#like take out little strands and weave it into fresh cotton candy. is that too much 2 ask?? i don’t want to post my opinions

[excuseme-youpretty]

Pairing: Kim Namjoon / Reader

Side Pairings: None

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,748

Warnings: Brief allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.

Notes: This oneshot was requested by anonymous. They wanted adorable fluffy Namjoon spending a rare day off with his partner. I hope, wherever you are, that you liked it and I’m sorry for the delay ♥ I’ve had a virus that’s been kicking my ass.

Make your own requests: HERE

As you fold your body up on the axis of your hip, rotating in a clean arc to reach across the mattress toward Namjoon's designated patch, you are fully expecting to feel the cool compress of abandonment rippling along your sheets. 

It's always the same, the harsh bite of cold satin which has somehow preserved your boyfriend's silhouette and the residual cling of his cologne; leaving you a little disappointed but nevertheless eager to progress your day until his inevitable return.

Only on this morning it is not a reminiscent frost that you feel, but rather an unmistakable warmth and the soft, shallow breaths which can only belong to one man.

Namjoon wakes you organically, with lips of spun sugar and the barely-there pull of his teeth leaving a curl of calligraphy along the underside of your jaw. He tastes of peppermint and sunrise, pulling you from the remnants of your sleep with a soft exhale of your name.

"Good morning, Princess." He sighs, nuzzling a deliberately soft semi-circle just beneath your ear. "Or should I say 'good afternoon'?'"

The hot midsummer sun bleeds through your aerated curtains like tangerine paint dripping from a saturated canvas. You can hear songbirds twittering enthusiastically just outside your window and the elated laughter of children participating in a rowdy all-bets-off game of kickball in the park across the street. 

Everything is go go go. Nonstop motion. Somehow, the world ticks on in spite of your unorthodox absence.

The crab-shaped clock on the wall indicates that you have missed breakfast. You are close to missing lunch, too.

And you couldn't be more delighted. 

Because with Namjoon, days off are as rare as a rainstorm in the middle of the Sahara; a much-deserved rejuvenation.

"What time is it?" You whisper, your words  coming out all slurred and sleep-blanched. 

Namjoon presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. "Well, let's see… I accrued three missed calls and four text messages before finally deciding to just turn off my phone."

"Ah, so the children are missing your effervescent presence then?"

"It would appear so. As long as we can get through the day without Yoongi-hyung committing mass Fratricide, I'll consider it a victory."

You can't help but to giggle at the notion as unprompted visuals of an unamused Yoongi wrestling with a quartet of multicolor leashes, each one connected to the torso of a hyperactive dongsaeng, and Seokjin's disapproving pursed lips, overwhelm your senses. 

"And in the meantime? You have a whole twenty-four hours before things return to normal. How do you want to spend it?"

Namjoon answers your question with the brush of his lips against your own. He takes his time claiming your mouth, his lips startlingly hot in contrast to his sweet and minty tongue.

Namjoon's fingers weave slanted tendrils down over the bare flesh of your pelvis as soon as you part, summoning a film of goosebumps to the surface of your sun-soaked skin. 

You shudder helplessly as you ride out the residual sensation of such an earth-moving kiss. 

"Mmm… Well, I hope you're happy, Mister. That kiss just wasted a good five minutes of free time."

Your boyfriend's teeth pull a fluorescent pinstripe across his bottom lip, seemingly lighting his way as he begins his slow descent down your exposed stomach and between your thighs as they give without much instruction.

"If you call kissing you until you're weak a 'waste of time' then you're really gonna hate this next part, Princess."

The tip of his nose skims past your naval, crafting a pathway for himself in the stipple of airbrushed freckles which blossom on your skin. And yet, you are quick to catch the nape of his neck with your fingers, maintaining a barely-there hold of his hair to prevent him from creeping any lower.

"Hold up there, Handsome. How about we nail two birds with one stone? There's a hot, soapy untimed shower with your name on it. And I'd be more than willing to help you scrub any… hard to reach places~"

Namjoon tilts his head back inside your loose grasp, the pads of your fingertips pushing through his silvery-blonde strands to rest almost tauntingly against his scalp. He purses his lips in thought.

"Well, I'd be a fool to refuse such a titillating offer." He presses a large open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your naval. "And I'm no fool."

You are plucked from the barely-there drape of your duvet before you can reasonably react, Namjoon's arms imprisoning your midsection and hefting you skyward before carrying you into the cool porcelain of your bathroom.

-

The water which had cascaded down from your shower faucet was luxuriously light, a sprinkling of powdered sugar across your sleep-eased muscles. And yet the petting was nothing short of heavy. 

Namjoon had taken his time working sweet-smelling suds into your skin until you gleamed with sparkling iridescence; scents of lavender and violet mingling with the sharp musk of your boyfriend's shampoo. 

He had kissed you until your lips ached, buttering you up with an overdose of affection even as you stepped out of the shower and into the baked afternoon sunlight.

After a brief rendezvous in your closet, one which had taken longer than necessary to navigate thanks to Namjoon's wandering hands and greedy lips, you both finally settled on outfits which would compliment such a rare day off. 

He now sits across from you, grinning from ear to ear as he indulges himself in a

verifiable cloud of scrambled eggs and generously buttered toast; the first home-cooked meal he has had the pleasure of tasting in far too long. Even Seokjin's schedule has become so saturated that he can no longer find the time to finesse his way around their dormitory kitchen. 

Who would have thought a group of seven growing boys could survive on a consistent diet of frequented takeaway restaurants and prepackaged vending machine snacks?

He always looks so beautiful like this, dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans and a simple t-shirt. His hair, still damp from your shared shower and lacking any product, hangs limply around his handsome face in a fashion not too dissimilar from the signature whistle necklace draped across his chest. 

"I swear, babe, this is amazing." Namjoon croons, using a napkin to stipple away the loose crumbs which have gathered in the crevice of his ever-present smile. "What's your secret?"

Pushing your fingertips through the damp sheen of his hair, you take a seat beside him and indulge in a long, contemplative sip of your orange juice.

"A whole lot of love for my boyfriend and an unreasonably long night's sleep."

Namjoon's grin is so vast that his eyes momentarily disappear into little crescents. 

"That's fair."

He wraps an arm securely around your shoulders, tucking you into his hip where he feeds you small prisms of toast and watches as the amaranth horizon dances across your cheekbones.

You feel the cold, wet compress of a soft puppy nose brushing against your calf when RapMon darts wildly between your ankles. He yips musically, vibrating with an overdose of unexpected energy as though he himself had also indulged in a deliciously long slumber and was now reaping the rewards of his pent-up energy. 

Namjoon can't help but to laugh, the sound reverberating in tandem with the small bell looped onto Moni's technicolored collar. 

"I think our Puppy is ready to hit the road. Don't you, Princess?"

"It would certainly appear so."

You watch as Namjoon cross-hatches his thumb across an array of emails on the screen of his business cell phone, organising them into their designated folders, before he opts to switch off the device all together.

Following his lead, you gather up the empty breakfast plates and place them in the sink; deciding rather quickly that all dishwashing tasks are a problem for a future you. You take a bottle of chilled water from the fridge and grab Moni's collapsible bowl as well as his monogrammed leash, clipping it in place upon his collar and earning some gentle puppy-dog kisses in response.

You run your fingers through Moni's soft fur, giving special attention to his pointed ears and muzzle. Placing an affectionate kiss to his snout, you rise to your feet once more and turn towards your boyfriend.

Namjoon rattles his house-keys with a grin.

"Ready to get some sunshine?"

"With you? Always!"

-

The scarlet-hot skyline reflects prettily upon the shimmering silver swingset where you perch, your toes dangling mere millimetres above the dew-slicked grass. Scents of fresh pine and spring flowers permeate the air, as well as the sugary sweetness of cotton candy being spun into cute little beehives by a nearby vendor. 

At the centre of the park, a small group of children are having a competition to see who can blow the largest bubble. Like confetti, the air is full of shiny little bubbles as they rise up to the sky. And darting after them with an open mouth and comically wagging tongue is a soap-spritzed Moni. 

The children shriek with laughter, running around in circles with Moni bouncing merrily behind them. 

Namjoon's fingertips brush over your shoulders as he pushes you gently on the swing. He traces plump cartoon hearts over the nape of your neck, erecting a small film of goosebumps with every stroke. 

"It's such a gorgeous day out." He muses, turning his head to place an unexpected kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, we really lucked out. Summer sunshine allll day."

"I'd take thunderstorms and heavy rain in a heartbeat as long as I get to spend the day with you, baby."

Ever a poet, Namjoon's words leave your insides tingling akin to sticky sherbet and fizzing pop rocks.  

"Dork~" You chastise in a soft voice full of mirth. 

You can feel his infatuated grin press into the back of your neck, his fingertips twirling around the stray strands of hair which ribbon over your noon-warmed cheeks.

"Only on my days off."

When Namjoon's digits begin to sway across your collarbones, you concertina them gently between your fingertips. You bring his hand to your lips, kissing across his skin with an audible smack. The pad of his thumb skims over your cheekbone as though he were an artist buffing paint across a canvas.

"You're so beautiful, Princess." He muses.

His words take on an illustrative quality; as though he were scribbling his infatuation across clean journal pages. And yet, before you can respond, he's dipping down just out of view to clasp a fistful of lawn.

"What're you doing, Joonie?"

"Just wait and see - It's a surprise."

Behind you, you can feel Namjoon's fingers work with fast needle-sharp precision. The rounded edge of his nail pierces through stem after stem as he braids several dainty daisies together into a makeshift crown. 

"Now, what is it that every princess needs, baby?"

"Her Prince Charming? Or Prince Destroys-Everything-He-Touches, whatever works."

"This is true." Wiping away the residual pollen on the leg of his pants, Namjoon takes a step closer toward you. He carefully places the crown on top of your head. "But she also needs her very own tiara!"

Grinning maniacally, you bring a hand up toward your head to stroke over the small stack of downy-soft petals which frame your forehead. 

"You're so cute, you know that?" You shriek, gasping when Namjoon presses a stream of rapid open-mouthed kisses against your glowing cheek. 

"Yeah, it's a special gift of mine. Come here, gorgeous."

With his hand outstretched in front of you, Namjoon holds his phone poised on both of your grinning faces. He snaps picture after picture, selca after selca, honing in on the kaleidoscopic shimmer of your eyes and the iridescent glow of lip balm which has transferred from your lips onto Namjoon's.

You stay like that for what feels like an eternity; dissolving into a world where your boyfriend's palms leave semi-permanent prints upon your hips from how tightly he embraces you and his laughter resonates deep within the crevices of your soul. 

Namjoon's cellphone feels positively heavy with the weight of all the memories you have captured together. From the soft and tender lip-locks, to the poorly performed rendition of Magic Shop, to the footage you filmed of a hyperactive Moni playfully chasing a butterfly through a cluster of dandelions. 

You have squeezed an entire month's worth of desperately craved affection into a single afternoon. 

-

It is only once the air begins to develop the faintest tickle of frost that you finally decide to depart from the park.

Namjoon's jacket falls around your shoulders like a cloak of denim. His cologne overwhelms your senses, scents of crisp waters and juniper berry, and at your feet walks a very tired but exceptionally happy puppy.

After briefly stopping by your favourite local bookstore to purchase some light reading material, as well as picking up an order of strawberry croissants and freshly brewed coffee from the quaint little patisserie where you and Namjoon had your first date, you finally arrive home. 

You unclasp Moni's leash, prompting him to scurry enthusiastically over toward his pet bed for a well-deserved nap, and retreat back to your own bedroom in order to slip out of your dress and into something more comfortable. 

Namjoon's old sweatpants drape around your hips like an elasticated hula-hoop, just barely held in place by fraying cord and sheer willpower. The sweater you have liberated from the back of your closet was once a Christmas staple before the gaudy crimson bows fell off, leaving a simple doe in its place. There are pinhole sized holes all over the elbow and sleeve, as well as a fraying hem, and yet you always find your greatest comfort when dressed in those faded and pilling fibres.

Once you have changed into your lounge wear, you return back to your living room to find Namjoon staring purse-lipped at the carpet beneath his toes. He has his business cell phone tucked in against his ear.

"So there's no major emergency then, Guk? Because this is supposed to be my day off."

You can just barely make out the airbrushed whistle of Jeongguk's voice tittering apologetically on the other end of the phone. 

"Yes, she's here." Namjoon glances up at you, smiling fondly as you throw yourself down on a nearby couch. "We're about to settle in for the evening actually, so - I… yep, okay. I'll tell her. Mhm. I will. You too, Kookie. Aight, bye."

"That sounded like fun~" You tease, wedging your spine backwards into a mismatched eruption of multicolored pillows. "Are all six members present and accounted for?"

"So far. JK sends his regards."

Rubbing away the small pearls of tension which had accumulated in his temples during the duration of his phone call, Namjoon places his cellphone down on the coffee table. He passes over your coffee order as well as a beautiful ooey-gooey strawberry croissant and folds his large limbs over the criss-cross of your own.

His lips are a scarlet compress of sugar-syrup kisses against your cheek as he presses small puffs of laminated pastry into your open mouth. 

"Now, what are we watching, Princess?"

-

It is surprisingly easy to dissolve into a rarely-negotiated routine with your billion dollar boyfriend. 

With old Friends reruns playing quietly in the background, interrupted only by the occasional snore from Moni as he navigates his way through a puppy dreamland, and the balanced warmth of Namjoon's large fingertips weaving aimless patterns across your scalp, your afternoon bleeds well into the evening before Namjoon's ravenous stomach alerts you to the passage of time.

Your fingertips have been fragranced by the scent of persistently thumbed pages, and you have just reached the point in your novel where the fair maiden must choose between the handsome but tender farm-hand or the rugged but passionate business executive.

You spare a glance toward your own leading man. With his deep-set dimples and a smile which could thaw the Arctic, you conclude that you have your own fairytale ending right in front of your very eyes.

"Hey, seeing as I'm in such a good mood, why don't we start on dinner? We can attempt that spaghetti recipe again!"

You can't help but to tut at the notion. "You mean the spaghetti recipe which nearly burned our entire kitchen down?"

"That was an accident. It could've happened to anyone!"

"You tried to cook the pasta without any water, Namjoon-ah."

"In my defence, I followed the instructions carefully. 'Cook the noodles in a pan.' I did that."

"Oh, they were cooked alright." 

You giggle in response to Namjoon's petulant pout, smothering the blush of his bottom lip in a brief but affectionate kiss. 

"How about instead of turning our kitchen into a living charcoal exhibit we order takeout from that Italian place you love?"

Namjoon's stomach rumbles with ravenous hunger as though in response to your proposal and you can't help but to laugh as you reach for the phone, having already committed your boyfriend's usual order to memory.

-

It is less than an hour later, once your stomachs have been sufficiently plied by copious quantities of rich, herby sauces and ribbons of silken (and most definitely not cremated) pasta, that Namjoon is curling back into your hip with a well-worn notebook in hand. 

You have both settled on a film for the evening, opting to delve headfirst into the technicolor vibrancy of San Fransokyo with Moni settled comfortably upon your lap and the fuzziest blanket imaginable draped around your shoulders. 

Namjoon's breath is deliciously warm where it unfurls across your throat, dripping like molten honey into your collarbones and stippling a light film of goosebumps across your skin. You can't help but to shudder as his lips find your temple, your cheek, flowing freely across the ridge of your jawline until he finally settles against the upturned curl of your lips.

"I love you so much, Princess." He sighs, inundated with adoration for his girl. 

"Not as much as I love you."

As the movie plays quietly in the background Namjoon's fingertips are ever-moving. The light scrape of his pen nib darting across clean paper provides a percussive soundtrack  to Baymax's bumbling antics, the edge of his palm stained by faded charcoal ink from touching the page before his words have sufficiently dried.

Out of the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the curl of Namjoon's haphazardly jotted Hangul, piecing together the sentences he has written in your honor.

'...Your eyes are a sunrise which blanch my skin and leave me burning all night long.'

'... Your smile, sweeter than candy, paints syrup in my veins with every glance.'

'... When you say you love me I can feel it resonate skin-deep, stacking promises like petals in my ribcage.'

Namjoon's lyrics are picturesque and beautiful. Even without the accompaniment of instruments and production you can practically feel a cococonphy of emotional ARMYs singing along passionately to each word; as though wearing your boyfriend's carefully scribed poetry like a badge of honor.

To be the inspiration behind so many awe-inspiring songs, whose lyrics act like a beacon of hope for many individuals scattered throughout the universe, well… it's quite the undertaking. 

Fortunately, Namjoon makes it all worth it. He's handsome and expressive and capable of leading an entire ARMY into a head space of pure gold. 

And as he pulls your body a fraction closer to his own, the tip of his nose nestling against your pulse point to emboss an asymmetric heart on your honeydew skin, you realise you couldn't possibly love him any more.

-

As the credits for Big Hero 6 begin to roll across your television screen, stark and loud and full of celebratory fanfare, Namjoon is quick to locate the television remote underneath his saturated notebook pages in order to hit mute. 

Beside him your eyelids have fallen to a close, lips parted to release several soft snores which fall in almost perfect tandem with Moni's fitful exhales. Your lashes flutter delicately, poured like strips of raven lace across your cheekbones, and your fingers curl instinctively in your lap as you clutch onto whatever adorable projection your mind has chosen to supply.

Placing his notebook and pen aside, Namjoon is careful to shoo RapMon away from your lap so that he does not disturb you. He half-attempts to fold the blanket which had cocooned your shoulders, opting instead to toss it onto the nearby recliner out of harm's way.

Your body is feather-light when he lifts you into his embrace. He is careful to rest your cheek against his chest, hooking your legs over his forearm to make it easier to transport you to the safe haven of your bed. 

After navigating your hallway with a surprising degree of sufficiency, having knocked over little more than a plastic vase containing decorative pebbles and perhaps skewing a photo frame or three, Namjoon carefully places you upon your bed. 

Your mattress seems to eagerly welcome the barely-there compress of your body, your satin sheets lapping up against your limbs like terracotta waves frothing upon the shore.

Once he has dimmed the lights, Namjoon places his cellphone down onto his bedside table and connects his charging cable once he is certain that he has reinstated his god-forsaken alarm.

He kicks off his jeans, opting to remain in his t-shirt and boxers for tonight, and carefully removes his whistle necklace so that he can slide comfortably in bed beside you.

Your perfume lingers upon the collar of his shirt, fragrant and floral and enhanced considerably by the catalyst of Seoul's delicious summertime air. And on his lips burns the faintest smother of the strawberry lip balm you so generously applied after your post-dinner teeth cleaning; the very same lip balm that Namjoon had been so eager to kiss off of you.

In your sleep, you turn comfortably onto your side, bowing your spine backwards until you reach the solidity of your boyfriend's elongated torso. Namjoon is quick to bracket his calf around your ankles, pressing a stream of steady kisses down your jugular and over the swell of your clavicle.

"Sweet dreams, my Princess." He sighs softly. Contentedly. 

His lashes soon begin to droop as though laden with lead, influenced in no small part by an entire day's worth of carefree relaxation and indulging without consequence. 

No meetings. 

No leadership.

No band mates. 

Just his beautiful dog, his beautiful girlfriend and a beautiful twenty four hours.

[artificialqueens]

Breakfast Tacos with The Run-Off-The-Mill Transvestite Bisexual Hooker (Trixya) - Spoky

A/N: A lesbian AU for Cat who doesn’t like dicks, but likes Trixya.

Summary: Trixie’s life is very domestic. Katya’s is not. A combination of the two creates romance and sex, mostly sex.

Breakfast Tacos with The Run-Off-The-Mill Transvestite Bisexual Hooker

The ceiling of the unfamiliar bedroom Katya woke up in needed re-painting. So did the toe nails of the girl snuggled to her side. There was a heavy, hairy arm wrapped around her chest, painfully pressing on her left breast, and a pounding headache that reminded her of the fact that she was no longer eighteen. She could taste yesterday’s cigarettes on her tongue and smell the stale scent of sex in the stuffy bedroom; combination of cum and sweat.

The curvy body on her left stirred as she slowly moved the hairy arm off of her and wiggled her way out of the double bed. Where the fuck was her underwear?

There were piles of clothing scattered around the bedroom floor and only the fourth one brought any results. Katya pulled the t-shirt on and glanced at the couple on the bed. What the fuck was wrong with modern society so that twenty-something-year-olds needed to “spice up” their sex life with additions such as her?

The walls were decorated with multiple framed photographs of the couple’s trips abroad, their happy moments. There was a statue of a cat on the dresser and candles Katya figured were lit on special occasions to set the mood. Fuck romance, she personally couldn’t even fucking spell the word.

The fifth pile of clothes was a jackpot, containing mostly just her items. She dressed as quietly as she could and licked her teeth. Ugh, wrong move. Her breath must’ve been foul.

She grabbed her bag and tiptoed next to the guy on the bed. Men did the paying in hetero relationships, right? She had nothing against the bear, or hairy dude – straights didn’t get called bears, did they? – and didn’t want to wake him, but she really needed the agreed $180. Money in the dresser, girl! Had she learned nothing?

“Dude,” Katya whispered, trying not to wake up the missus. “Fuck man, wake up.”

The bear stirred and looked up to Katya, clearly hungover.

“Dude, I need the money.”

The beast groaned and sat up. He pointed lazily to his left and Katya rolled her eyes. Maybe it was too much to ask of the males of the species to communicate in full sentences? She eyed the direction the bear was pointing at and spotted his wallet – or, she assumed it was his. She grabbed the thing and gave it to the man who after a brief pause handed her $200 in twenty dollar bills.  

“Thanks, man,” Katya whispered. Whore or not, she hadn’t been raised by fucking wolves. She weaved her way quietly to the door and was about to leave when a low grunt made her turn once more. What now?

“Same time next week?” the bear asked and Katya smiled politely.  

“Sure, text me,” she said and closed the bedroom door behind her.

*

The morning sun was bright and hot. Katya knew exactly how bad she smelled as she dumped the mints, the coke and the cheapest bag of crisps she could find in the gas station onto the counter.

“And Lucky Strikes, the click and roll ones,” she said to the severely overweight cashier.

“ID?” the man asked in a low baritone and Katya wanted to roll her eyes. Instead she flashed him her driver’s licence, revealing her age close to thirty, and smiled the sweetest smile she could muster.

The horizontally challenged cashier wiggled his plump ass to the cigarettes and back, tempting Katya to ask for another pack, just to give the bastard some exercise, but she figured that in a state where a Mars bar costed half the price of a fresh salad the man was probably doing his best anyway and so she decided against it.  

“Anything else?” the man asked and Katya snorted.

“A condo with a working bathroom, pretty wife and a job where I can keep my clothes on?”

The man blinked lazily, and Katya figured he was incapable of understanding humour so early on a Saturday morning.

“No, that’s all,” she corrected and handed the cashier the amount required.

She walked back to her car and took a seat. She really wanted a cigarette and had just lit one when her phone beeped for a received text message.  

T: I’ve got breakfast.

There were reasons why Katya was in love with Trixie Mattel, her immaculate timing being just one of them.

K: there in 15min

She started the car, dropped the half smoked cigarette on the parking lot and sighed. She really should’ve showered at the couple’s place…

*

Trixie Mattel was everything Katya Zamolodchikova aspired to be. She was smart, beautiful, cocky, artistic, occasionally cunty, sure of herself, add here your favourite adjective and just a fucking decent human being. Trixie was interesting and rarely judgemental, something Katya appreciated in a woman. She was also an amazing cook and whenever she invited Katya over, Katya never thought twice, a home cooked meal always sounding better than her favourite song on the radio.

Standing in Trixie’s clean apartment with white walls, expensive cutlery and modern art was always a little distressing. Katya usually avoided moving around too much, afraid of contaminating the place with grunge and stupidity. She therefore tended to hover somewhere in between the kitchen and the bathroom, never feeling entirely comfortable. Of course there had been times when Trixie had dragged her into the bedroom and fucked her senseless, but those occasions rarely occurred on Katya’s own initiative. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was always expecting permission.

“Scrambled or fried?” Trixie asked gently and Katya chuckled.

Eggs. Who the fuck cared? Either. Both? They would be amazing regardless. The only way Katya ate eggs on her own was price reduced and overcooked.

“Whichever is easier,” she ended up saying, knowing that Trixie wouldn’t appreciate the reply.

“Easiest is to mash them to your head and be done with it.”

Katya sniggered. “Scrambled,” she ordered through her chuckles.

“Good girl,” Trixie said and dropped a hasty kiss to the corner of Katya’s mouth before walking to the stove.

Katya pulled herself a chair from underneath the kitchen table and took a sip of the drink Trixie had mixed for her. The drink tasted like something in between of strawberries and vodka.

“There’s towels in the bathroom,” Trixie said in passing as she crouched to get something from the fridge. Mushrooms?

“Is that a hint?” Katya asked and swallowed, trying hard to hide her disgust. How did you tell someone that perfectly good eggs shouldn’t be spoiled with literal fungus?

“Did you know that the FDA legally allows 19 maggots and 74 mites in every 3.5-ounce can of mushrooms?”

Trixie paused and turned to look at her, unamused. “No, I did not,” she admitted. “But for someone who smells like half decayed dead sewer rat, you certainly have a lot of opinions about free food.”

Katya smirked. There were many reasons why she loved Trixie Mattel, her quick-wit being just one of them.

“Fine. I’ll shower.”

“And I’ll accommodate to your uneducated taste buds.”

Katya figured it counted as team work. She should put it on her CV.

*

Katya reached over the sink to wipe a reflective surface to the misty bathroom mirror. She sneered at the revealed image and reached for the modified pantyhose she’d left on the toilet seat. Due to damp skin it took some effort to wiggle her way into the self-made binder, but she eventually made it and covered the damn thing with a red tank-top before jumping into her briefs. Pulling the wet strands of her blond bob out of her face she stepped to the hallway and made her way back into the kitchen.

Trixie was standing at the kitchen sink, her hands hidden in dishwater and bubbles. The woman noticed Katya’s presence as she arrived and turned to look at her. The pure lust in her eyes made Katya smirk cocksurely.

“Don’t get cocky,” Trixie snorted, taking notice of Katya’s expression.

“But surely that’s the point?” Katya asked, walking behind Trixie. She brushed the bubblegum pink curls over Trixie’s shoulder and pressed herself against Trixie’s back while grabbing her breasts gently, giving them an affectionate squeeze. The woman shivered under Katya’s touch.

“Your hair’s wet,” Trixie whimpered as Katya reached further down, forcing Trixie to abandon the dishes.

“I didn’t think wet would be a problem,” Katya said. Her voice now low.

Trixie licked her lips. She placed her hands on either side of the sink, leaning on them slightly for support as she felt Katya reaching lower, all the way down to her crotch and giving her pussy a firm rub over her dress.

“Fuck,” Trixie sighed quietly.  

Katya chuckled at Trixie’s swear and lifted the hem of her dress just enough to thread her hand into her knickers.

Trixie bit her lower lip as she moved her feet slightly more apart before thrusting her hips ever so slightly against Katya’s cupped palm.

“You like that?”

Katya wrapped her other hand around Trixie’s waist and pulled the woman firmly against her as she massaged her palm in firm waves over Trixie’s labia. The woman smelled like candied apples with a hint of soft, sweet peony. The hem of Trixie’s floral dress caressed Katya’s naked thighs and she could feel her fingers getting slick as Trixie got more aroused.

“Yeah,” Trixie moaned, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” Katya asked, pressing her middle finger slightly in between Trixie’s pudendal lips, not quite in straight contact with her clitoris.

“Fuck yeah,” Trixie groaned and bent her knees to thrust against Katya’s hand more firmly, craving for more stimulation.

“Turn,” Katya instructed and pulled her hands off of Trixie.

Trixie swirled around in one quick movement and placed her hands on the kitchen counter for support as Katya got down on her knees, swiftly making her way underneath Trixie’s knee length hem. Katya dragged Trixie’s white cotton panties down to her ankles and helped her to step out of them before pressing her nose against her pussy, bringing it into a sweet sweet contact with Trixie’s clitoris.

Trixie whimpered and thrust her hips violently against Katya’s face, begging her to fuck her.

The desperate movement made Katya grin and she dug her fingers into Trixie’s ass, grabbing it tightly with her left hand before tracing Trixie’s pussy with her already wet fingers.

“Stop teasing you cunt!”

Katya smirked but didn’t need telling twice. She pushed two fingers up into Trixie simultaneously as she opened her lips to press an open mouthed kiss over her clitoris. Trixie groaned loudly, melting into the touch and pressing herself firmer against Katya’s mouth and fingers, asking for more.

“Please please please,” Trixie whined, her voice wavering. “Just, just…”

Trixie was squeezing the kitchen counter tightly, leaning onto her hands, as she rubbed her pussy against Katya’s slick tongue. She needed more, wanted her deeper, firmer, faster and rose onto her toes, knees bent, to create more leverage.

“Fuck yeah, eat that pussy,” she moaned and fucked against the open mouth before surrendering to the shivers and vibrations that flashed through her body in tidal waves.

Katya could feel Trixie’s thighs shaking and just held her firmly as the woman shivered above her. She didn’t know when Trixie had gotten onto her toes but as she lowered her heels back down and straightened her knees, Katya’s tongue lost contact with her. She could hear her panting and could imagine her eyes closed, lips slightly ajar, completely consumed by the sweet lull of her afterglow. As a soft reminder of her existence, Katya crooked her fingers slightly inside of her.

“Stop it, bitch.”

Katya laughed at the words and pulled out. “Sensitive, are we?”

Trixie snorted and dragged Katya up to her feet before kissing her hungrily, tasting herself on Katya’s lips. How the fuck had she fallen so hard for this run-off-the-mill transvestite hooker, Trixie would never know, but the woman fit perfectly against her as she wrapped her arms around Trixie’s waist.

“Breakfast?” Katya mumbled between the kisses and Trixie couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“What, you want more than tacos?”

Katya’s shrieking laughter sounded like a cat in heat.