!Short!Wife

A/n: Loved this idea so much I made it into a spicy sweet drabble

Disclaimer 18+ / Lumberjack!Henry Masterlist

“Hey pretty girl, I missed ya” Henry whispered helping in his drunk wife, who was clearly having a damn good time at her best friend’s hen party; too precious for her own good. “I-I miss m-my hubby n-n my m-marly” She hiccuped hugging onto Henry’s side tightly for balance, his hand subtly running down her back to give her ass a tight squeeze.

“H-hey only m-my husband can do that Mister!”

Y/n scolded wagging her finger in the older man’s face, still not recognising that it was indeed her grumpy lumberjack husband, her Henry. “Oh sorry bunbun, my apologies” He smirked helping her onto their shared bed, which was full of anything pink, from pillows to small fluffy blankets; it was all for her. Henry’s cabin used to be the epitome of dark, if possible any piece of furniture was black, but now with this little light in his life that was changed. His lunches for work had tiny love notes in them, their toothpaste was strawberry flavoured, his couch had pink covers and his bedsheets were no longer black, but a dusty pink.

That wasn’t even all of it.

“Wait! Y-you just called- called me b-bunbun, n’ o-only my husband does t-that” She said squinting her eyes as he took off her heels, massaging her poor feet, before pulling down the stockings she was wearing to protect herself from the Winter cold. “I am your husband sugar, your one n’ only lumberjack” He chuckled hovering over her as she pulled him down on top of her, her hands tracing over his nose bridge as usual, “O-oh baby i-it is you! M-missed you s-so much, need y-you so bad. I-I got a little d-drunk so am sorry, b-but I love youuu” She sang out in a little song, throwing her arms around his neck, his lips raining kisses on her face as she giggled.

“S’okay bun, remember I told ya to enjoy yourself, as long as ya text me to pick ya up, n’ ya did” Henry replied slowly, pulling down the side zipper of her black sweater dress, her head lazily nodding along to his words. “Are ya p-proud of me? M-made sure to keep an e-eye on my drinks n-n’ I didn’t go t-to the toilet a-alone, and AND! I r-replied to y-your hourly t-texts” She hiccuped smiling proudly to herself, her arms coming up so Henry could pull the dress off her, leaving her in her favourite pair and comfortable pair of granny panties; which Henry swiftly took off because of the rule, no panties indoors.

“Mhm so proud of you bun, couldn’t make me happier, did ya enjoy yourself?” Henry smirked placing a kiss right above her pussy making her shudder, before pulling up her sleep shorts, which were actually Henry’s that shrunk in the laundry. Her giggles filling his ears as she tangled her hands in his mop of curls, his hands lifting hers up to put the shirt on, but not without unclipping her bra first. “N-no, don’t wanna shirt, s’too warm” She whined flopping around like a fish, making him sigh and just throw the shirt to the side, not like he was complaining much.

“n’ what if ya get cold baby?” He quirked helping her crawl under the soft crisp covers, his hands coming to push a headband on, keeping her hair away from her gorgeous face. Reaching for the micellar water on the nightstand, he took a few cotton pads and began wiping the light makeup she had put on that night, her mouth jokingly trying to bite onto the cotton.

“Ey, no bitin’ or else no sexy time” Henry smirked instantly watching her stop and straighten her face, but her lips filled into a pout. “I-if I get cold, then I-I have you s-silly” She smiled once he finished, her head bouncing side to side on the pillow, her energy still bouncing off the walls. “Mhm you’re right bun, i’ll keep ya warm, all night” He whispered sliding into his side of the bed, his hand patting his chest invitingly as she wiggled over, her head landing on top of his pec. “Y-you’re so fuzzy n’ warm, I-I kept tellin’ the girls, th-they were sooo j-jealous. Course I told them, y-ya were mine, LOOK AT MY FINGER!” She rambled holding up her left finger, pointing at the golden wedding band sitting snugly, a giddy smile on her face as she felt Henry’s hand rubbing up and down her side.

Henry’s chest swelled with pride at the thought of his precious little wife getting the confidence to tell people she was his, proudly showing off how they claimed each other with the rings on their fingers, the next step of putting a baby in her already cooking in his head. “Gah maybe I should let you get drunk more often sugar, you’re like a little sprout of energy, but I miss my little sugar pie who needs me” He grumbled kissing her cheek wetly, hearing her squeak in delight at the affection. “I-I do need you bear, m-more than ya know, am y-your woman af-after all”

Grinning she leant up and kissed his lips sloppily, the taste of Vodka on her tongue causing Henry to smirk and deepen the kiss, her whimpers and moans being swallowed by him readily. Her fingers trying to direct his hand to her needy clit, but she failed. “W-why not?” She whined against his lips, a string of saliva connecting their mouths, her eyes glistening like stars. “Not right now bunbun, not when ya drunk alright?”

“S-so I have ta wait till mornin’ t-to h-have sexy time?”

“Well the quicker ya sleep the quicker ya wake up my love” He chuckled softly caressing her cheek, her skin soft n’ smooth to touch, the scars from her acne only defining her beauty further. “Hm okay!” She replied closing her eyes tightly pretending to sleep, before yawning and opening her eyes, “Is it morning?”

“Not funny sugar, go ta bed” He growled nipping her nipples gently, pressing a kiss to her jaw, “fine fine i’ll go to bed, mr grumpy” She whispered nuzzling into his chest, and within seconds her small snores vibrated against her husband’s hairy chest; Henry smiling triumphantly.

——-

A/n: I found this so cute and fun to write🥹🥹

Library blog of works: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist (not accepting, please use library)

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lots of love xoxo

lots of love xx

lots of love xo

Lots of love🫶

[marleysfinest]

nsfw! fem reader x reiner, smut drabble. minors dni

nothing, just daydreaming about reiner doing a full 180, switching from the sweetest, most gentle teddy to a fully grown bear as soon as he catches a glimpse of the lacy thong you purposely put on to flaunt in front of him. it's super hot outside, and so the short skirt isn't entirely a surprise, and he's spent all day making sure your sunscreen is topped up so you don't burn, and that you're hydrated enough with constant water bottle refills.

you've just spend the day running little errands; taking the dog to the groomers, cleaning the house, visiting your mom. last thing on the list was to stop by the supermarket so your fridge and pantry doesn't look so woefully empty.

reiner pushes the cart around as you browse the shelves, slowly revelling in the air conditioning that's cooling you down. you toss in what you need - juice, apples, those big tins of peanuts that he loves - until you just need to grab some cotton wool for yourself. it's up a little too high for you to reach without help, and he's a little distracted by the new shower gel on the men's side. you find a little footstool and kick it over to the shelf and climb up, and with a cursory glance to make sure he's noticed what you're doing, you reach up and slightly tip-toe as you reach for the cotton, making sure that your skirt comes up just enough to reveal yourself to him. once your feet are back flat on the ground, he's already wheeling the cart towards you faster than he had done all day.

"you done?" he asks quickly. you can't help but smile, chucking the pack of cotton wool into the cart.

"all set."

he nigh on runs to the checkout and pays without even checking the amount is correct. he throws the shopping into the back of the car and hits the road home. he's not mad, although an innocent onlooker might think he's a man made furious over something. no, he's just impatient, and desperate to get you home.

with blatant disregard to any order, he packs the shopping into the fridge as soon as the front door is shut, and within seconds his eyes are on you, looking you up and down like you're prey. you stand, fiddling with your fingers, ever the innocent. he slips off his t-shirt as he slowly pads closer to you.

"was that for my benefit?" he asks, his hands immediately lifting your skirt up as soon as he's in arm's reach, firmly clutching your ass.

"what?" you ask, as your fingers explore his muscled arms and chest in front of you, just slightly tinted with sweat from the heat. he's no longer willing to waste any time - that glimpse had sent him exactly where you'd intended, and the drive home had forced him to wait long enough. he grabs you up into his arms and throws you on to the sofa - no time to head up to the bedroom! - and he kneels in front of you, fingers gently tracing the lace of your underwear.

"these are some silly little pants," he utters, "are they for me?"

you nod, maintaining your silence and loving it. he gently nudges your legs ever so slightly further apart, and without warning leans forward and pulls the thong to one side with his teeth. before you can register what he's done, he's slipped two fingers inside of you and starts to gently massage you. you hear your wetness coat his fingers as he slams them in and out, immediately finding that sweet, sweet spot that makes your cheeks blush with pleasure. you're head is laid back against the back of the sofa, and you've been so busy letting him devote himself to you, not holding back your whimpers or moans that you don't even notice him slip his shorts or boxers off. without warning he removes his fingers, and as you lift your head to scold him for stopping, he flips you over and places your hands on the back of the sofa for support. your knees bury themselves into the cushions, and you don't even have time to breathe before he's sliding his cock into you, holding the strap of your thong to one side as he does so.

"I should've known you were up to something when you put on this skirt," he grunts, slowly but firmly fucking your pussy, "you like teasing me, huh?"

by now you're too pleased with yourself, and too engulfed with the pleasure of his cock inside you to answer. all you can do is let out a timid giggle.

"you know me so well, don't you baby?" he purrs, increasing his speed as he leans forward to wrap an arm across your breasts, pinning you against him, "don't you?"

he growls into your ear as he asks, one hand holding your tits and the other your ass as he fucks you mercilessly.

"yes, daddy," you whimper through your moans. without even looking you know he's smiling.

"that's it," he praises, "you're mine, baby girl."

you're no more than a mewling mess in his arms; he knows your undoing comes from his praise. he grips your tits harder, making sure you're as close to him as you can be, that he's as deep inside of you as he can go.

"that's it baby, all mine."

to your surprise, he lets you find your undoing, and he simultaneously huffs against your neck as he pumps you full. you both collapse onto the sofa, both breathless, sweaty messes.

"all that for a bit of cheek?" you ask. reiner laughs and hits you on the thigh.

"you know it, baby," he replies, "go get me some ice."

[elysianightsss]

Baker!Techno x reader

Wont ever stop plum.

Warning: beware of the honeycomb, PTSD, hinted drugging, mention of gunshots.

Your eyes blink open taking in the sight of the white sheer curtains flowing softly in the warm breeze, the feel of the gentle cotton sheets against your body did nothing to pull you out of your hazy sleep.

Things you don’t remember, places you’ve never been, a true dream if you’ve ever had one full of fiction and mistrustful information. It could never be true so you don’t dwell on the fragments of you in the desert that are fracturing your already fragile state of mind.

Your delicious baker always tells you not to think too much, with everything you’ve been through all you should be doing is relaxing.

But what had you been through is the real question.

You breathe deeply taking in the breath taking smell of cinnamon sweet buns downstairs, ears twitching at what you think is the radio playing in the background. Someone muttering something about India, hotel alpha victor echo, hotel echo Romeo, you don’t know not paying attention to such frivolous matters.

Instead you roll over onto your side eyes going to the French doors that are open giving you a full view of the blue sky, sun shining but not high enough for it to be midday. You recon it’s nine, possibly ten. The smell of fresh cut grass tells you that Techno had been up since about six am to do all the chores before you could even offer.

He was very passionate about you finishing the last two books of your favourite series and you can’t do that if you’re distracting yourself with silly things like chores. His words, not yours.

Breathing deeply once more not wanting to spike your heart rate, somehow your man always knows. It’s rather strange but it’s another thing on the list of things you shouldn’t dwell on. Catching a wiff of rain in the air, you can tell that the vineyard, you have as your beautiful back garden, got the drink it desperately needed last night.

Finally thinking you’ve given your baker enough time to ice those sweet buns you pull yourself from the sheets however groggy, you manage to slip on a silk robe and stagger your way through your home.

Your kitchen was Techno’s pride and joy, besides you of course, he designed it and got some friends of his to help build it. It is the definition of a baker’s dream, equipped with a state of the art pizza oven and four electric ovens for his exquisite bakery dishes adding a crisp texture, to delightful cookies and puffs.

Your tired eyes scan the kitchen quickly latching onto the sight of sixteen sweet buns waiting for you. You pad over ready to reach for one of the freshly iced cinnamon buns only to be stopped by your baker.

“Ah ah ah, this first.” A smooth piece of golden honeycomb appears in front of your face instantly making you salivate. You take it putting it to your lips, taking small licks before sucking on an edge missing the way Techno groans under his breath.

“Take such good care of me.” You mumble mouth a little full, eyes fluttering shut with a soft hum.

“Won’t ever stop plum.” His lips skim your forehead. He’s so sweet and so sincere. He’s genuine and loving. Everything he is always is. Not even a hint of darkness swirling in his eyes. Not even a spec.

Gunshots and the smell of dusty sand echo through his senses as his darkening orbs dart around your face while you suck on the sweet honeycomb.

“How’d you sleep plum?” He asks an arm curling around your waist pulling you against his warm body. With no shirt covering his hairy chest and a bit of pudge from all the taste testing. Wearing a simple pair of basketball shorts you whimper at the feel of him pressed up against you.

You nod eyes still closed, taking more of the honeycomb into your mouth to suckle on laying your head on his chest too. “Maybe you could use a bit more of it hm?” He hums in your ear before sucking your earlobe into his mouth, raking his teeth over it. “I think that’s a good idea, why don’t we cuddle for a while hmm?”

You nod, feeling disoriented letting Techno guide you to the bed you’d just left. His thick fingers stroking your head gently as he slips in behind you, holding you tight. “Let it happen plum.” He whispers, and you do eyes fluttering shut. All memories of that desert that had started to form in your head, gone.

[lostfirefly]

Life Must Have It's Mysteries (Ch.6)

This is my gift to the world for International Women's Day :) The world didn't ask me to, but I don't care :) Pain continues leading me to art :)

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: Buggy and Catherine continue searching for parts of the scepter.

Warnings: Fun, fluff, adventure, Buggy's inappropriate jokes, swearing (as always). Shitty shit again:)

Words: 5728 (sorry, this chapter is long again)

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @rorywritesjunk, @yujo-nishimura (I hope you still like it!)

The title is taken from “Life Must Have It's Mysteries” by Hans Zimmer (OST Inferno).

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Jesus Christ, Buggy, fuck off.” Catherine ran out of the bath, holding a towel in her hands and pulling on her underwear. 

“Why are you angry? It was so-o-o good, baby! I'm glad your Buggy Bear can make you moan his name out loud. Geez, it's like music to my ears!” He followed her out, smiling happily.

“Screw you!” She threw the towel at him. “Hate you! Do you even know how to control yourself?” She stood next to the bed and put on a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“Of course I know, I'm not an animal. Don’t be mad and come to me.” Buggy separated his hands, grabbed Catherine with them, and pulled her towards him. 

“Fuck you and your chop chop shit! Let me go!!” She tried to pry his hands off. 

“Nope.” He hugged her from behind. 

“What you did to me is unforgivable.” She was blushing. 

“Calm down, cotton candy, no one heard us.” He kissed her temple. 

“Actually, I heard you!” A male voice came from behind the wall. 

“Oh, my god!” Catherine covered her face with her hands. 

“Sorry! But that was hot! I was hap..” The voice wanted to continue the conversation. 

“Shut up, or I'll cut your throat!” Buggy barked at the man. “Do you want me to go and kill him, my little pie?” He whispered quietly in her ear and buried his face in her hair.

“No-o! Let him live.” Catherine removed her hands from her face, placed them on his hands and started chortling.

“What's so funny?” 

“God, I never thought I'd start a relationship with a clown with whom I'd have hot sex in a shower in a motel in the middle of the desert. And there will be a man lying in the next room who'd hear how you are fucking me.” She shook with laughter. “My mom and sister would be shocked. How did their little decent Catherine come to this?” 

“I don’t even know if I should be offended now or not. I’ll never ever force you to do anything against your will.” She heard the sadness in his voice. He was clearly upset.

“Oh, come on, my silly clown.” Catherine turned to Buggy, wrapped her arm around his neck, and ran her other hand through his loose wet hair. “I know that. Don't worry about it, okay?” 

“I’ll never hurt you.” Buggy looked at her with a frightened stare.

“I know!” Catherine stroked his chest. 

“So, you're not angry at me, right? Because I…”

“Shush!” She put her finger to his lips. “Everything is fine. But do me a favor.”

“Anything you want, Cathie-pie.” Buggy took her hand and kissed it. 

“Please get dressed. You've been naked since the moment you ran out of the bath after me, and our curtains are open.” She pointed with her gaze to the window behind which stood a family with a small child with their jaws dropped.

Catherine turned to the window and went to close the curtains, not knowing whether to be ashamed of the whole situation or proud. 

She smiled, waved to the people outside, closed the curtains and turned to Buggy, who was sitting on the bed. “My blue-haired love, please. Underpants. I see your... well…Buggy Balls.” She flushed. 

He detached his hand, grabbed Catherine's wrist and pulled her sharply towards him, sitting her on his lap. “So? We can do something more interesting while I'm like this.” Buggy hugged her, clucked his tongue and smashed his lips into hers. His kiss was a little sloppy at first, but became deeper. 

Catherine instantly cupped his face and pressed herself against him. She began to moan through the kiss, feeling his hand slide up her thigh.

“No, no!” She struggled but broke the kiss. “Get away from me, fucking clown!” Catherine slapped his hands. “That’s it. I'm getting up now and gonna make us breakfast. You get dressed and come to me, okay?”

Buggy pouted and sighed heavily. “Okay.”

Catherine smiled and pecked him on his nose. “I love you.”

She got up from his lap and quickly ran to the kitchen. She made his favorite breakfast and brewed coffee.

“Are you coming? Everything's ready.” Catherine was putting the plates on the table when Buggy came to the table and plopped into a chair. 

“You know, when I told you to get dressed, I didn't mean to go out in just a pair of very short underpants. You could at least wear boxers, otherwise you look like a stripper.” She poured him coffee, put it on the table and kissed him on the cheek. 

“You like what you see, don't you?” He smiled slyly. 

“Oh my god.” Catherine rolled her eyes. “Eat up. Your favorite fried eggs with lots of bacon and five sausages.” 

Buggy happily stuck his fork into the sausage and took a big bite. “Yummy! Thank you!” He mumbled with his mouth full. 

“Buggy, chew first, then talk. We've discussed this more than once.” 

Catherine checked the drawers in the kitchen. “Sugar. There's no sugar in here. Oh, wait, I grabbed some at the diner. Otherwise, I will be visited by a whining Buggy who will begin suffering because he cannot drink coffee without sugar. And then I’ll definitely kill you.” 

Catherine went to her bag and pulled out a couple of packets. “I think we'll eat and cont-- Why are you wearing just one sock?” She looked at him, pointing her fingers at his feet. 

Buggy shrugged and bit the sausage. “I couldn't find the other one.”

“Jesus Christ! If you couldn't find the second one, take the pair that has two socks. I can't believe it, Buggy. You drove me crazy today.” 

“Just today? I thought I could do this almost every night. And twice this morning. If you know what I mean.” He chuckled idiotically and started imitating her voice. “Hate you, Buggy, Oh, fuck me, Buggy. Please, Buggy, don't stop, yes, more. Geez, I love hearing that.” He took a bite of the sausage.

“Shut up! You're pissing me off!!” She hit him on the head, threw the sugar packets on the table, and went back to the bags. “Honestly, you're like a big baby sometimes. Although why sometimes. You're always like a big baby.” Catherine found a clean pair of socks in her bag and walked back to him. “How did you even live before me? I wouldn't be surprised if, before you met me, you could have been lying drunk in an alley somewhere.”

Buggy looked at her, chewing the bacon, and smiled strangely. 

“Oh, my God! You were lying drunk in an alley somewhere?” She threw socks at him. 

“So what?” He asked, stuffing three pieces of bacon into his mouth.

“So what? Well, I don’t know. You could have been hurt. You could have been beaten or robbed.”

“Meh..”

Catherine poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on the chair. She sipped her coffee, watched Buggy happily spooning bacon onto a sausage, and started laughing. 

“What are you laughing at?” He asked, dipping the sausage in the yolk. 

“God, I went to a good university. My parents would be shocked at who their daughter fell in love with.” Catherine brought the mug up to her nose and squinted her eyes. 

Buggy raised one eyebrow in the silent question. 

She giggled. “Eat your breakfast, idiot!” 

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“I'm telling you, you read the map wrong!”

“Stop grumbling, Buggy! I couldn't read it wrong. See, in the copies it was written to go on the Long Ring Long Land highway. Shit. Another stupid name.” Catherine mumbled. 

They were standing in the middle of a part of the desert that was covered with few plants. The place seemed lifeless. 

“I'm telling you, we're lost!” 

“Jesus, will you stop whining?” She lightly punched the navigator in the car a few times. “The damn thing sometimes malfunctions from the heat.”

“We're standing in the middle of nowhere, and we don't know where to go.” Buggy picked up a bottle of water and took a small sip. 

“Don’t be nervous.” Catherine put her hand on his wrist and gently ran her fingers over it. He immediately fell silent. “Hm. I think I've found my way to calm you down.” She said quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She ran her hand over his ponytail. “Oh, look! There's some kind of caravan out there. Wait a second!” Catherine got out of the car and ran forward.

“Catherine, wait!” Buggy quickly looked out the side window and slapped his hands on the steering wheel. “Fuck!” And quickly went after her. 

Catherine ran across the sand towards the caravan. It was a big group of people, some of whom were sitting on camels, some of them walked on the ground, carrying the bags. Almost all were wrapped in clothes of fine rose-colored silk.

“Sir, sir!” Catherine ran up to the man sitting on the first camel. “Excuse me!” 

The man made a motion with his hand and the caravan stopped. He jumped off the camel and approached Catherine.

“What can I do for you?” The man asked with a low voice.

“Another one without a t-shirt.” She thought in her head. 

It was a very tall, light blond-haired, very lean and muscular man with tan skin. He was dressed in a green belt, and orange pants with white stripes, his light pink feather coat and wore thin white sunglasses with red lenses. He walked with an odd, bow-legged waddle. 

Catherine looked at him, blinking rapidly, and all she could say was, “Aren't you hot in your pink coat?” 

“Did you stop me asking that question?” Asked the man. Catherine looked at him more closely.

“What? Oh, no! I'm sorry! Would you mind...” Catherine felt Buggy's hand on her arm.

“I've told you a million times not to do that!” He hissed through gritted teeth and glared at the man in the pink coat. Buggy instinctively pulled Catherine a little closer to him. 

She pulled her hand from his arm and took two steps forward, walking over to the man in the fur coat, and showed him the notebook. “Look, we’re looking for this place.” Catherine pointed her finger somewhere on the sheet. “We were on the right road, but either we got lost or something else.” 

“Why would such a beautiful girl go to those godforsaken lands?” The man asked. “I'm Doflamingo, by the way.” 

“Your parents were cruel to name you that.” She shook her head. “Never mind. We're just tourists from Loguetown. My boyfriend and I came to Egypt to see the ancient beauties. So here we are, traveling back and forth, seeing all sorts of ancient stuff.” 

Catherine noticed Doflamingo shift his gaze to the clown as soon as she said the word “boyfriend”. 

“Weird.” He took two steps toward Catherine, stood behind her back, and put his finger in his notebook, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “You see this road right here.” 

“Uh-huh.” She took a small step forward. 

“So he can go that way.” He whispered in her ear, glancing at the clown. “And you, you can join my caravan.” 

Catherine turned her head and looked at him questioningly. Doflamingo winked at her.

“Why do men in Egypt talk to me like that?” She threw his arm off of her. “Listen, DogDingo or whatever your name is.”

“Doflamingo, actually.”

“Whatever. I can break your back if you don’t tell me where to go.” Catherine looked at him angrily.

“Okay. This is where you need to go. Now you're going to take this road right here.” He put his elbow on her shoulder and pointed in the direction with his finger. You'll see a foxy-shaped cactus and turn right. Drive about another hour or so, and you'll get to the right place.”

Catherine slammed the notebook shut, threw Doflamingo's arm off again, and replied “thank you” sharply. 

She took two steps towards Buggy, who was already getting redder than his nose from either heat or anger, took his hand and ran her fingers over his palm. 

“My little bear, get me away from this strange man.” Buggy hugged her around her shoulder and led Catherine toward the car. She got in, took another easy swipe at the navigator and punched in the coordinates from her notepad. 

Buggy was silent the whole way and clearly not in the mood as Catherine stroked his back.

“You know, when that man said fox-shaped cactus, I didn't think it would be a man-shaped cactus with his hair split into two spikes. There's even a sign here. Foxy City - 500 kilometers from here.” Catherine staring at the plant with interest. 

“Yeah. For all I know, he organized his community and now lives somewhere in the desert.” Buggy replied rather dryly, stepping closer to her. 

“Are you alright? You've been so quiet the whole way. And that's very unusual for my clown.” She ran her hand over his arm. 

“What? Yeah. I'm fine.” 

Catherine walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his chest. 

“What are you doing?” He asked surprised. 

“I love you and want to give you a hug. I thought you seemed upset after seeing that flamingo-man.” 

“I'm not upset. Big deal that every man on our journey considers it a right to flirt with you.” Buggy placed his hands on her back. 

“Hah, I knew you were jealous!” She squeezed him in her arms.

“I’m not! Better tell me where do we go from here?”

Catherine, without removing her head from his chest, simply pointed her finger in the right direction.

They walked along the very light and very faintly saturated reddish-yellow colored sand for about half an hour. Catherine kept looking at her notepad, orienting herself to the notes on the coordinates, while Buggy was silent the entire time. Catherine looked ahead, then at her notes, then ahead again. 

“Oh my God! Fuck me!! It can’t be!” She started squealing, kicking her legs and threw herself at Buggy with a hug. 

“Geez! What’s wrong, cotton candy?” He stopped pouting and laughed. 

“Do you know what a pyramid is?!” She waved him from side to side and pointed a finger in its direction. 

“I have no idea!”  

Catherine flopped to the ground and grabbed her head. She looked at a smooth-sided pyramid made of limestone. She lay down on the ground and started kicking her legs again. Catherine rolled from her back to her buttocks and looked at Buggy. She smiled broadly, joyfully clenched her hands into fists and jumped up to him with a squeal again. 

“Love.” Smack. “Love.” Smack. Smack. “Love, love, love you.” Smack. Smack. Smack. 

“I’m certainly delighted by your reaction, but maybe you can enlighten me?” Buggy flicked her on the nose. 

“Ouch!” She scratched her nose. “This’s Nefer Asut Unas. The pyramid of Unas!” 

“First of all, I didn't understand the first three words. And U.. Who?”

“The pyramid of Unas, he’s the last ruler of the Fifth Dynasty. All walls in this pyramid are covered with texts. These texts are prayers, spells, and incantations to help the deceased king ascend to his place among the gods in the sky and to resurrect. They are considered to be one of the oldest religious texts in the history of Ancient Egypt.” 

“Cathie-pie, I love it when you share your knowledge, but seriously, I didn’t understand half of what you said. So. This’s… This's... What?” 

“This’s the ancient necropolis. Let me see my notes. Not this one, not this one. No, no, no.” Catherine ran her fingers over the sheets and felt Buggy rest his chin on her shoulder. She reached out and scratched his head with her fingers. ��Here! Look. The entrance to the pyramid is located on its north side, and from there, a descending passage leads to a series of chambers and passages. We need to find this room.” She pointed her finger at the drawing. “This’s our goal on the southern side. The largest chamber is the burial chamber, where the pharaoh's sarcophagus is placed. So I suggest not to lose time. We pack our things and set out on a search.” 

While Catherine was checking the flashlights, she looked at Buggy, who was changing his t-shirt. She glanced at his naked torso and blue hair on his chest. 

“I hate you.”

Buggy looked at her in confusion. “This is your fourth “I hate you” in the last two hours, Cathie-pie. Could you please tell me what did I do?”

“Screw you!” She wrinkled her nose, took extra batteries and a hatchet with her, just in case. 

They approached the main entrance to the complex. The whole complex was made of the main pyramid, a valley temple, a mortuary temple, a causeway, and the main pyramid which are all enclosed by a perimeter wall. They got to the entrance to the pyramid. Catherine examined the wall and stairs. Some of the casing on the lowest steps of it has remained intact.

“Now where do we go?” Asked Buggy, flopping down on the sand.

“Okay, look. Firstly, we have to be careful again. This pyramid is also on the tourist route. It's not as popular as the others, of course. But there are some people hanging around there.” Catherine glanced at a small group of tourists. She shifted her gaze to Buggy, put her hand to his face, and pulled a bottle of water out of her bag. “Here, you need some water.” 

He looked at her with confusion, but took the bottle from her hands and took a sip. “Thanks.”

She put the bottle back down, ruffled his hair and pulled out the map again. “Now there will be some kind of corridor, and then we'll enter a spacious hallway that we'll follow to the tomb we need.”

He picked up the ground, took the flashlight from her, and shined it down the path. “Well, this looks good. Let’s go?” 

They looked at another group of tourists at the same time and walked into the entrance. Descending an easy passage that drops about five meters, they entered a narrow horizontal tunnel that was well-illuminated, leading to the main hall.

“So beautiful!” Catherine could barely contain her squeals as they entered the central hall. “Some of the best hieroglyphs I've seen. Look! They’re very clear and some still have a bit of color.” She approached one of the walls and slightly ran her fingers over the drawings. 

Buggy walked up to her, put his hand on her back and looked carefully at her satisfied face.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Catherine noticed him staring at her.

“Me? I'm not looking.” He cleared his throat. “So. Where do we go next?”

“Oh, yes. We're straight ahead and to the east and then to the west.”

“Then let's go. If those people from the street follow us, it will be difficult for us to find anything.”

They walked through the long horizontal passage following a level path to the antechamber, which was guarded by three granite slab portcullises in succession. The passage ended at a room located under the center axis of the pyramid. All the walls and the ceiling were covered with hieroglyphs, drawings and various signs.

“Amazing!!” Catherine whispered, moving her flashlight along the walls. “Okay! Now to the east. Wow! Buggy! You see those letters?” She pointed with her hand at the wall.

“Yeah.”

“These are ancient texts which are said to mark the beginning of the afterlife.” Catherine didn’t notice how she took Buggy's hand. “Wow! It’s like a voyage through time, right? You know, my dad and I once dreamed of going to Egypt and seeing the pyramids. He would have loved it.” She felt Buggy stroke her arm with his fingers. “I'm sorry, a little flashback came over me.”

“Hey! Don't be sorry, my cotton candy.” Buggy hugged Catherine’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. 

“I wish he could... “ She felt how Buggy hugged her tightly. “You know. Nevermind. We’re losing our time. Let's go.” Catherine dragged Buggy to the next room. 

They turned in the right direction to the east and saw a small room with 3 recesses.

“This’s the antechamber! Now to the west!” 

They turned to the west and reached the Burial chamber. The ceiling of the room was painted with golden stars in a dark blue sky. The decoration in every spare inch of the part of the walls consisted of vertical columns of meticulously carved hieroglyphs painted in blue. The saw basalt sarcophagus, surrounded by white alabaster walls.

“What’s this?” Buggy asked, shining his flashlight at the ceiling, which had starfish and hieroglyphics painted on it.

“Oh! These drawings represent Unas aspiring to become a star in order to ascend to the heavens. “We are now in the land of Osiris, the first resurrected king, where Unas was expected to spend time before he could go up to the sky.” 

“Where are we?” Buggy rounded his eyes. “It seems to me that we encountered this in the past... that one.. Okiris.”

“He’s Osiris, Buggy. Osiris and Anubis are the central characters of Egyptian mythology. No wonder they are everywhere. ”

She ran the flashlight along the wall and carefully traced the hieroglyphs with her hands. She started reading quietly. 

“Wow. Listen.

May you cross the sky united in dark. May you rise in light land, the place in which you shine. Set, Nephthys, go proclaim to Upper Egypt's gods and their spirits. This Unas comes, a spirit indestructible. If he wishes you to die, you will die. If he wishes you to live, you will live.

And these writings on the walls are a kind of Book of the Dead.” 

“And these things are probably expensive. Let’s take one?”

Catherine heard Buggy’s voice and shifted her gaze at him. She saw the canopic chest standing in the wall and Buggy, who had almost taken one of the figurines in his hands.

“Don't touch! How did you... How did you find them?” 

“I don't know. I just did what you usually do. Slid my hand along the wall and the thing opened. Cool stuff, yeah? Let's take it?” Buggy pointed to the vessels with his eyes and extended his hand. 

“I said no!” She slapped his hands. “I already told you, don’t touch anything!”

“But why?”

“Do you know who it is?” Catherine pointed her finger at the four vessels.

“I don't know.” Buggy shrugged. “A dog, a baboon, a bird, and a guy with hair.” He pointed the flashlight at each thing.

“It's not the dog, the baboon, the bird, and the guy. It's the four sons of Horus. They assist the king in his ascent to heaven with the help of ladders. I told you about Horus, remember?” 

“If you were naked then..” Buggy got lost in thoughts. “Then no.”

“No, idiot!! When we were on our first adventure.”

“No, either. Then I imagined you naked.” He giggled idiotically. 

“Oh god!” Catherine rolled her eyes. 

“So why can't I take them? Are you afraid that these nice guys can somehow harm me?” He stared at the vessels, hoping that Catherine would allow him to take one.

“I don't want to check, to be honest. We're in foreign territory. And we don't need to steal things from the Egyptian pyramids. God knows what curses are on them.”

“You're too late for curses, cotton candy. We stole part of the scepter from the last pyramid.” Buggy ran the flashlight over the heads of the creatures and squinted one eye.

“Stealing a scepter from the wall or a thing that's meant to hold the entrails is different. Please, Buggy, don't touch it.” She glanced at him with sad eyes.

He scowled, looking at her worried face, sighed sadly and stepped aside. Catherine approached the sarcophagus and began to examine it. 

“You know, Cathie-pie, I wouldn't have gotten this far without you and your knowledge of all Egyptian things.” He said, scratching his head.

“What? What happened to you? You've been acting strange these last few days. You look at me all the time and say nice things.”

“I always say nice things to you! Just.. I don't know. Sometimes I think what would I do without you?” Buggy said quietly. 

“Oh, you'd probably be drinking beer, sitting in bars or on the couch, and taking girls home to do to them what you're doing to me, little pervert.” Catherine let out a little blush and felt him come closer.

“Oh, believe me, I've never done that to anyone.” He chuckled, rested his chin on her shoulder and pinched her ass. 

“I hate you! Don't you dare grab my ass in front of dead pharaohs.”

“You just called me a pervert in front of that pharaoh.” Buggy squeezed her buttocks. 

“You like pissing me off, right?” Catherine narrowed her eyes and glanced at him.

“Ugh, my cotton candy gets angry, and we have sexual tension right next to the dead dude lying in the sarcophagus. How did you come to this, baby?” He wrapped his hands around her waist. 

“You're disg.. Hush!” Catherine covered his mouth with her hand. “There's someone walking around out there.” She carefully removed her hand. 

“Maybe it's a mummy that's risen and come to take you with it?” Buggy pinched her side slightly. 

“Are you an idiot? No. It's probably those people we saw outside. Hell, why did everyone go to Egypt?” Catherine rolled her eyes and slapped his hands. “Get your clingy arms off!” 

They heard voices and footsteps begin to move away. 

“Okay, we need to find the clues and get out of here.” Catherine started snapping her fingers. “The clues. The clues.”

She sat down on her knees and scrutinized the walls. “I don't understand. I don't get it. What's the connection?” 

“Maybe it has something to do with that man in the coffin?” Buggy asked, pointing the flashlights at the sarcophagus. “You said we're in the realm of this one. What's-his-name...” 

“Osiris!” Catherine ran her fingers over her temple. “That's right! You're right!” She huffed and raised her hands above her. 

“I'm right?!” There was surprise on his face. 

“Yes! If we're in the realm of Osiris, and there's something like the book of the dead on the wall, do you know where we are?” Catherine stared with a pleased face. 

“Are you expecting an answer from me?” Buggy bulged his eyes. 

“We're on trial!” 

“Yeah, that made it clearer.” He answered sarcastically. 

“Shh, clown! Look for scales or a drawing of scales. Something like that.” Catherine started running from wall to wall. 

“I didn't get anything, but okay.” Buggy started shining the flashlight on the wall. “Cotton candy, isn't that it?” He looked at the drawing behind the sarcophagus. 

“Where? Where?” Catherine ran up to the sarcophagus and pushed Buggy away. 

“For God's sake, woman!” 

“Yes!! You're doing great!” She ran to him and pecked him on the cheek. “It is the Judgment of Osiris!” 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Buggy! It's one of the most famous myths! The soul would embark on a dangerous journey through the afterlife to reach paradise. Once the journey through the underworld is complete, the deceased reach the Hall of Final Judgment. Do you know what the most important trial was according to Egyptian mythology? The Judgment of Osiris. Let me check.” Catherine climbed onto the sarcophagus. 

“Cotton candy, what are you doing? You're trampling on a dead man.”

“Look! There’s a door behind the sarcophagus under the drawing with scales. Come here. Help me.” Catherine called Buggy with her hand.

He walked up to her and stood between the sarcophagus and the massive stone door.

“Try to move it!” She lightly spanked his back.

“Fuck, calm down, woman!” Buggy put his hand on the door and tried to move it. “Shit! It's heavy!” 

“Quiet!” Catherine gently slapped his hands. “Do you hear that? Someone's coming.”

Buggy plopped down behind the sarcophagus and pulled Catherine's hand. She collapsed onto him and sat right on his lap, so that his legs were between hers.

“I should mention that I like the position you're sitting in, cotton candy.” He winked at her and growled slightly.

“Holy Gosh!!” Catherine looked out from behind the sarcophagus. “Quiet. They’re close!”

A small group of tourists entered the room. 

Catherine peeked out from behind the sarcophagus and hid again. She pressed her face to Buggy's face.

“Ooh, too much, Cathie-pie, you're so sexy right now.” Buggy whispered and reached his hand towards her ass.

“You're nuts?” She grabbed his hand and covered his month with her other hand. “Quiet!” 

They heard the group walking around the hall and after a while the sounds of footsteps began to drift away.

Catherine looked out and saw an empty room. “Finally! They’re gone.”

She stood up from Buggy and helped him up. “Let’s try to open this door.”

Buggy tried again to move the door. “It doesn’t work out. Fuck!” 

“Wait! You see? The drawing! The scarab on the wall!” Catherine pressed her hands on the drawing. “Oh! I know! I know! We need to open the sarcophagus.” Catherine whispered and started hitting Buggy's hand. 

“Excuse me?” He stared at her.

“There should be a decoration in the shape of a scarab inside. According to myth, the scarab came out of the eyes of Osiris, and was also a kind of guide to the afterlife. Help me!” Catherine slapped her hand over the sarcophagus.

“I’m really sorry. Weren't you the one who told me not to take any weird stuff?” Buggy indignantly whispered.

“Don't be a baby! Do you want the second part of the scepter or not? Help me!” 

“Fine! Geez!” 

They leaned on the lid of the sarcophagus and tried to push it aside. Catherine remembered about the hatchet in her bag. She took it out and gave it to Buggy. He struck the hatchet several times between the lid and the base of the sarcophagus, and they managed to open it.

“Shit. There are the remains of mummies and bandages!” Catherine squealed. “Where is the scarab? Where are you... There it is! Buggy! Under his hand. More precisely, what is left of it. Get it, please.”

Buggy reached into the sarcophagus and suddenly fell into it.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!” Catherine whispered with worry in her voice.

“Yeah. Shit, this thing stinks. Is that what you asked for?” He showed the scarab in his hand.

“Yeah!” She squealed. “Wait. Why didn't you use your chop chop thing?” 

Buggy looked at her, not knowing what to answer.

“Idiot and hero! But you smell like mummy now.” Catherine quickly kissed him on the cheek and helped him out. “Oh my God, I'm robbing graves.” She shook her head.

“You’ll have mental suffering later. What's next?” Buggy dusted his hands off.

Catherine placed the scarab on the drawing and quickly took out her notebook. “Okay. Now you just have to swipe it right three times and left four times and then press it.”

Buggy put his hands on the scarab and, at Catherine's command, rotated it in the right directions.

“And now what?” He asked at glanced at her.

The scarab's wings glowed a light turquoise color, and a narrow passage opened into a small corridor.

“Baby, if we find the second part of the scepter there now, I will buy the most expensive bottle of wine for you today.” Buggy rubbed his hands.

They entered the corridor and looked around.

“Look!!” She pointed to the drawing. “This is an allusion to the scales of Osiris. The transition to another world consisted of two parts. During the first part was when the soul stood between 42 judges. Here they are!” She patted Buggy on the shoulder and pointed to the drawings. “The second part was weighing the heart. Here is the drawing!” Catherine started jumping and kicking her legs. “The heart was weighed against the feather. If the heart was found to be heavier than the feather, it was fed to Ammut, a beast associated with the time of judgment. If the scales were balanced, the deceased had passed the test and was taken before Osiris, who welcomed them into the afterlife.” 

“Cathie-pie, I love your lectures about Ancient Egypt, but how will this help us find the scepter?”

“Look! There are stones in the shape of a feather and a heart. And here is something similar to a scale. Buggy! I need your help again. Take the heart-shaped stone and put it on the left bowl, and the feather-shaped stone on the right.” 

Buggy took the stones and put them where Catherine pointed.

“So, what is next?” He looked at her questioningly. 

“I don’t know.. Oh, wait, there’s an inscription here! Wait… King.. Die.. Setting sun. Wait! Listen!

The king did not die,  He became the one who rises like the morning sun on the horizon.  He rests from life like the setting sun in the west, but he will rise again in the east.  O, king, you did not leave dead, you left alive!  Did you say he would die? No, he won't die.  This king lives forever. He escaped the day of his death.  O, high among the eternal stars! You will never die.”

As soon as Catherine finished reading the poem, the scales tipped towards the heart-shaped stone.

“Fuck!” Catherine sat down on the floor and buried her face in her knees. 

“What happened?” Buggy asked with incomprehension in his voice.

“I don't know. If it's like a myth, I think...” Catherine mumbled in her knees. 

“Um, cotton candy. Look!” Buggy lightly tapped her head with his finger. “Is it supposed to happen like this?”

Catherine raised her head. They saw the scales swung in the opposite direction and the heart appeared on the same level with the feather.

“It can't be! If this is all for real this means that Unis's soul had passed the test!” Catherine grabbed her head.

At that moment, the stones in the wall moved. Catherine jumped up and ran towards them. She reached into the opened space.

“Fuck, you see that?” She felt Buggy looking over her shoulder.

“Cotton candy, I think, we're having a party tonight!”

[minisugakoobies]

Sunny…you’re feeling a little rusty 🥺 Well we can’t have that, let me see 🤔

Can I get a…

#13. waist rubs while laying close to each other AND #2. I want to explore your body if you’d let me WITH Seokjin and reader, please and thank you 🤭

Oooh, Chell, I am once again missing Seokjinnie terribly, so thank you for requesting him! 💕 Title: What a Line Pairing: Seokjin x Gender Neutral Reader Genre: Friends to Lovers, fluff, non-Idol!AU Warnings: cuddly silly Jin agenda, sudden tension!!

"Why are we doing this again?" Jin inquires as he joins you on the couch. He hands you a cider as he takes a swig of his beer.

"This" is the two of you trying out a new dating app together, You4ia. Questionable spelling aside, it promises to help bring you better matches than any of the other apps that completely failed to find you a lasting love.

The "why" is pretty self-explanatory.

"Because we're dateless losers who aren't getting any younger, Jinnie-yah," you inform him, curling your legs beneath you, getting cozy on Jin's old couch. He's had this thing as long as the two of you have known each other - five years now. It's so worn in and comfy, just like your friendship.

"Pssh, getting older's not a problem when you're aging like a fine wine. You should try it," he retorts, squeaking with laughter when you knock your shoulder into his. His beer sloshes slightly. "Watch it, you almost committed a party foul."

Snorting, you scroll through the setup menu. For several minutes the two of you fall silent as you create your profiles, both of you lost in choices, only occasionally piping up to ask the other's opinions. Finally, a cute little chime fills Jin's apartment as your dating app electronically announces you're ready to find love.

"Annnnd we're off!" you sigh, tossing your phone down on the table. Jin's slides next to yours. You sit back, letting that familiar feeling of hope and dread settle over you. The hope that you'll find a match. The dread that you won't make it last.

Jin brings you another round of drinks as the two of you regale each other with tales of horror and glory (mostly the former for you and the latter for him) from your dating app history.

"What's the fastest you've ever gotten a match on one of these?" you ask.

Jin leans in beside you, humming thoughtfully. He picks up his phone, then puts it down. Repeats the movement a few times. 

“What are you doing?”

“Calculating how many seconds it takes to set a phone down.” "Fuck off," you gasp, smacking him in the stomach playfully. “You got a response in less than a minute?!”

"What? Is that fast?" Jin's ego can be seen from space, but damned if he usually can't back up. With his looks, his charm, his intelligence, and his kindness. But sometimes he's just too cocky, with his crooked smirk and gleaming eyes.

Your head gravitates towards his shoulder as his arm slips around yours. Cuddling with Jin is like breathing. Happens naturally.

"I guess it's pretty good for an old man."

Truthfully, neither of you are as young as you used to be, but he scowls anyway, hand reaching for your side to tickle you until you pinch him in retaliation. "Eek! Stop that."

You stop, your hand resting on his side as his hand lies on your hip. He mindlessly rubs small circles into the soft cotton of your shirt, lightly etching the skin beneath.

"What's the wildest opening line anyone's ever sent you?"

"Easy. 'I want to explore your body, if you'll let me.'" You laugh, remembering with a shudder.

"That's the first thing they said?!" Jin's pitch rises in surprise.

"Yep."

"Hmmm." He pauses. "And did it work?"

"What? No!" You cluck your tongue. "Are you insane?"

"What, you don't think that line could work?"

The two of you pull apart, both looking at each other incredulously. With a laugh, you shake your head.

"No, I do not."

"I'm telling you, the right person could make it work. Someone you find attractive - I'm guessing you didn't find him attractive enough."

"Well, I mean, he wasn't really my type, but he wasn't unattra- "

Before you can finish your sentence, Jin suddenly shifts, dipping you backwards. He holds you tightly, one hand cupping the back of your head as you stare up at him in shock. You’re very familiar with Jin’s face, but you’ve never been this close to it before. Have his lips always been so plush? Did his cheekbones get sharper?

"YN,” he murmurs, in a voice so deep that your entire body seems to vibrate. His thumb brushes your lips so lighty, so teasingly, that you strain your neck to tip forward and catch more of his touch. It’s an involuntary motion, as your head is currently completely devoid of any thoughts. "I want to explore your body. If you'll let me."

"Holy fuck," you whisper, wide-eyed, heart pounding.  

Jin laughs, not his usual honking chuckle but something else - a tiny exhalation of surprise. “Is that a yes?” 

“To you exploring my body?!”

Now he’s honking, shaking you with his laughter, but he doesn’t let go, and you don’t pull away.

“To my theory, that the line could work.” His eyes flit to your lips so many times that you feel dizzy tracking the movement. Or maybe you’re just light-headed from the nearness of him. His mouth is infinitesimally close…. 

“You know, I think maybe some exploration is in order, after all,” you mumble, chin tilting upwards, and you can feel Jin smiling as he presses his lips to yours. 

Before the night ends, you both delete the app.

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© 2023 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.