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miyasturniolo · 1 month

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CABIN NIGHT | matt sturniolo

pairing: bf!matt x f!reader

summary: where matt takes you to a cabin in the middle of the forest for a romantic evening together.

warning: smut, sub!matt, p in v, use of y/n, pet names (sweetheart, good girl, love, baby), hair pulling, protected sex

warning: smut, dom!matt, p in v, use of y/n, pet names (sweetheart, good girl, baby), hair pulling, protected sex

a/n: not my photos, on pinterest. I haven't posted for a long time, sorry about that

WORDS: 2.3k

miyasturniolo on wattpad

you - pink | matt- blue

Matt has always mentioned or asked you to come to a cabin with him, but you have always agreed and then accidentally made other plans, or he ended up having to record a YouTube video because his brother changed the timetable. As a result, you never had the opportunity.

Today, however, you both finally had the chance to go out and stay at the cabin for a few nights, just the two of you. Matt was very excited, not only because you were with him, but also because he admired a cabin in the woods where no one knew your location.

As he drove, Matt couldn't resist placing his hand on your thigh, a habit he developed when you were in the passenger seat. He never mentioned it, but once he had Chris sitting next to him in the car, and he randomly placed his hand on Chris's thigh for a few seconds, resulting in an awkward silence and Chris teasing him about it ever since. However, Matt didn't let it bother him when he was with you in the car.

The music was playing softly in the background as the two of you chatted. He glanced at you while keeping his focus on the road, and gently squeezed your thigh to get your attention. You responded with a slight hum and made eye contact before he had to turn his attention back to driving.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his tone gentle. "I know we finally have the time, but I don't want to pressure you. We can turn back if you'd rather not go."

He was eager to go, but unsure if you felt the same. The last thing he wanted was for you to do something you didn't truly want to do just for his sake. Your smile reassured him, and he smiled faintly in return, waiting for your response.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" you answered, watching his side profile as he drove.

He chuckled, his teeth peeking through, as if he thought you were joking. To him, it was clear that he wanted nothing more than to be in a cozy cabin in the middle of the woods with you.

"Have I not made it clear enough for you, sweetheart?" His words caused your eyes to roll, already knowing the answer.

Neither of you spoke, he simply rubbed your thigh and continued to listen to the navigation system guiding you both on the remaining distance until your arrival.

You gazed at his hands, noticing his painted fingernails matching yours, though his were starting to chip off due to his habit of scratching or biting them occasionally.

For the next hour or so, he drove until finally reaching your destination.

Upon arriving, he quickly exited the car to retrieve his belongings and opened the door for you before you could even reach for it, prompting a soft laugh from you.

"Thank you, but I could have done it myself," you said, though secretly enjoying the gesture without needing to express it.

"I prefer to make my girl feel like a princess rather than treating you like a slave," he whispered as he kissed your head before locking the car.

He would retrieve our luggage shortly, but first, he wanted to make sure the key was where it was supposed to be since no one else was around.

He found the key hidden under the plant pot, surprisingly untouched. Just as he was about to pick it up, he remembered the owner talking about some safety tips and details before he rent it.

"Would you like to relax while I grab our things, baby?" he inquired, scanning you from head to toe and smirking when he caught your gaze.

"Don't you want some assistance with that?" you asked, meeting his blue eyes as he simply shook his head in refusal.

You watched him for a moment, considering helping him, but he grabbed your arm and guided you back to your previous position beside him.

"Come on, y/n, be a good girl and listen to me. I don't need help with this," he emphasized, ensuring his words were clear. It wasn't just because he didn't want your help, but also because there were only a few bags to carry since you were both staying for three nights.

You didn't respond, choosing to stay where you were instead of entering the cabin alone. You waited while not helping him.

He made the task of carrying the bags to the cabin seem easier than it actually was. To him, it was no big deal.

He entered the cabin first, with you holding the door for him as he carried both of your belongings. He headed straight to the room, as he had looked it up online before renting it for a short period.

As he disappeared into a room, you took the opportunity to look around. Your fingertips brushed against the soft wood and door handles, trying to figure out the layout of the place.

"Are you exploring? Finding something interesting? What are you up to, love?" he asked upon returning and seeing you inspecting something, though he wasn't sure what.

He approached you and hugged you from behind, resting his head on yours as you took in the details of the room.

"Just looking around," you answered, rubbing his arm adorned with tattoos before starting to walk, yet he still kept his hands wrapped around you.

He wasn't as touchy in front of his brothers, as he never wanted to make them uncomfortable. He was more likely to show affection when the two of you were alone in his room, but he faintly worries about his brothers walking in and judging him for being clingy. However, when he knew it was just the two of you, he could truly relax and be comfortable around you.

You smiled and kissed his hand, as it was the closest thing your lips could touch. Soon after, you pulled away, causing him to watch you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes focused on you. He wanted to make sure you were alright. You simply nodded and reached into the bag to get a drink of water before putting it in the fridge.

He checked you out like he had done before entering the cabin, admiring your beauty as usual, but something about you today seemed particularly appealing to him.

Without taking any action, he simply sat down on the couch, and before long, you joined him, resting your head on his shoulder. He placed his hand on your arm and gently rubbed it. "Why do you look so stunning today? You always do, but..." His words trailed off, leaving you slightly puzzled and intrigued, but he quickly laughed it off.

After a moment of silence, he felt your fingers tracing his tattoos and readjusting his shirt after. "Could you pleasure me in some way?" he asked quietly, causing you to pull away and meet his gaze as he bit his lip.

"Could you be on top?" he pleaded, continuing to stroke your arm before kissing the tip of your nose.

"Are you being serious right now? Like, actually serious?" you questioned, to which he just gave you a stern look before responding.

"Do you want me to show you my hard cock to prove I'm serious?" he asked, his accent subtly present but not overpowering.

He leaned in and gently kissed your lips, resting his head on the armchair as you slowly straddled him.

"Do you like that, baby?" you whispered, feeling his touch tender as he eagerly tried to remove your shirt.

You broke away from the kiss before he could fully undress you, his gaze fixated on your chest.

"I'm not a fan of bras, but I do love boobs. Well, some bras, at least. They can push your boobs together and drive me wild," he confessed before you silenced him with another kiss.

He groaned and returned the kiss, his hands fumbling with your bra until he finally unclasped it.

After squeezing your breasts, he pulled away from the kiss, admiring your exposed chest that belonged to him as you were his and he was yours.

"Fuck y/n," he grinned. He was acting like a child, but he didn't care. You took off his shirt, and he let you do it.

His torso was exposed, and you ran your hand over it, feeling him harden beneath you while on the couch.

His cheeks were red, and whimpers escaped his mouth as you moved on his lap. He was needy, and you could tell.

You didn't waste any time, knowing he hated being teased but also loved it, depending on his mood. But you could see he was too horny to handle any teasing.

You slowly got off him, making him a bit worried, but then he watched as you took off his jeans, causing him to bite his lip.

His pre-cum stained his boxers, but he didn't seem to care or even notice. His legs trembled slightly with need, but they weren't shaking too much yet.

You left him in his boxers as you slowly undressed, testing his patience even though he couldn't do much.

"Y/N, please, don't make me look foolish here," he whispered, glancing at you before realizing you were testing him.

He removed his boxers on his own as he watched you shed your remaining clothes. His member throbbed, and he couldn't resist the urge to pleasure himself in that moment.

You placed your hands on his knees and then ran them up to his thighs. He caught his breath and gazed at your hands.

"Are you sure you want me to make love to you?" you asked. He nodded, but then swiftly reached for his jeans, pulling out a condom from his pocket.

"Did you anticipate this?" you teased. He just shrugged and handed you the condom. You opened it with your teeth before sliding it onto his erection.

He gasped as your hand made contact with his eager member, craving your touch.

He grinned at you before gripping your hips, guiding you to straddle him on his lap since he couldn't bear not feeling your touch on his throbbing shaft.

He ensured that you were comfortable and adjusted to his size. His eyes rolled back as he restrained himself from moaning in pleasure.

"Good girl, y/n," he stammered out, noticing the mix of pain and pleasure on your face as you slowly rocked your hips.

He tried to control his excitement so that you wouldn't experience any pain after getting accustomed to it once again, as you had done many times before, and he particularly enjoyed when you were wrapped around him.

"Oh, yes," you whispered to yourself, the pain gradually giving way to pleasure.

You began to move more vigorously, which is what he desired and enjoyed. Both of you let out sounds of pleasure.

He grabbed your hair, pulling it back, causing you to close your eyes and part your lips, feeling his strong hands in your hair.

The rougher and faster you went, the tighter he held onto your hair.

Your moans were like music to his ears, which he adored. Your mixed-up breathing, as you focused on being dominant some of the time and the other on the pleasure.

His eyes glistened with pleasure, his skin becoming moist as his cock was coated in your wetness. He could tell you were close by the way you were getting rougher while riding him on the couch, your moans growing higher in pitch.

"Are you close, sweetheart?" he asked, looking at you before pulling your hair as his orgasm built up.

You nodded, both of you covered in sweat. You pushed his hair back while continuing to ride him, his hands exploring your waist.

His eyes rolled back as you began kissing his neck, causing him to moan softly from the sensation and your movements.

"Damn, I'm going to cum if you keep teasing me like that," he whispered softly, almost inaudibly.

You felt your own orgasm building, sensing Matt's cock twitching more inside you, indicating he was close as well.

A few tears welled up in his bright blue eyes, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through him. He bit his lip in response to the sound of your moans, unaware that you had just reached your climax on his cock.

His eyes widened in amazement and desire, a mix of awe and lust consuming him. He felt your legs tremble slightly from the intensity of your orgasm, yet you continued to ride him with such vigor that it clouded his thoughts.

"Oh, that's it, y/n, fuck," he groaned, his hands entangled in your hair as he released into the condom.

His moans echoed louder than yours, his body arching in ecstasy as he struggled to stifle his sounds.

As you gradually slowed your movements, he finally caught his breath and was able to gaze at you intently.

"Can we do this every night while we're in the cabin?" he asked with a smirk, cheeks flushed.

"Maybe," you replied as you dismounted, leaving a trace of your essence on his member. He removed the condom, tied it off, and disposed of it in the bin.

"I can make you say yes," he says, throwing down the gauntlet. You arch an eyebrow as he winks and settles back on the couch beside you once more.

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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An Affectionate Embrace

Masterlist Here

Characters: Buggy, Mihawk, Crocodile, Shanks, Beckman (Art found on Pinterest)

Word Count: 650-900 per gentleman.

Synopsis: It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?

Notes: Since completing the "Kiss Their Cheek" for both the monster and supernova trios, I had to get a little kiss on the sea-dilfs. Considering they’re a little older and more experienced (and less easy to fluster), there’s a little more depth to their reactions.

Themes: cheek kisses, feelings, unrequited love, confessions of love, no prior romantic relationship, gn!reader, pure fluff, lil bit angsty, small bit of fear, bittersweet emotions.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

Buggy

“Captain, you’re back!” you cried with glee, eagerly rising to your feet alongside the devoted crew. Each member rushed over to greet him, cheers and enthusiastic cries of joy sprang forth from the lips and throats of your comrades in arms.

Buggy D Clown had been away for a while, wandering throughout the seas and attempting to get back to his loyal and faithful crew. You had been searching for him for weeks, and finally at the umpteenth hour, his heavy boots found the deck of the Big Top once again.

As the first member of the crew to reach him, you flung yourself into his arms and littered his face in a flurry of rapid kisses. You adored your captain. All of the crew did. Considering the massive swell and release of emotions, you could barely contain your incessant need to wrap yourself around him and continue laying into him with peppered pecks atop his cheeks, chin, forehead and stubbled jaw.

The rest of the crew joined you in your embrace, each member attempting to get as close as they could to kiss, claw, bow and nuzzle against the captain. Giggling along with them in cheer, you felt Buggy’s expression change from joy and pride into a deep and heavy frown.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Buggy’s low tone attempted to break the crew away from their embrace. None could hear his direction over their own desire to worship their captain with their lips, arms and knees. Kneeling before him and reaching up their grabby hands, uttering “we missed you,” and “we love you, captain,” repetitively, Buggy’s body began to vibrate as his rage ignited.

“That’s enough,” he tried again, the crew not responding to his commands and continuing to mumble, babble and cry for him. You hastily withdrew yourself from his arms, adjusting your clothes and turning to your crew.

“Oi, you lot! Captain said it’s enough!” you called, booming your voice to halt the crew of their incessant repetition. “Hoist the colors, unsheath the sails, weigh anchor: prepare to make waves!”

“Aye,” the crew responded, hastily snapping out of their prior hypnosis and scrambling to follow your commands. Although you were not the first-mate, you were excellent at barking orders to the unruly crew. Turning to glance at the blushed, painted face of your captain, you smiled up and him and clapped a supportive hand over his shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back, sir,” you confessed briefly, turning away to begin your duties to set sail, “Do we have a heading, Sir- Mmfmph!” Buggy’s index finger and thumb collected your chin, hoisting you closer to him as he drew his face closer to meet with yours.

Closing the gap, your captain’s lips collided with your own, his red paint smeared over your lips and cheeks as he pressed a heavy and intentional kisses against your mouth. His hand withdrew from your chin, raking his gloved hand through your hair to draw you into himself.

“S-Sorry, Doll,” he stuttered upon his withdrawal, “It’s been a little while, and I missed you too.” Your eyes held a momentary confusion, your head shaking with a broad rise in your smile.

“You gonna kiss all the crew, Captain?” you laughed joyfully and in good humor, “Am I the lucky number one to receive a kiss from you? You want me to line them up for you, Sir?”

Where you expected to find a loud outrageous cackle at your joke, akin to one that you were always greeted with when you verbally played with your captain, what you found in it’s wake was something different. Buggy’s hands sought out your hips, drawing you closer and pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

“No,” he whispered in a voice so silent you could barely hear it, “Just you.” Reactionary, you wrapped your arms around his neck and soothed over his hair and shoulders with several soothing touches. You felt his anxiety release and his tension depart from him with a shaken movement on his shoulders. The longer he remained nuzzled against you, the more he realized he never wanted to be apart from you again.

Mihawk

The cool steel of metal clashed together, a cross-shaped window crafted between your blades as you bore your eyes into his honey-hue. Mihawk had been training you in the art of the sword, desperate for you to be a well-rounded fighter. You were no swordsperson, only minimal prior skill with a blade meant for single combat.

But Mihawk, the owner of castle Kuraigana and your superior, was a determined teacher.

“This maneuver is called ‘the talking window’,” he informed you, clicking the blade against the sharpened edge of your sword. You nodded as he continued to educate you, “This is where many a swordsman may converse, or threaten their opponent with verbal intimidation.”

Humming in response, he tested the grip on your steel with a firm shove: breaking you from contact against his blade. He lunged forward with his training sword, thrusting it out and prompting you to parry the blow.

“Try again, and see if you can disarm me with a threat while in there,” his authoritative tone almost caught you off guard. “Think on your feet. I’ll grant you a single moment there to test your words. Your job is to have me stumble enough verbally to lose my momentum in combat.”

Picking up your stance, you tapped your sword against his while you allowed your mind to produce witty and original retort. Kicking up your feet and swirling in place, your blade's edge was once again drawn against Mihawk’s as he awaited your verbal disarm.

But there was something about the way he was looking at you. His eyes held encouragement with his usual abrasiveness, a combination you were yet to find in its equal. The hue of amber decorated his honey-irises with the soft swell of the uncharted and unfamiliar. Disarmed yourself by the emergence of new emotions, your body moved against your will and pressed through the window of crossed-blades.

You sprung forward, your lips immediately finding purchase against his whiskered cheek. This small act of pure instinct stunned Mihawk in his stance, his fingers loosening around the hilt of his blade and softening against your sword.

Considering the hastiness of your own actions, you withdrew as quickly as your lips found his cheek. Your own cheeks flooded with warmth, your lips tingling with the lingering glow of the kiss, as you slunk back in your stance. After a few rapid blinks, Mihawk thrust his blade against your own, easily circling his wrist to rid your grasp over the hilt of your sword and dropping it to the ground.

“I-I’m sorry, I just-,” you began, halted by Mihawk casting his own blade down beside yours and lunging forward. He closed the distance, his hands grasping at your hips and drawing your body flush against his own. Pelvises touching, lips within distance, he circled his chin as a snake would mesmerize their unwitting and unsuspecting prey.

“-If you’re going to disarm me with something as bold as a kiss,” Mihawk purred down at you, his gaze holding you hostage under its sultry hypnotism, “Then at least do it properly, for both our sakes.”

“For both our-?” your words halted in your throat as your lips became eclipsed under the soft touch of Dracule Mihawk’s lips against your own. Your eyes widened, his lips opening and molding against yours to find a kiss as deep enough - as passionate enough - to grant you the insight to all of his pent up emotions.

Brows furrowed and hands roaming, he cradled your form against himself, succumbing to the feeling of bliss against your lips as each moment flooded into the next. Finally allowing himself the luxury of opening himself up to this genre of touch, he would never let you go. You were his, and he was yours.

Crocodile

“I have set out three towels, lotions and soaps, alongside an assortment of your usual clothes should you desire them over your current ensemble,” you nodded, gesturing to the broad chest, arms and legs of the once respectable Sir Crocodile.

His hair was greasy, his eyes were sunken, and his shoulders carried a foreign weight you had not expected to find anchoring your former boss to the floor. As Sir Crocodile’s personal assistant, you were privy to witnessing every state he found himself in. All aside from this one.

He was defeated. His spirit was broken alongside the reflective gold of his left hook. The object was littered in scratches and scuff marks, his body fairing not so different under the longevity he served in Impel Down. His eyes followed your gesture, glaring at the assortment of clothes atop the vanity cabinet before floating his eyes up to meet with his reflection within the broad mirror.

Although he was yet to utter a single word to you, his silence depicted the raw emotions swelling within the heart, spirit and soul of Sir Crocodile.

He was not who he once was.

A man broken, clawing and desperate to be freed from the confines of a torturous prison - to battle and grind through the smog of battle to once again be shepherded into your awaiting embrace. His employee, his confidant, his friend - his love. A love he was yet to express due to the nature of your occupation.

He focussed on his sinking eyes, not recognising the figure glancing back at him. His body was marked with the white and black stripes of imprisonment, his mind laying heavily on the way his body was weakened under the sea stone walls, floors and shackles. He couldn’t find his former self amongst the remains of the man he saw in the silvery reflection. Each crease of his crows feet, each silvered hair on his head, each purple circle beneath his eye was a stranger glaring back at him.

“If I may, Sir,” you began, stepping forward and hovering your hands over his shoulders in the reflection. Deciding against your better judgment, you placed your hands firmly upon his shoulders, soothing over the flesh with your thumbs. You felt him sigh into your touch, but not conform, nor fully embrace, your affectionate touch.

“You are strong,” you uttered into his ear, watching his eyes for any indication of discomfort or apprehension. Finding none in its wake, you continued uttering assurances while you caressed his flesh. He sighed into your touch, leaning into each ministration your hands provided him above his prison uniform.

“You have carved your destiny out by tooth and nail, Sir,” you assured him, paying attention to the scruff of his neck: circling your hands to relieve the stress and tension from his rapidly troubled mind, “You are the man you have always been, Sir Crocodile.”

“And who am I, Rouhi?” he whispered through his exhale, lulling his head back to lean into your palms. His eyes were shut, his forehead plagued by the trials he endured at the violent hands of the marines.

You couldn’t help yourself, your heartstrings tugging and pulling you down to press your lips against his cheek. The silvery scar cutting his eyes away from his nose,jaw and lips feeling rough beneath your lips. You allowed yourself a moment to hold him beneath your lips, feeling the tension rapidly leave him the longer you pressed this affectionate expression against his skin.

“You are Sir Crocodile,” you whispered after tearing your lips away from his cheek, “You are an influential threat that can have the world fall to their knees under your power.” Glancing into his eyes, you saw the world within their purple hue. His eyes swelled beneath their heavy torment, searching your own for more than your words had spoken.

“Is that all I am?” he whispered, his heart weighing heavy in his chest as he looked up at you, “Am I nothing more?”

“You are everything to me, Sir,” you confessed, your heart feeling lighter while the adrenaline pumped to flush your cheeks with a darkening heat, “You can take from that confession what you truly desire to make from it. For now: your clothes have been pressed, your towels have been fluffed, and your home has been made ready to receive you-.”

Lips found yours, his affectionate and apprehensive touch hungrily calling for you with each passing moment. He held his lips against you as if it was the only tether holding his form to this earth, his anchor within the harbor of an unknown land of unrestrained affection. Right hand lacing into your hair, his whimpered groan departed his lips and cried lowly into your own.

He was anew. The broken man he once was no longer found purchase within his chest. Whichever destiny he carved for himself, he would have you by his side to hold him accountable and support him in claiming his fate.

Shanks

The air was light, the jovial melodies thrust into the air at the hands of skilled minstrels. You had been dancing all night with your crew, the momentum finally catching up with you as you all found your seats for a momentary reprieve.

A laugh fled your throat as you twirled your body once more as the music decrecendoed. Applauding the talent produced at the hands and lips of the musicians, you turned to face your crew: their bodies claiming each of the empty surfaces deemed appropriate for the body to recline against. No stool, chair, sofa nor benchtop remained unoccupied as the crew found their reprieve from lengthy dancing.

“Why don’t you sit on my lap, love?” your captain chuckled at you, prompting a rise in laughter among the remainder of the crew, including yourself. “I’m far more comfortable than the chairs around here, anyway.”

“How considerate of you, Captain,” you feigned your appreciation, holding your hand to your heart and drawing out each intentional step towards his lap, “Will you wrap your arms-... -pardon, sir. Arm around me as I take my rightful place atop your mighty throne?”

Always playful and light were the interactions you had with your captain. No matter the years that passed in your longevity in servitude aboard the Red-Force, the playful rapport between Shanks and yourself was something ever present.

“I will put my arm wherever you like, love,” he chuckled, his hazelnut eyes beckoning you in as you drew yourself ever closer, “I’ll keep you safe, so long as you feed me my ale and tell me I’m pretty.”

“So pretty, sir,” you laughed down at him, sinking atop his knee while caressing your hand over his cheek, “The prettiest man that ever did live.” As you cooed into his face, you leant down and pressed a lengthy and extravagant kiss atop his cheek, feigning enthusiasm with a vocal moan while smiling.

The crew burst into a large, communal laugh that resonated within the chest of your captain. The teetered chuckles died down as the men found their drinks, your hand clasping around the hilt of Shanks’ ale and elevating it to his lips.

His eyes never left you for a single moment.

Feeling small beneath his gaze, you placed his tankard down against the table and turned to face him with your brows knit into a gruff frown.

“What, Captain?” you asked him, the anxiety elevating in your chest for each moment that continued to pass between you.

“You missed, love,” he chuckled darkly. You were puzzled, searching for a moment in your servitude that you ever missed a single target - falling short in your memories. Before you had an opportunity to ask him a follow up question, you were silenced by Shanks’ right index finger raking along your jaw and collecting your chin within the hooked digit.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his smirk carried his dangerously playful tone, “Make sure you hit the right target.” He allowed himself to dwell in that moment of teasing, feeling you slink back atop his lap while his eyes held nothing but unbridled affirmation within their hue.

“Now give us a proper kiss, love,” he uttered before dragging your head towards him, his lips meeting your own. The room uproared into a momentary chaos: cheers, hollers and whistles rose amongst the crew the longer you held your lips against Shanks’. He chuckled against your lips, turning his head and humming against your opening mouth.

“There ‘ya go,” Shanks laughed after pulling away, “Lead with that next time, love. Makes it all less confusing for the lot of us.”

But you were left more confused than the moment you kissed his cheek. Did he like you? Did he want more? Did you want more? You would need to discuss this when the both of you find yourselves in an air of sobriety, that was for certain.

Beckman

The storm scattered your face with a flurry of ice-splinters of frozen rain.The Red-Force was stampeding throughout the waves to find refuge in the eye of the storm, your task was to release the sails to have the natural wind pull you toward the calming center of the flurry.

On the last knot set to release the canvas, the sail snagged on the rope against the top-mast: prompting you to sprint towards the ropes to clamber up amongst the havoc. Your feet caught in the ropes, your heart springing to your throat as you readjusted yourself and stabilized your body within your climb.

“Careful up there!” the barked call of the first mate of the Red-Haired crew called to you over the wild and unruly wind. You could barely make out his words, let alone formulate an answer over the swell of rainfall.

Anchoring yourself amongst the ropes, you began desperately tugging at the knot to loosen. Your eyes became misted by the rapid downpour of water, your hands and fingers desperately clawing at the joint fibers of the rope to loosen. As you finally released the last loop of rope amongst the canvas, your feet slipped and your fingers barely brushed with the ropes to hold yourself steady before you began to fall.

The air was cool, the clouds above shepherded you into the lull of calm before you deduced your body would meet firmly against the deck and break your neck on impact. There was no way you would survive such a drop: no Devil-Fruit abilities to caress your fall, nor Haki present to catch you on impact.

Little did you know, the moment Benn Beckman barked his orders: he ensured his body was intentionally beneath yours to collect you in his arms should you fall. Although first mate to captain Shanks of the Red-Hair pirates, you were special to him. He needed to ensure your safety, regardless of his own orders to remain at his post.

As you fell through the air and readied your soul to flee from your body to welcome death with a warm embrace, the only embrace you felt was a warm chest, two steady and firm arms, and an angry reprimand falling from the lips of the gray-haired first mate.

“I told you to be careful!” he barked at you, his eyes wild and frantic as his brow deepened in a low frown. Your breath hitched in your throat, watching as his passionate scolding ignited behind his eyes. “You need to be careful, to be wise. I don’t care what Shanks told you to do, nor how stupid a command it is. You need to be more careful. Hitch a rope around your belt or somethin’, or between each loop to stop you from falling. I can’t lose you to something so stupid as a storm.”

You could barely comprehend his words, each syllable sounding heavenly against your ears as you appreciated each breath you were granted. You expected to die there, to fall from the ropes and have your neck snap upon impact against the deck - littering your skin with splinters from the wood and choirs serenading you into the life thereafter. In its stead, you were met with a grumpy bark and a cool reprimand that had your heart swelling and eyes misting with the rise of emotions.

Without thinking, you lunged forwards in his arms, your lips making contact against his stubbled cheek. You whimpered against his flesh, arms hooking over his neck and brows upturning in appreciation for his care for you. Your emotions spilled over: thanking whichever deity that was watching over you for the opportunity to live to not only serve this crew, but to feel the touch of Benn Beckman beneath your lips while your body remained chaperoned and cradled within his broad arms.

At a small sob escaping from your lips, Beckman’s heart softened. He cradled you against himself further, huffing out a small laugh and allowing you to remain in his arms a moment longer. He had desired this touch from you for some time, but refused to act on it due to your proximity and place amongst the crew should the relationship sour.

“A-Alright, Darlin’. Easy now,” he chuckled, feeling the small quake in your shoulders at the adjustment of your near demise, “Don’t let me get a big head.”

“You just saved my life, Benn Beckman,” you reiterated, tearing yourself away from him to stare up into his silvery eyes, “A kiss on the cheek is hardly a just reward for such a feat.” Holding his eyes against yours, the rain began to settle as the clouds departed in the eye of the storm. The sun's rays flittered down and cascaded over your bodies, the storm finally finding solace and breaking its tyrannical attack against the Red-Force.

After the storm settled, the soothing swell of waves held you in a momentary calm as your head reclined against Benn Beckman’s broad shoulder. Sitting on the damp deck, with a plush blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Beckman’s lips found your forehead as your eyes grew heavy with want and soothed within the proximity against your valiant savior.

You could not stop staring at him: this burly man with the grumpy twinkle in his eye. You would offer him the world should he ask it of you, grant him every desire his heart would swell for. You had no idea that the desire itself was you until he made that fact abundantly clear upon your wake in the morning.

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hoseoksluna · 4 months

Text

VAPOR, pt III. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut

word count: 9.9k

summary: the naughtiest of times bring about the greatest of healing.

pinterest board: vapor

warnings: punishment, spanking, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), a little bit of ass play, cum eating, raw sex, multiple orgasms, sex toy included, praise kink, jk smokes:), jk also reveals a past pain:(

note: nawt my best work, but i guess it's alright:( here it is, my loves—the very end to the steam series. i enjoyed indulging myself in this world and i'd like to thank all of you for allowing me to do that. thank you so much for all the love and support. i do all of this for you:) wink wink. this is pure smut and nothing else, and i hope you like this at least a little bit. i love you all so much, pwease give me your feedback, thank you. <3

Jungkook thought brushing his teeth with you in the morning while you wore his boxers and stole one of his white, ribbed tank tops was heaven enough. That was until he couldn’t lay his sleepy gaze off of you when you sat on his balcony with a cigarette between your two fingers and a cup of strong coffee in the other two and your thumb.

Still can’t.

He’s never been a morning person. To him, all mornings resembled some kind of hell that you suffer through until afternoon rolls around until you finally awaken. But seeing you like this, delighted, with two of your pleasures… he might become an early bird. Wake up each morning with joy just to see yours. Just to watch you be at complete peace, puffing out the smoke out into the sun-breathed air.

The weather is a stark contrast to yesterday’s funeral of clouds. Not one is in sight, sun rays envelop the heavens in a golden light that spills through your hair—half done in a messy knot of some sort at the back of your head while wisps of shorter strands frame your face and your neck. He’s given you his spirally hair tie that he wore in his pre-military days. Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he told you how long he let his hair grow because he knew shaving his head was inevitable and it served as some kind of strange preparation for him. You brushed your fingers through his hair, then, unbelief painting your face in cutesy colors. As if you tried to feel the long-gone memory of his long tufts of hair that curled at the ends. He was so touched by it—maybe it’s one of the reasons why he can’t stop looking at you now.

It’s dawning on him that you love him. That you’re his. It wasn’t a dream, after all.

And you’re such a stark image of effortless beauty—even with your puffy eyelids and mouth, with your healthily flushed cheeks. How can he not look at you… he fears if he does, you’ll disappear into the thin air. He can’t afford that, not when he went through so much pain to get to this point.

This is his reality now. It’s difficult to get used to. He’d never thought he’d get this lucky. Perhaps, heaven does care about him, wants to see him after all, because it blessed him with you, blessed him with freedom that he can indulge in hand in hand with you.

Jungkook feels an inkling to find a church and kneel at the altar. Thank God for what he’s done for him. Call his dad and tell him that he found Him.

The thought of how happy he’d be fills him with vigor redolent of the last of the summer creeping in. There’s so much of it that Jungkook finds it hard to breathe, his lungs taut with all this joy and love that he feels.

It seems as though this time he will, in fact, live his life happily. Get rid of his alcoholic habits, drink from the fountain of you instead—make that a brand new habit. Keep his paints. Keep the memory of your features and your sleep-tousled hair engraved deeply in his brain so he can transfer it onto his sketchbook. Eternalize you for generations to come. Clutch those papers tight to his chest when God does take him to heaven once his time comes.

Happiness. How did he deserve such a thing?

He sighs, watches you suck the last of your cigarette. The sunlight radiates you with a glow too grand for his eyes to take in and as you breathe out the swirls of smoke, he has to look elsewhere. Your full breasts pebble against his tank top, too stretched out for your small form, and it douses him with liquid tendrils of desire for you. All due to the fact you’re wearing his clothes, that you’re bare underneath them, that your nakedness brought about so much pleasure for him last night—due to the very memory that you didn’t wear your underwear for him because they would get in his way. Fuck, his cock tightens under his joggers, the ones that match those you wore to bed. He hasn’t eaten yet and he thinks you’re the perfect choice of breakfast for the day.

You put out your cigarette in the ashtray he found for you in the cabinet, left behind by the tenants that lived here before him, and a soft smile curls your slumber-kissed mouth. Your irises flick across the width of his chest, across his crossed forearms and biceps and your smile deepens. You cradle your cup of coffee in both of your hands, slouching in your chair. He’ll never tire of the way it feels to be looked at by you. The tendrils of desire thicken in him, flowing rapidly in his bloodstream.

“What do you wanna eat for breakfast?” you ask, and there’s something dangerous about your eyes now, mingling with the light and joy, dimming it little by little. He likes it so much, likes your question all the more, that he props his elbows on his knees and hooks his fingers around the back of yours, thumbs fondling the round bones.

The way his boxers don’t even cover the apex of your thighs, having ridden up so high—he stifles the hiss rising in his throat. They suit you so much he might let you keep them. That is, after he ruins them.

“You,” he murmurs, smirking, and you grin at him so luminously that the speed of his bloodstream slows down. Suddenly, the movement of your hand as you set your cup down is in slow motion—your fingernails provoking him by lightly scratching down his forearms, too. You study his tattoos as you do it, your gaze darkening fully.

You root them at the place, where he’s holding you. Palms flat against the back of his hands. Lean closer to him until you nudge your nose against his. The close proximity will always mess him up, no matter what. He feels himself bespangled by your light, by your celestiality, bringing in the heat until it’s all he knows.

You.

“What if I want to eat you first?” you whisper, head angling to kiss him on his jawline. Oh, he’s already done for; body charged with electricity all over. Your mouth closes over that bone so, so slowly, your tongue licking over that place in the same tempo, causing the hair on his body to stand up to attention.

“Eat what?” He laughs through his nose and you take after him—your giggles a warm rumble that sends tingles down his back, even though all his body longs to do is whimper for you. He knows what you meant, but he simply wants to hear you say it. The memory of the way you rubbed your face in such a private part of him, not just once—but twice, floods his brain and he’s so hard for you that it’s unbearable.

If he doesn’t get his release any time soon, he might combust.

He’d much rather it happens in your mouth. Like it did in the dressing room last night. Oh, fuck. Those winged fuckers are going at it again in his stomach, bringing about his madness for you.

“Your nose first, then your dick.”

It’s now that he lets out that sound—he can’t help it, can’t hold it back. Might need that cigarette of yours, even though he only smokes casually. This is what you do to him.

And you like that sound. You like it so much that you rise to your feet, only to straddle him. And, leaning back, he pushes you towards him until you’re flush against his body. To make you feel how aroused he is for you, your little pussy sitting against his imprint. At the feeling of it through such a thin barrier, you press your hum over his nose, kissing the ball of it with a sweet, soft giggle. His madness evolves into a frustration again and he wonders at the whole concept of it. Now that he has you all to himself, his sexual need for you tends to be on such a raging base, full of yearning, full of frenzy. So intense, so thunderous, so deafening. The world might break apart, fall upon every head with its destruction, if that need remains unfulfilled.

It’s spine-chilling. Absolutely petrifying. And irrevocably thrilling with all its bolts of power.

He kneads your bum with both of his hands, unraveling that melodramatic concept of his titillation for you with the strength he uses to squeeze your flesh with. Jungkook goes as far as to lift you onto your knees, raise the fabric of his boxers to reveal your skin and, holding it taut in his fist, he wetly kisses the red imprint of his hand that he left behind.

And his need flutters with something still yet forbidden.

Yours does, too. And it’s you who voices it out, setting it free like a bird that has been caged for centuries. It touches him, immensely—a deep sea of feelings resurfacing in him, sloshing to and fro, threatening to spill over.

“Spank me.”

Lust and love. A peculiar concoction of it that doesn’t exist in the realm of words. He feels it, feels it with every breath he takes.

“I should, right?” he rasps, dragging his fingernails down your carmine bum, sneaking his fingers around the squishy bottom of the flesh. He might drench his joggers—he didn’t wear his boxers to sleep; you’re wearing them for him. “For wanting to bite my nose off.” He clicks his tongue, squeezing, other hand wraps around your waist, holding you still. “I should spank you until it hurts. Until you cry.”

The most gentle of a moan spouts out of your mouth and he twitches, his need growing—all because you want it as much as he does.

Jungkook lifts his hand in a promise he’s about to do it and you shiver in anticipation.

“Please,” is all you say, but he’s not going to give it to you. He places his hand back in a soft manner, lifting it again to tease you and you wiggle your butt, his boxers still tucked halfway in between, the flesh rippling and he groans. A sight to die for. “I deserve it. Please, do it. I want it.”

He sighs, a wet spot forming in the place of the joggers where his tip is, and he can’t see anything. Can’t see shit when he lifts you up and takes you inside. Can’t see anything but you and the surface of his kitchen island, which he sets you down on, spreading your legs.

Confused by the swift motion, you rise to your elbows, but he pushes you right back down—holding your hips in the air, just like he did last night. You will see what he’s about to do to you, nonetheless. No need for you to strain your arms.

And when he closes his mouth over your clothed pussy, you roll your eyes back, moaning his name so loudly that it echoes throughout the kitchen, rooting around his dripping length. And his arousal for you is so overwhelming, so sensitive that one thrust of his hips against the fabric of his joggers brings him such pleasure coursing through his body that he might as well come like this.

Jungkook rids you of his boxers in a blink of an eye, throwing them somewhere out of his sight. No need for them, either.

Burying his nose in your clit as he licks your slit and plunges his tongue inside, he narrows his eyes at you as yet another wave of pleasure comes down upon him. This time from having you for breakfast, at last. You mewl so sweetly that it drives him to thrust his hips again and he groans, groans so deeply for you. Needs you to know what you’re doing to him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he breathes out, lightly dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit before he swallows, hissing at the delight of your taste. You moan, trembling, barely able to take it. Fuck one day, he’s about to die now. “And you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking boy. Is that what you want?”

Jungkook flicks your bud, fleetingly, just to make your sounds shudder in the sudden intensity. You clench your small fists in the air, your tremor so terribly visible and rigorous, and with your breath hitching in your throat, he sucks that delicious part of you into his mouth.

You stammer, badly enough that he begins to feel a sliver of pity for you, not enough for him to stop. He’s ravaging your little princess parts so hard that it takes a few tries for you to get the words out in a steady flow and he doesn’t help you. Doesn’t ease up for you, at all. Flicking, sucking, licking you up all over, rolling his tongue—he simply doesn’t stop, does it so fast that you lose yourself in it, submitting to it with all your being.

And along with your submission come out your words.

In perfect fashion.

“No, I want to suck you off.”

And along with those your orgasm, too.

Jungkook watches you take it, eyes lidded heavily, take all the pleasure he gives to you as it unfolds throughout your quivering body that he holds tightly in his grasp so you wouldn’t fall over. He sucks your clit until his mouth goes numb, opening it to drink you, not letting a drop of your nectar go to waste. You struggle to reciprocate the eye contact and he finds it so endearing that he wants to make you come all over again.

Setting you down, he caresses your wet little pussy with his thumb, palm spread wide across his tank top clothing your tummy. And while you try to catch your breath, he sends rays of his affection down to her the more he looks at her. He loves her so much that he bends down and kisses her. Over and over. Kisses the hickey he left on your left fold, the one below your hip bone as well. And then, he glances at you. Flushed and glowing, a personification of light. A girl most satisfied. So beautiful.

You sit up and the feeling of the coldness of the marble against your sensitive seashell makes you let out a whine, biting your lip briefly before you enclose it around his. You moan into the kiss and Jungkook knows why. He deepens it, hands drifting down your full breasts, your stiffened nipples. The touch makes you hum and grind your pussy against the island, opening your mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, playing with you, beckoning out your mouth-watering little whines. And when his fingers reach the hem of his tank top, he takes it off of you—your breasts bouncing, the wet spot in his joggers enlarging.

In this position, you’re forehead to forehead. And this time, he doesn’t want to kiss you. No, he wants to talk.

“You taste good, don’t you?” Jungkook husks, an allusion to the way you moaned into the kiss, fists on either side of your outstretched thighs. You bite your lip and furrow your brows, a hand sneaking around his neck. Such horny expression, scraping his madness raw. He’s greedy for more; wants to bleed for you. “Tell me. Tell me how good you taste.”

You sink your teeth so hard into your bottom lip at his words that you whimper once you let go, the pillow so reddened, so cute. The wrinkle between your brows deepens and you grind your hips again. Oh, he’ll put his hand there, on your still needy pussy, as soon as you answer him.

And you do—and his whole bloodstream lines with a river of flames.

“I taste so good,” you whine and he rewards you for your goodness, for that heat. Places his fingers flat underneath your clit, palm up. You immediately roll your hips forward and whisk your eyes back. That sensitive you are, after such an intense orgasm. He swears. Takes it as a sign to rub your bud and, pushing them back with one hand, he gathers your slick and smears it upon it, making it all the more pleasurable for you. Gusts of breaths emit out of your mouth, intertwining with the squeaky sounds of your juices and Jungkook almost drools, aching to eat you out all over again. The feeling of your parted lips, your slipperiness, the softness of your swollen bud—he grows desperate for it.

But he wants you to come like this, too.

“Ride my fingers,” he whispers, just for you to hear and not the angels surrounding him, whose favor he gained. “Come on. Grind your pussy on them, sweetheart.”

You mewl and you listen, straightening your spine. Use his shoulders for stability as you swing your hips back and forth. The silkiness of your flesh, the wetness that makes this a smooth ride for you—he moans, sucking in his breath each time. And then you become so terribly whiny, eyes squeezed tight, that he can’t help but to strum your clit as fast as he can. Your shudders begin again, your breasts rippling and he just thinks they’re asking for his tongue.

A flick of the muscle on your nipple. You cry out, arching your back, halting the movement of your pelvis and he takes over. Takes merely a minute to make you come all over his hand and scream out his name.

And then… then he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you in—almost nose to nose. A gesture to make you listen. To make you pay attention to the words he wants to say to you.

“This is what you deserve,” he purrs, speaking of the former mention of punishment, studying the way your eyes grow bigger than they already are. “To come again and again for me—and what’s more, I’m not finished with you yet. That wasn’t your last orgasm.”

You mewl and it seems that it’s all that you’re capable of uttering, the clitoral orgasm stealing all of your vocabulary.

Or at least he thought so.

“But I want you to spank me,” you say, your voice a satiny softness. “I want it so bad that I’ll do anything for it.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what’s more stimulating—whether the beauty of your strength or the sinfulness of your craving. The flames in him reach higher highs, burning his skin in a way that unfussily forces him to give you what you want; give in to you, surely and wholly.

“Is that so?”

You nod, leaning over and closing your mouth over the side of his neck, sucking the skin, making his eyes roll back. And when you begin to focus on his ear, your fingers sinking in his hair, he truly just might submit to that specific craving of yours, even though he wanted to save it for the cabin.

He might just give you a taste of it now.

It looks like you’re ready for it, but if he finds that your healing is incomplete, he’ll take care of you, undo the wrongness, distract your thoughts and fold your emotions into a cocoon of his love.

Pulling you away from him, he lifts you off the island and bends you over it. You giggle in triumph and the dulcet sound falters once he brushes your hair back and, pressing his length against your bare bum, he reciprocates the same treatment you gave to him. He doesn’t destroy your neck more than he already has—he barely has any space left to scatter it with hickeys and he doesn’t wish to cause you discomfort. No, he mouths your ear and kisses the very unmarked skin beneath it, nibbling it ever so gently.

It’s only when you circle your hips against him that he rips that gentleness away and bites, making you groan out.

“So that’s what my sweetheart wants,” he breathes, hands drifting to the crooks of those hips, right where your thighs begin, cooling the flames he spat onto that sensitive spot of yours. “Pain.”

The collision of his palm against your cheek is what steals your breath and you whimper in elation.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

He does it again, a bit harder this time, just to hear those delectable words, just to make sure you’re comfortable, rubbing your skin to soothe the sting. And when you pinch your nipples and moan, he gets on his fucking knees for you. Such a good girl; a strong angel.

At your ever persisting service. Eternal.

Spreading you apart, he catches your dripping slick with his tongue and pushes it back inside, thumbing your other tiny hole—pulling away momentarily to spit on it, smearing the lubrication there before circling it. Jungkook hears the soft thud of your head slumping against the kitchen island and you take it, take his abuse so well that he rewards you by flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit. Over and over until there’s another thing he hears.

He hears your phone ring.

His stomach drops. He knows full well who’s calling. And you prove his deduction right.

“It’s Yoongi,” you sigh, a bit of vexation evident in your voice, and Jungkook buries his face in your pussy, humming into her, purposefully. “Vi-video calling me yet ah-a-again. Oh, fuck.”

Pleased, he laughs. “Let it ring.” Doesn’t give two shits that he’s calling, but is a little annoyed that he keeps bothering you.

It doesn’t lessen his fire, though.

“But.” He withdraws to let you talk. Doesn’t take his eyes off of the glistening of your flesh. “If I tell him off and if he sees what you’re doing to me, he’ll stop calling me.”

His fire thickens, thrilling tendrils absorbing it. Very well. “Such a smart girl. Go for it, then.” He punctuates his sentence with a curt spank and you jump, rising onto your tippy toes as you curl your back, moans echoing. He caresses your legs all over, mouth latching over your slightly reddened cheek. Thinks it’s a perfect place for another hickey. And as he sucks the supple skin, he sinks a finger inside your heat, your walls welcoming him in.

You answer the phone with a moan. “I’m busy.”

You’ve placed your hand to the edge of the island, so Jungkook has a perfect view of what’s currently happening. You’ve hidden your squished breasts behind your forearm—like you did the first time he’d laid his eyes on you via Yoongi’s phone. How the tables have turned is so mind-boggling to him that it drives him to twirl circles on your other tiny hole, eating your ass with such verve that you can’t contain your sounds, especially not when he begins to caress your sweet little spot with his curling fingers.

Your legs begin to shake.

Yoongi calls you by your name. “What the fuck is this?”

“W-what does it look like?” you retort, grinning, looking back at Jungkook, catching his glance. He sends you rays of his love, eyes crinkling, the tip of his tongue finally penetrating inside. “I’m getting my ass eaten and you’re—” You suck a breath in, trying your hardest to remain calm and not succumb to the pleasure. Jungkook worsens it for you; he syncs his finger and his tongue, fucking you in one fast rhythm in both holes at the same time, and your stammer returns. “You-you’re disturbin’ me, oh fuck.” You pant, heavily, letting go of your phone and scratching your nails down the surface, trying to grab onto something, anything. Jungkook hums, endearingly, and catches both of wrists in his hand at the small of your back. Seeing you bound like this, bound in pleasure mainly, while on the phone with your ex-boyfriend almost makes him come in his fucking pants. “I don’t want to fucking come looking at your face. I’m not on your timeline, stop calling me.”

Oh, Jungkook wouldn’t even let you—and the reason why he intensified your pleasure was to spite your ex-boyfriend. It seems as though it worked because Yoongi remains silent, at loss for words in most probability, and you consider your job done, tugging up your arm.

“Let me hang up,” you whisper to him and Jungkook loosens his fingers for you, the sound of the call ending etching a smirk on his face.

He straightens his form and, turning you around, he pins you against the island, his smirk only widening. The love, the proudness he carries in his heart for you, the freedom that oozes out of his every pore—he uses it to kiss you, tenderly. Fights hard to stifle his grin, to mold his lips into yours, but to no avail. You mirror his expression of joy, looking up at him, both of your wrists back in his hold behind your back.

“You took your spanks so well, enjoyed them,” he murmurs his praise, his other hand clasping around your binding. “Didn’t even think once about the past. And to top it all off, you basically told your ex-boyfriend to fuck off. Moaned your lungs out. I’m in awe,” he continues, his voice dropping an octave lower, meaning every word. “I’m in awe of you. What a good girl you are. The best.”

The glint in your irises bursts and spreads all around, your eyes becoming two lighthouses that gain a new instinct to bring him home, whatever form that might spur into. You blush for him, taken aback by his praise, and your lashes flutter so prettily that he grows weak in the knees. His reactions are constant, never-changing when it comes to you and he finds so much beauty in them, in you that he feels as though it’s golden sand in his fingers and all he longs to do is finish his job like you did. You rouse the inspiration in him—you always have.

And listening to his body, he stumbles back into his former position. On his knees for you, at your ever fucking eternal service. And he makes you come with his fingers stuffed in your heat and his tongue flicking your clit until your knees give out as well and he has to take you then and there. Against the window on the other side, your pleasured body embraced, almost, by the golden aura that spills from the sunlight. And he opens it out, stretches it, with every word that trickles out of his mouth and into yours with every swift stroke. A bunch of rays of ‘You’re mine’, ‘My pretty, tight pussy’ and ‘Good girl, take it all, it’s all yours’ permeate your skin, lighting you up from beneath and when you come around his cock, your light doesn’t fade into his and leave you barren. No, it melts, a conscious, ever-flowing stream, into him and soaks him up. It’s still one singular light, but in two bodies.

And the two loads he filled you up with caused weariness to drop so heftily on you that he bathed you in the tub. Scrubbed you clean. Washed your hair. Made you smell like him. Was extra careful when touching the hickeys he left behind on your body, the other unmarked parts of you handled with similar care.

He didn’t even forget about your candle. Borrowed them your shared light and you kissed him quite sweetly for it.

Even when he dressed you in his clothes. A pair of old baggy jeans that don’t fit him anymore and the same white tank top, a clean one, fragrant with the wholeness of summer he will perpetually connect with you. You pecked him so cutely when he tapped your waist, signaling that you’re all done. He knows it was the deepest thank you that you could’ve ever expressed to him. And he hugged you, hugged you so tight that you merged into him, bunching your wet hair in his fist.

It didn’t dry up until he parked by the cabin. Having curled into winsome waves, he couldn’t stop touching them when he lead you towards the front door and, most peculiarly, it ached when he had to let go in order to unlock the door.

His clinginess to you constringes the longer he spends time in your presence and because you’ve graced him with such freedom, he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. You show no signs of being irritated by it and it causes him to think that, perhaps, when God made you, He put some mechanism in you that needs it. Just like he planted those roots of clinginess in him—for no one else but you to receive, to carry, to take care of.

It’s what he thinks about when he makes you lunch while you smoke on the balcony, having finished with the fresh drinks you made for yourself and him. Elderberry with lemon and ice, with funky, colorful straws once again left behind by the past tenants, ready on the dining table. This time you will actually sit down to eat and Jungkook won’t get kissed on the face by the strong knuckles of his once-close friend.

An emotion stirs within him as he flips the meat on the small indoor grill. Tears prick in his waterline because despite the fact he enjoyed spiting him, he still wonders how he’s handling this. Mourns the loss. Probably will for some time. There’s a certain freshness to it that won’t let go of him.

Those liquid feelings almost dissipate when you wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss his spine. He’s not matching you that much—is wearing the only clean laundry he had. A white oversized tee, a zipper hoodie of the same color with jeans. But he feels the love you press onto his back as if your lips touch his bare skin, singing the two layers through and through.

Jungkook reckons you’re saving him as you’re lingering there with your face buried between his shoulder blades. Saving him from spilling.

“I can’t wait to visit the pond once we’re finished with our food,” you murmur and Jungkook hums in response, placing the rest of the meat onto a plate.

“It’s done, we can eat now,” he croaks out, his voice touched by the residue of his emotions and you rub his belly with your hands. He smiles, fondly, at the gesture. You just keep on saving him.

“Do you think the water is cold?”

Considering the rain that would not leave for days, the water is anything but suitable for swimming. And when he turns around, he meets your mischief, playfully toying with your features. A curled smirk, lifted brows, light flickering in your eyes, reflected in your lashes. He might let you dip your toe in. Just one.

Only because you depict such distinct beauty and he can’t resist it. Can’t resist you, even if he tried his hardest.

“Too cold,” he says, however. Just as playfully. “Freezing.”

Helping him with the plates, you sit down to eat and before you dig in, you thank him once again in the form of a peck. Oh, he might spill, ultimately. In a much different way. Melt into liquid love for you—a putty at your disposal. He’s never come across someone as sweet as you.

“My sweetheart, enjoy your food.”

A sliver of comfortable silence hangs in the air as you finish your food and once he downs the drink you made for him, a different type of hunger itches in his throat.

A hunger for a cigarette.

He watches you as you take his plate and bring it into the kitchen, never forgetting to at least graze one part of your body as you depart away from him, his clinginess a full blown, ceaseless stream and when you come back to him and take his hand, he remains seated. Looks up at you. Is probably giving you a nasty set of puppy eyes, he can’t tell. Doesn’t really care. Interlocks his fingers with yours and brings your knee in between his. Just because.

“You know what I want right now?” he says, stroking the back of your thigh, and you smile down at him all excitedly. “A cigarette.”

You squeal and he didn’t expect such sound to come out of you, such display of joy at such mindless thing. You quiver, taking his other hand and pulling him to his feet. Grab your pack and lighter and drag him out to the balcony.

And with a cigarette of your own hanging from your lips, you sink the butt of the spare one between his, your lighter ready in your hand, flicking it to life. Then, a sudden gust of wind blows your hair in front of your face in a grand, sublime way, the clouds shrouding the sunlight, a layer of grayness dispersing across the atmosphere. Jungkook is mesmerized, completely, strands of your hair tickling your cheeks as you focus on lighting his cigarette, such serious expression coating you.

He almost forgets to suck on the cigarette when you cup the lighter, protecting the flame from the breath of the autumn slinking in. How can someone be so beautiful, so caring? He could’ve lighted up his hunger himself, but no—you wanted to do it.

And because of that, he steals your cigarette and grabs your cheek in one hand, careful not to break it. Taking a delightful drag, he opens your mouth and puffs it inside. Watches you swallow it down, your eyes narrowed in a foreign pleasure, and to reward you, he kisses you deeply. But at the taste of his hunger on your tongue, the kiss grows tempestuous. He devours your mouth, makes it puffy all over again, and something else grows hard in tandem.

Something in his pants.

And the way you kiss him back—he has to physically pull himself away from you in order not to take you right here, in order not to bend you over this railing and bury himself so deeply inside you that all the animals in the forest scurry away at the sound of your squeaks. Much, much different ones.

His body tingles, looking at you panting, longs to kiss you again—bring that notion into reality. It’s not merely you who’s become aroused because one swift glance over your body clad in his clothes reveals that you have, too. Your stiffened nipples protrude through his tank top and he has to hold onto that railing and take a deep drag of his cigarette in order to stick to his composure like his life depends on it.

Perhaps, it truly does.

“You’re so fucking irresistible,” he comments, mirroring your former actions—placing the cigarette between your lips that willingly open for him, lighting it up. “It’s crazy. I can’t spend one minute in your presence without wanting to fuck you brainless. What are you doing to me, huh?”

You blush, but he didn’t mean it as a compliment. Thinks he should change his ways and call you beautiful more often, so you learn what a true compliment is, despite the fact how hard he finds it. His lungs constrict, choking the life out of him that you gave him—an unfond memory clouding his sight.

A blond set of hair swishing past. A roll of eyes as he threw that compliment in her way. The dismissal that still lives in him.

“You sure it’s me?” you retort, angling your head to the side, two fingers widening slightly as you suck on your cigarette. You tossed the memory away and cuddled his headspace. “Maybe you have a problem.”

Oh, he remembers this feistiness of yours. Missed it, dearly. Makes his cock needy. Even more prominently so now—now that you clothed him in healing.

“True, one taste of you and I’ve become a nymphomaniac,” he says with a mighty, peculiar easiness. Clicks his tongue. “I guess I should go to therapy.”

Your blush deepens and you hide your laughter behind your busy palm. Jungkook shakes his head, not believing something like that could flush your face like this with such rosy, radiant color. He pulls you towards himself, squeezes your bum. Takes a drag, loving the burn in his throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, fondling the sweet color of your cheek with his thumb. The smoke from his cigarette curls around your wavy hair. “Do you even know how beautiful you are?”

It’s you who shakes your head and you place your palm flat on his chest. A gasp leaves your mouth when he spanks you for your disagreement. Then, your mouth ends tip.

Jungkook laughs, softly. “Run. And if I catch you, I spank you again. On your bare bum this time.”

He pushes you and you squeal, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs down that lead to the pond. He could run after you to make you happy—it doesn’t matter he’s wearing his home slides. He’s danced with them, even barefooted, so this is no big deal for him. But he wants to give you the thrill of the chase, so, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, right next to yours, he slides his hands into his front pockets and waits until you’re halfway there at the pond. Then, then, he slowly makes his way down.

You’ve stopped, however. Half turned, you watch him as he chases you down Michael Myers style. And when he’s at arms-length distance away from you, you begin to run away and this time your feet acknowledge themselves with the wood of the dock that floats above the surface of the still water. There’s nowhere for you to go and he fears you’ll jump into the water. Or, maybe you just want to get spanked that badly.

He’s about to find out.

Gray shadows envelop you, choking out your squeals again when you see Jungkook running after you and you edge dangerously close to the end, bum leaning against the ladder going down.

He lifts his palm, signaling you to stop right there.

And you surprise him. You kick your feet into momentum and as you run and collide into him, you throw him into the water.

The iciness of the water stings and his breath lodges in his throat, submerged. Paralyzation takes a hold of him, but not enough for his body to emerge to the surface. He rubs his eyes as he inhales deeply, shaking off the water from his hair like a dog, his eyesight slowly unblurring and he sees you laughing. The trees bend at the sound, sighing along and the wind, once again, stills.

You even have the nature wrapped around your finger, not just him. And he can’t be mad at you, not when your girlish giggles spark up a joy in his heaving chest, ridding him of the coldness he feels.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t punish you for it.

You asked for it.

He swims to the dock and pulls himself up. The ease he did it with, his wet clothes that cling to his body and accentuate his muscles, it causes your dulcet laughter to falter, little by little and you back away from him.

That aches a tiny bit. He relaxes his face, in case that’s what drove you to do that and he unzips his hoodie, throwing it at your feet. His T-shirt comes next and you swallow, dryly, your eyes drifting along his pecs and abdominal muscles.

You hiss at the cold sensation of his knuckles against the fine sliver of skin of your stomach, the dip between the hem of his tank and his jeans as he unbuttons them and harshly tugs them down. You let him, placing your hands on his shoulders once he kneels and lifts both of your feet, folding the denim and flinging it onto the pile of his sopping hoodie. Your socks and his boxers follow along, leaving behind only his tank top.

Bunching it in his fist, he tightens his mouth in a narrow line and pulls you in. More to cover you from the cold than to soak you and he raises his palm until it levels with your shoulder blade before he spanks you. The slapping noise vibrates through the canopy of the trees and he likes to think the weeping willow in his peripheral vision trembled at the reverberations.

“That’s for me catching you.”

Another spank. On the other cheek. Just as hard.

“That’s for the way you pushed me into the water.” You don’t make a sound, only tiny little breaths spill out of your mouth as your big eyes ogle his dripping face. Taking it so well that his cock, achefully, hardens even more. “All this fucking forest all around and you decided to get on here, on this dock. Push me in.” A spank. “In the freezing.” Another one. “Fucking water.” Another.

You moan, swaying on your feet and he straightens you, grabs your wrist and wraps it around the nape of his neck.

“And this.” Jungkook licks his fingers, sneaks them between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing it rapidly. “This is for the way you enjoy it. Enjoy being spanked. Being punished. Enjoy being a bad little sweetheart.”

You moan, a wrinkle between your brows, and your legs begin to quiver, your orgasm fast approaching. And the fire in him, created by your playfulness and his own words, he becomes it. Like you’re the personification of light, he’s the flames that keep it warm. An oxymoron most profound, most perfect, unseen by the world.

He rips your orgasm away. Spanks you. Kneads your ass. You whine so terribly that it beckons his pity. Enough for him to creep his thigh in between yours, grasp your hips and make you ride it.

“You wanted me wet, so get off on it,” he orders, unlatching his hands, taking off the tank top and fisting your hair, trusting you to hump him well enough on your own. “I know you like it cold, so grind that pussy on my thigh. And don’t stop until you come.”

It’s fast, the way you move your hips and bring yourself to the absorption of your climax. You look at him the whole way through and Jungkook nods with his bottom lip between his teeth, encouraging you to ride out the wave.

“Good girl, coming so fast. Get on your knees.”

He takes off his even more drenched pants. You wait for him with an open mouth and he senses the welcoming embrace of death.

When he plunges his length into that salivating hole, it’s his fire that he feeds you. Despite the coldness, pearls of sweat adorn your forehead and Jungkook grips your hair and fucks your mouth, not letting you be in control, uttering his guttural moans lowly.

“That’s what you get, my love.”

You swallow around him in response and his life flashes before his eyes. Pictures of you, pictures of this cabin dressed in all of the seasons and he halts his thrusts. Pushes your head, instead. Back and forth until he can’t fucking take it anymore.

Your spit trickles down onto the wood. Tears line your vision. Hard, shiny cock in your face. He tells you what he thinks of the sight.

“So beautiful. Look at how hard and wet you made it. You deserved every inch down in that pretty throat of yours.”

It’s a start. Still has a demon on his own to conquer, one that sits around somewhere deep in his chest, where a string of his past relationship makes dents in his lungs. One that he doesn’t want to admit he still has. One that he’s learned to forget about.

But he is changing his ways. For you.

You moan and scratch your nails down his thighs, the fire forming into an animal in you. A feral, little thing that knows what it needs. And he’s going to give it to you, mind already working on the forgetting.

“I love your cock. It’s all mine.” You mouth it, glide your puffy lips upon its length and despite the pleasure he gets from it, he pushes you away.

Straddles your hips. Turns you onto your tummy. Knows the personal cock time was too brief for you, but he can’t risk having his orgasm like this.

“Yes, my love, all yours. And I’m gonna fuck that brain out of your head with it.”

You mewl. “Yes, please.”

In contrary to your words, you try to crawl away when he sinks himself inside, your nails making pretty music on the wood. He brings you right back to him. Presses you down flat with his hand on your back. All while still inside of you. You sputter out your moans and, licking his thumb, he circles your other hole, making them grow in volume.

“No, sweetheart. Don’t run from it. You can take it. Believe in yourself the way I believe in you.”

The strokes he gives you are hard, engraving your rose tattoos made of hickeys onto the dock and he realizes that’s exactly what he wants. He desires to have everything he owns smell like you, look like you and carry remnants, memories and keepsakes of you for generations to come. And so he fucks you not only harder, but faster.

Thinks your back is awfully bare and missing the rest of the marks.

Jungkook bites onto the skin above your shoulder blade and you catch him off guard.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna come like this.”

He hums, fondly. How quickly your walls have gotten used to accommodating him. “Not yet, my love.”

Swiveling you, he hooks your knees onto his shoulders, sinking back into you this way—sinking back home.

And it begins to rain.

Jungkook hears the touch of the droplets upon the surface of the pond first before the same ones pelt down his back. And the briskness that affects him, the conjunction of an autumn kissed by the last of summer—it drives him to crush his lips onto yours with such vigor that he hopes the autumn, at the sight of it, will be here to stay, in all its wholeness. No more triggers of the past seasons. Newness, only. Singularity.

He doesn’t carry you away from the rain. No, he hides you with his own body. Takes every hit from the ruthless downpour for every lash across your heart, for every scar etched for all eternity on its flesh. Hands cradling your head, the broadness of his back a cover for the top half of your body and you keep him there with your hands gripping his hair, holding on for dear life. It stimulates him enough to fuck you just as hard, imprinting the lines of the wood onto your back.

Not so bare anymore.

You could never be an empty canvas. Not with him.

Not when you care for him in the midst of the pleasure.

“Jungkook, ah, you’re go-gonna catch a cold.”

He kisses you for it, terribly touched. “But it feels so good.” A languid stroke, the squelching of your pussy; he rolls his eyes back, sucking in a breath. “Come for me and I’ll get you inside.”

He picks up the pace, seizing your pleasure. But then you start moving your hips up and down and he feels you fill up every dent in his heart with each movement, each moan, each squeeze of your walls. And when you make yourself come on his cock, he considers himself strong enough to tell you all about it later.

Carrying you inside while hiding your head from the rain in the crook of his neck, he takes you up to his room and sets you down like the princess you are underneath the ivory canopy above his bed. Senses your irises digging little pursed pecks into his back as he rummages in his dresser, fishing out a pink bottle of lube and a dildo. Smaller than his length, but almost the same as his girth. Skin-like. With balls attached.

He’s smirking as he swivels, joy evident on his face. He’s eager to watch you ride it and your two lighthouses for eyes divulge to him just as how excited you are yourself.

You spread your feet for him once he’s an inch away from you, smiling from ear to ear. “Fuck me with it,” you purr, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Even the most solemn man in the world wouldn’t be able to not grin at this moment. Too bad he wouldn’t let him near you. His heart pounds, aches to say no to you, but he simply wants to watch you ride it.

“No, sweetheart. I want to watch.”

You frown. “But you haven’t cummed yet.”

He caresses your small pout and you kiss his thumb. His smile widens. “That’s okay.” He might be throbbing, but watching you bounce on a silicone dick will bring him a great deal of pleasure, nonetheless.

“Then, touch yourself for me.”

He hums, his heart lodged in his throat. The turning of tables must be in the script to this movie that he considers his life shared with you. And he likes it more than he’s able to comprehend amidst his intense arousal.

“You have to ride it well, then.”

You suck on his thumb momentarily, a smirk quirking your lips. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

Pecking you shortly, he squirts a ton of lube on the dildo and all around your princess parts, rubbing your clit to tease you. The gasp you let out causes him to laugh softly in endearment and then…

Then, he leaves you to it.

Sitting back in his rocking chair, he fists his cock, the leftover lube making a squeaky sound on his skin. You get on your knees, line yourself up and Jungkook tugs down his foreskin for you, allowing you to see the drops of his male essence oozing out. It turns you on to the point that you moan and bite your lip, sinking down on the toy and he’s breathless.

“Fuck, it’s not as big as you,” you whine, sitting down on it, fully, maintaining eye contact with him. His heart thuds in harsh staccatos. “I barely feel anything.”

A sly remark about your ex-boyfriend’s length is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He’s not a constant presence. Not anymore. So why bring him back?

And what’s more, you’re lying. Because when you begin to bounce, tentatively, your eyes whisk back and you pinch your nipples, the squelching sound of your pretty little pussy driving him to fuck his fist just once. He knows if he keeps going, he might miss the whole experience, plagued by the shadow of his pleasure. He palms his balls instead, his cock protruding from the crook between his fingers and his thumb. Still wet from you.

“Harder,” he commands, squeezing his balls when you listen and he hisses, fights with all his strength not to flutter his eyes closed like his body is begging him to. He can’t miss this. It’s too good to miss. He bites down on his lip.

“Jerk off that cock, please,” you plead, your breasts bouncing and he bites down harder, the fire in him burning off his skin. “It doesn’t feel as good when you don’t.”

He swears and begins to move his hand, gliding up and down, pressure hard. “Are you imagining it’s me?”

“Yes, oh my God. I’m riding you and it feels so fucking good, Jungkook.”

He moans, focusing on his sensitive head. Tips his chin up. Doesn’t break the eye contact. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.”

The praise gets to you and your fingers sneak to your clit, rubbing fast little circles—and just like that he nears to the edge. Whimpering for you, he fucks his cock harder. Hot flashes surround your flushed face and you mimic his sounds.

That’s his very fucking undoing.

Getting on his feet, he paints your breasts and tummy white and you begin to shudder, his orgasm coaxing yours. You pinch your little hard nubs—and it’s almost like you’re milking him dry, spurts after spurts making new tattoos on your torso, white roses to mingle with your red and purplish ones.

And his woozy brain can’t help but to look forward to see them fade to yellow.

He kisses you so hard that he doesn’t feel you breathe and when he pulls away, he collects his cum and feeds it to you. Can’t have it go to waste when he knows what he’s planning for you.

“That was so good,” he whispers, sealing such an intimate moment with another ravenous kiss.

He doesn’t let you respond—he pins you back. Ass up, face down. Squirts lube all over that deliciousness and when he glances over at the ruined dildo, he whistles. Pearls after pearls of your girlish essence trickle down the length and he shows it to you. Hard all over again.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he praises and your eyes widen in that familiar way he likes, mouth parting, blush deepening. “Stick out your tongue.” You listen, so fucking well, and he plunges the silicone tip inside your mouth, circling it around that willing muscle. “That’s it, lick it up, sweetheart.”

You look up at him as you do it, making smacking sounds, so terribly fucked out. Jungkook has to grip your hair in order to hold on to the last of his composure, and when you begin to suck on it—he can’t take it anymore.

He fucks you with it. Fucks you into the mattress. Punishing you for the things you do to him, for the fire that grows hotter and hotter in his veins. And he loves you, dearly, with the entirety of his being, that his fingers cannot physically stay away from your little sopping clit.

Neither can they when you come and gush out your arousal. Neither can they when he switches the dildo with his cock, raises you in the air and fucks you so hard, whispering little praises and sweet little nothings—“I’m getting you used to taking it from behind, my love. You’re doing so good. You’re so beautiful. So damn pretty.”—that you and he both, completely and wholly, fall apart when you come together.

He loves you dearly enough that he can’t stop falling apart even in the shower.

He tells you of the demon living in his chest.

“When we’re together, I feel you healing me. I feel you giving me chances to live on with my life, do the things I’m scared of or wary of. Like today, when you didn’t believe me when I’d told you you were beautiful. I felt that fear I had in me for years, but saying it to you made it seem like nothing. There used to be a girl I was in love with. Whenever I would tell her things like this, she’d scrunch up her nose. It wasn’t enough for her. Her pride was too big for my words. I kept giving and giving and it was never enough. But when I give to you, you take it and you live with it and I can see it on you. I can see you wear it proudly. I can even see it now. And it’s so beautiful. So healing.”

You kissed his scars. Kissed his hands. His neck. Washed him clean. Hugged him under the hot downpour of the shower. Reminded him of the way he healed you. Told him all the small details he never knew—and it only proved his words, tightened his love for you.

He knows from this moment on that you will be the mother of his children. He’s not letting you go. Not until the day he dies.

And the first shower he shared with you… Jungkook sketched it down that very night as you and him sipped on wine, listening to music. And he brimmed with the longing to bring it onto a canvas. Splatter it with colors. Purples and reds, with tiny hints of yellow that are about to appear on your body.

And he will. Hang it up in this very cabin. The eternal keepsake of the movie that his life has become.

It has been several months of living this cinematic life with you. Weekends spent at the cabin, the weekdays spent separately, save for the regular dates. Dinners, trips, sight-seeing. A slow life filled with brand new art supplies, a pile of sketchbooks adorning the walls of his bedrooms. Both at his own apartment and the cabin. And another adornment has come to live with you and him, one of life-long permanency.

He sealed your exclusive relationship with a matching tattoo.

“Sweet” lines your left rib whereas “Heart” lines his—right above the mole you’ve come to love so much. Red ink, an illusion to your red roses, the dress you’ve worn for him on several occasions. Visiting him out of the blue in the middle of the week with black lingerie underneath and a trench coat to cover you up. Mindlessly at the cabin one weekend when drinking wine, smoking together on the balcony, listening to the whispers of the willow tree. And once on the last warm day of autumn, during which he paid you back for the way you had pushed him into the water of the pond. Just like he’d done the first time, he tossed you in, joining you right after, fucking you in the dress. He had eternalized it that very night, sitting by an easel. Paintings of you, some of both you and him, hang on the walls of the cabin. In the living room, in the bedroom. Everywhere one looks, one finds the scenes of your movie—and it brings him joy unlike any other.

Yoongi… he hadn’t called you since that fateful day. You’d made the arrangements to see him after a month or so. Found out he was seeing a therapist.

Quite literally.

He’s banging his male therapist.

The information enveloped you in a dimmed glow. You were shocked, first and foremost, because you had no idea Yoongi liked men. Jungkook did, so it wasn’t a surprise to him—what was more of a groundbreaking surprise to him was the fact you didn’t know. That he never cared to tell you.

And he never pushed it aside. As a matter of fact, he told him off about it the first time he saw him after everything.

Yoongi cared very little because he considered the chapter finished. A similar light swathed him tautly, one he’d never seen on him, and Jungkook agreed. The chapter is finished. No need to get all hot again.

Yoongi forgave him. Found love. Found healing. But he didn’t maintain his relations with you. Neither did he with Jungkook.

And while it hurt for a little while, Jungkook figured that maybe it was meant to be like this all along.

He and you. A singularity.

The nonexistent gap between the word sweetheart.

No third party.

BACK to masterlist

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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winterfairyccxxii · 3 months

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King in the North (Jon snow x AFAB reader)

picture is not mine i found it on pinterest

description: Jon fucks you in the great hall after being named King in the North

warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving) p in v table sex creampie vaginal fingering multiple orgasms little bit of dirty talk (mostly from reader and i guess it’s actually just teasing)

notes: feel like Jon has a kink for you calling him ‘king’. also sorry if this is really fast i really hate slow burn smut 😭

there’s definitely not enough x reader smut of him

Night had already fallen upon Winterfell but Jon was still seated at the high table in the great hall thinking of his life for the past week. He died, came back, fought a war. Now he was a king, something he never even dreamed of being. He suddenly felt a presence in front of him and he looked up to see..you. You were wearing quite the short skirt too short for the North that was for sure and stockings..even though he was worried about you being cold, Jon couldn’t help the way his breath hitched and the tightening of his breeches as his eyes raked over you.

“Aren’t you cold, darling?” He asks his voice coming out huskier than he wanted.

“Perhaps my king could keep me warm” you answer.

My king. The words stirred something in Jon. It sounded so..seductive coming from your mouth and he was definitely hard now.

“Come here” he cleared his throat.

As you walked to stand next to him he quickly grabbed your hips and placed you in his lap causing you to find out a soft gasp of surprise but you quickly recover when you feel something against your own groin.

“What’s got you so excited, your grace?” You smirk a little and roll your hips a little.

“Darling” he gasps out his cock straining against his underclothes.

“What?” You ask feigning innocence and he rolled his eyes

“Don’t play innocent with me” he gently picks you up and places you on the table while he stands in between your legs.

Your breathing heaves and you start panting softly but you want to keep teasing him “what are you going to do, my king?” You spread your legs a bit wider “fuck me on this table?”

“Yes” he answers without hesitation which causes your cheeks turn pink and you let out a small ‘oh’ in response

He press his lips against your ear “can I taste you, love?”

“Yes” you quickly nod in response watching him fall to his knees in front of you

Jon reaches under your skirt and pulls down your underclothes and discarding them on the floor revealing your cunt to him. He kisses up your right thigh occasionally nibbling on the soft skin until he finally reaches his destination. His warm breath fans over your honeypot, he chuckles when you whine out of frustration and buck your hips towards his face.

He presses hot kisses around your outer lips before parting them with his tongue causing you to gasp and your hand flies to his head your fingers curling in his hair messing up his bun.

Jon gently laps at your juices moaning from the taste as you push his head against you and grind against his mouth biting your lip to hide your sounds as you breathe heavily through your nose.

Drool and your arousal paint Jons beard as he continues using his tongue. The wet muscle occasionally flickering over your bundle of nerves until it finds your dripping hole and he pushes it inside. He tongue fucks you until you reach your peak he licks up your juices before standing back up placing his hands on the table on either side of you as both of you catch your breath.

Jon leant in and gently kissed up and down your throat as his hand made it’s way in between your thighs. He gently slips his middle and marriage fingers into you causing you half-whine half-gasp. He curls his fingers smirking in your skin when he feels your legs tense up and you start rocking into his hand. He starts moving the digits at a fast pace and his thumb brushed against your clit causing you to press your forehead against his shoulder. Your second orgasm came faster than you expected and you limp against him as your legs quiver

“You alright, love?” He asks slipping his fingers out and licking you off them

“Y-Yeah..” you pant out

“Good enough for my cock?” He pushes you back to look at your face and you quickly nod

You watch as he undoes his breeches pulling them and his underclothes down revealing his manhood. He presses the head against your entrance causing you to move your hips encouraging him to go in but he just chuckles

“Patience, sweetheart” he says causing you to whine which makes him give in

You gasp as he stretches you out and wrap an arm around his neck. You give him the go ahead to move and he gently starts rocking his hips. His hands grips your thighs as he pulls himself out so only the tip is inside you before slamming back in completely. You place your hands on the table for balance as his movements become frantic both of you trying your best to hide your sounds of pleasure. But atlas your moans become too loud for you to control so he places a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet, dear” he speaks moving a bit faster “don’t want anyone to hear”

You nod pressing your face closer to his hand so you don’t risk it.

Soon enough Jon feels you squeeze around him and he moves faster encouraging you to peak which you do as your eyes roll back to your head and you feel his warm seed filling you.

Jon pulls out of you as you both pant as he recovers he bends down put his trouser back on and helps you but your underclothes on before picking you up bridal style and bringing you to your chambers so you both can rest.

#jon snow #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #jon snow smut #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #smut #ns/fw #x reader #fanfic

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imsilay · 1 year

Text

you absolutely have NO idea HOW MUCH I LOVE OBSESSIVE AND DESPERATE MAN

(╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

i hate pinterest for always bringing these pics on my page T-T

especially this fucking painting:

if he aint like this i don’t want him.

my delusions (cus i’m a delulu bitch):

He buried his head between your thighs. The fabric of your skirt is covering his face as his hands found their place on your ankles. He knew it was ridiculous to see a man like him, a huge, grown man with board shoulders and potential to kill a bear with his bare hands, kneeling infrond of you and pleading love from you. Just a little affection from you was all he was asking for. Even if you did it with pity or by delaying he would accept it. His head brushed against your skirt as he looked up to you and inched closer to your stomach. You narrowed your eyes and raised an eyebrow. He immediately stopped and sunk back down. “Darling…” he mumbled as his thumbs caressed your ankles. “No.” you answered sternly and leaned back onto couch. “Please?” he tried again. His hands moved up to your calfs with the wanting to feel me of you. “You don’t think you can get whatever you want when you act like that, right?” you crossed your legs causing him to lift his head and then put his chin on your knee stubbornly. He refused to leave you alone. “Can’t i?” you felt a pout in his voice. You rolled your eyes and bounced your legs to push his head off. “Get up. You make yourself look pitiful.” you spat.

He clenched his jaw and sit straight on his knees. Then grabbed your wrists and pulled you foward to him, making your cleavage his view. “Do you think i care?” he hissed and nuzzled his face into your neck. Savoring your scent. “You know i will make you my wife. Whether you like it or not.” his voice stained with lust and determination. “And when i do…” he trailed off and his fingers brushed against your waist and up to your breasts. His palm covered the skin under your breasts and squeezed lightly. You felt blood rushing to your cheeks and your face burned. “You can’t escape your fate. Don’t worry, my love. You will enjoy it. A lot.” he whispered against your skin making you feel tingly with the vibration of his voice.

You swallowed and tried to straighten your posture but he didn’t let go before pushing your hair of your neck and pressing a delicate kiss. He already knew he had you in the palm of his hand. Your protests did nothing to stop him. “Get out.” you mumbled and crossed your arms. He chuckled dryly and get up, his frame towering over you as you refused to look into his eyes. “I promise.” he mumbled before leaving your room.

now do whatever you want with this information.

#i fucking love desperate men #im a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind #im another level of delulu #like unholy ungodly #when its my turn #all i can do is think König as this #konig x you #konig cod #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #konig x y/n #könig fanfiction #könig x y/n #silay

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cherrychilli · 4 months

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18+ Living painting! Steve x F! reader, supernatural AU, monsterfucking (kind of), lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, mentions of bodily injury, oral sex (f), allusions to unprotected PIV sex

WC: 2.9K

A/N: So, I found the painting in the middle on Pinterest and couldn't help thinking that he looked pretty similar to Steve and this happened to be during the time I became interested in writing a monsterfucking fic of my own. It all kind of fell into place that night and I pretty much fell in love with the idea of a Steve who's a literal work of art that comes to life at night and becomes your secret supernatural boyfriend💛 I'm still figuring these two out but this is what I've come up with so far. Enjoy!

One week had passed and the remains of the old picture frame still sat in the waste basket in your kitchen, the ends of splintered poplar jutting up and out of the rim like jagged teeth.

It taunted you like a sneer but you made no move to empty it. Not until you knew for certain if he'd come back or not.

The new frame you'd selected was made of polished, treated pinewood. Sturdy and reliable, you were assured. You only hoped your glassy eyes had nothing to do with how strongly the sales lady had urged you of the frame's durability. Anything to clear you out before the other customers noticed the beginnings of tears wetting your lashes, a part of you suspected.

But the brand-new frame felt firm in your trembling hands. Solid. Sleek. Unbreakable, you hoped. Now all you had to do was wait while doing your best to disregard the many whispers of your neighbors as you passed by them in your apartment building.

"He must have found someone better", Mrs. Owens had muttered haughtily to her husband as you departed the elevator after exchanging forced smiles with the older couple, never knowing how close she'd come to having one of her gaudy gold earrings ripped right out of her lobe had you not managed to contain yourself at the last second.

"I think they might have broken up", you caught Tiffany from 20F's whisper directed at her boyfriend when you walked by them in the hallway, their tight, sympathetic smiles making your stomach churn as you hauled in your grocery bags containing only beer, instant noodles and a pack of cigarettes. The first pack you'd touched in a long time.

"Seriously? I never even got a look at the guy", he'd whispered back to her in a whine.

Sometimes you wondered what kind of image they'd conjured up of Steve. After all, there's only so much you can imagine when all you have to go by is what you can sometimes hear through the walls of your apartment.

That night, you stared at his painting while you sat at the foot of your bed like you had every night for the past week, waiting.

The rip in the canvas that ran up the length of his forearm stared back at you. Looking at it made your own arm sting, like fishing hooks in your skin.

Around you, your apartment had fallen into clutter but you didn't dare try to dust or clean again until you knew for certain if what you'd done had ruined everything for good or not.

"Please come back", you chanted under your breath as the minutes passed, waiting as patiently as you could for 12.00am to arrive. You hoped he'd come out of his frame like he had all those nights before. You hoped those brushstrokes would warp into flesh and blood once again despite the unintended gash marring the painting's canvas. You hoped to feel his warmth under your fingertips tonight.

You craved it.

You needed it.

But he doesn't come.

The clock ticks past 12.10am and you let your eyes slip shut before the tears start again.

When you wake, you see that the time’s 12.56am once you'd managed to blink the sleep fog away from your eyes, finding a sheet draped over your body and your cheek resting on a pillow you hadn't placed there yourself.

Springing up, your throat grows tight, like rope around your windpipe and you very nearly choke at the sight of the empty framed canvas hanging on your bedroom wall, nothing but swathes of buttery yellows, whites and greys pictured where there once was a pale brunette in the foreground too.

The five inch long cut that'd been made when the painting had scraped against the edge of your dresser was absent from the canvas as well, you notice, frantically kicking off your sheets to begin searching your apartment.

He's peacefully clearing up in the kitchen when you find him, a fresh kitchen towel wrapped securely around his forearm but you can see the blood stains seeping through the pale blue cotton from where you stand.

"You're out of bandages", he smiles when he sees you and it nearly makes your knees buckle, the doorframe holding you up as you lean against it for support.

"Does it hurt?", you manage to ask, eyeing the bloodied towel sadly, guilt scraping at you from the inside out like a saw grinding against your bones. It was all your fault.

"Barely", he answers and you almost believe him. Almost.

It's Steve who crosses the distance first because your legs have grown too weak to do so, reaching out with his injured arm to cup your cheek lovingly.

He notices too late that the blood from his wound has managed to trail down to his thumb. A crimson thumbprint stains your cheek and he attempts to wipe it away from your skin but you stop him before he has the chance.

"Don't", you plead. You didn't want to wipe that trace of him away, not after thinking you'd lost him. Not when you want to wear it on you like rubies.

"I could see you the whole time", he tells you, looking all kinds of apologetic for the worry he’d caused you. "Wanted to tear through that damn frame and be with you. I needed to hold you and tell you that I was okay – that you didn't need to cry anymore but this–" he clutches his injured arm. "I don't know why I couldn't come out sooner– I don't understand this– I still don't understand this", he gestures to himself and it's with a deep pang of sympathy that you understand his frustration.

His entire existence was an anomaly. For all the months you had spent together since you'd first discovered him, the both of you were yet to know how it was that Steve came to be. What had brought him to life? what other kinds of limitations were there? what did this all mean for your relationship? The thing is, none of these questions would be answered tonight because none them mattered to you right now. He was here again and that's all that really mattered.

"We don't have to. Not right away at least", you tell him, fisting the front of his white shirt with your hands, clutching him. "Just promise me you'll always come back", you plead softly, voice cracking as you sniff back a sob.

Smiling again, Steve cradles your face with both hands then, returning your adoring gaze with his mossy, cinnamon eyes. "I promise."

You're quick to lean into him after that, your arms winding tight around his waist as his drop lower to wrap around your back, pulling you in closer as you hold each other for a while.

It's no ordinary embrace. You spend those few blissful minutes memorizing every detail; his scent, his warmth, the gentle beat of his heart as you press your cheek to his chest, relishing all the little things about him that you thought you'd lost forever.

And then you're reminded of his injury, the thin, still bleeding slash running down his arm that the two of you are yet to attend to.

"Let me patch you up", you pull back to look up into his eyes, thinking of the spare first aid kit you had tucked away somewhere deep in your closet.

He only smiles back at you in that way that makes it impossible not to feel so cherished, like you’re the only thing he’ll ever treasure in this strange life he’s been granted.

"Later."

Gently, Steve interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling you into the kitchen and guiding you towards the kitchen dining table.

You watch closely as he pushes the clutter that'd gathered there off the table with his free hand, letting the empty grocery bags and more fall to the floor. You don't even have it in you to feel ashamed of the mess, too relieved to have him back, too pleased to give yourself to Steve as he wraps his large hands around the back of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you down on your table with your legs dangling off the edge.

Neither of you are surprised when things begin to take on a feverish, needy haze as your legs spread further for him to step between. His hands find the hem of your old, oversized t-shirt so he can pull it up over your bare breasts and over your head, stripping you of it and tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties.

Five and a half hours remain until the sun is due to come up and he'll have to climb back into frame again.

It just doesn't feel like enough.

With how badly you've missed him this past week you feel like you'll need an hour just to kiss him, another to let him explore you, one more for you to return the favor and the rest to wrap yourselves around each other – both of you connected, exchanging the same shaky breath back and forth, fanning the flames of each other’s' fire as you take him so deep inside that you'll carry the forthcoming soreness between your legs with a smile.

For now, though, Steve's kisses start off slow and lazy. Soft licks swipe along your bottom lip before you grant him entry into your mouth and his tongue finds yours, wrapping around it all languid and sloppy. It doesn't take long for him to begin sucking on it gently, eagerly swallowing down the many moans that rise up from your throat when his fingers start to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples.

It's impossible to keep from squirming when he touches you like this, knowing exactly where you're most sensitive and how best to stimulate you. It almost feels like he's weaponized all the knowledge he’s accrued during your time together, circling your nipples with his thumbs, bringing you right up to the cusp of just enough but purposefully withholding more – dangling your pleasure out of arm's reach

Unable to tame your greed because, how could you? how could anyone after what you’ve been through? you try to seek out more. You arch your back and push your chest out to meet Steve’s hands but all that does is make him pull away from your lips, a gentle chuckle working its way up his throat.

"Not yet, baby, not yet. Be a good girl and I'll treat you right."

You’re just about ready to pout and give him your most imploring, desperate Bambi eyes but he attaches himself to your neck next, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips forming a tight seal on your skin as he sucks fresh hickeys on to the surface.

Head lolling back, you can already imagine the sour scowl sure to twist Mrs. Owens' face when she sees the result of Steve’s work tomorrow, a grin emerging on your face as you plan to display the hickeys proudly instead of make any kind of effort to conceal them later.

But just as quickly as the thought had emerged, it falls to the wayside as Steve begins to grow less gentle, his lips leaving your neck as he urges you to lay your back flat against the table. Your own touches are growing more insistent as you help him rid himself of his shirt too, running your hands up the plane of his soft stomach, fingers trailing through his thick chest hair, loving the way it tickles your palms when you do so.

Leaning over you, he begins his descent down your body by pressing one last hot kiss at your neck and then two more between your breasts and on your stomach, gently pushing your knees further apart as he brings his mouth closer to your clothed cunt. You yield to him easily, soft and pliant under his touch like a bud unfurling its petals, ready to bloom. Your breath catches as his lips kiss up your inner thigh, his tongue seeking out your core, dragging over the damp cotton of your panties when he finds it.

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips twitching and whining for him just how he likes when he hooks his finger around the gusset of your panties, pulling it up so that it sinks firmly between your folds. The bump of your swollen clit is so obvious and easy to find underneath the stretched-out fabric and the curls between your legs peek out around the now tight, narrow strip of material. It feels so vulgar when he plays with you like this – so right because you’ve come to love it so much, even to the point you can’t imagine being touched any other way.

“Steve”, you can’t help the high-pitched rasp your voice has taken on, hips twitching again when he smirks and pulls on your panties hard enough for the material to drag over your clit and make you yelp.

And even now, when you're both so desperate for each other, he takes the time to tease you – loving the way you try to urge him on by wiggling your hips and the near pitiful way you whimper out "please".

"I promise. I'm going to treat you so good, sweetheart. Can you hold on a little longer for me, please? I know baby, I know – I just need to play with her a little bit first, okay? Gonna have my tongue on you soon", he coos sweetly in an attempt to placate you as he reaches for the waistband of your panties next.

You lift up your hips to help him get them off, a fresh flare of heat surging through your cheeks when you notice how he has to peel the sticky cotton from your cunt, catching sight of the glistening webs of slick that stretch from your pussy lips to your ruined underwear.

That self-conscious burn doesn’t remain for very long though because during your time together you've learned that Steve likes it messy. So, you're not surprised when you look up to find his face bright with delight, spreading your legs again once he's got your panties off from around your ankles, placing his thumbs on either side of your puffy lips and pulling you open.

"That's my girl", he mutters, his face so close you can feel his breath fan over your naked cunt. “So beautiful.”

He watches your wet hole clench and flex with an unquenchable fascination while you prop yourself up on your elbows and bite down on your lip, both of you unblinking when he gently pulls up your hood to get a good look at your throbbing clit.

“Aw baby. You’ve needed me badly, haven’t you?”, he looks up from between your legs, licking the pad of his thumb before pressing it against your swelling clit to rub slow circles into the sensitive bead.

You sigh out blissfully at the much-needed stimulation, thankful for it as your toes curl and you begin to nod your head. “Missed you so much”, you tell him through a whimper, nails dragging across varnished walnut.

At your admission, you see him reach between his legs to rub at the tent in his pants, lightly grinding his crotch into his palm for some relief. "I missed you too”, he tells you earnestly, letting loose a deep groan that makes your belly twist and somersault with want.

Watching him only makes the ache between your own legs worse and as if sensing that, Steve gathers your thighs in each hand, placing them over his shoulders.

"I'll never make you wait again", he promises, leaning down low, his tongue slipping inside where you needed him most and just like that, after a week of feeling utterly fractured, like you were nothing more than a collection of shattered pieces in shambles, you’re suddenly made whole once again.

You hated that he couldn't stay with you in bed, both of you naked, sweaty and sticky, legs tangled together. Steve’s chest is practically pasted to your back as you both lay on your side, his arms around your waist, his soft cock against your bare ass, his cum leaking from between your legs and his lips busy at your neck.

His cut has stopped bleeding too, you were relieved to notice, a layer of scar tissue already forming in its place. Add that to the list of peculiar things you were yet to understand about Steve.

With a quick glance at the clock that shifts into a glare, you realize how quickly Steve must leave you with only ten minutes left until sun up. You wanted those minutes to stretch on as slowly as molasses, anything to keep him here beside you just a little longer.

"Let me help you clean up in here tomorrow", he kisses your cheek, pulling you away from the previous bitter thought.

You can still smell yourself on his lips the same way you're sure he can probably smell himself on yours, your tongue heavy with the taste of his spend as you keep swirling the muscle up against the roof of your mouth, sucking the remnants from it.

"Okay", you sigh contently, nuzzling your cheek against your pillow, pressing yourself against his naked form a little more.

"Don't drop me again, okay?", he chuckles against your skin like he can’t help it, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re quick to pinch him on one of the arms he’s got wrapped around your waist. "Don't even joke about that. I thought I lost you", you turn to face him with a pout, one he's quick and plenty eager to kiss away with a smile.

"You didn't. You won't. I'm yours, always."

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader

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bitchimasnake-sss · 10 months

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pLEASE if you could write more of sub!OP men you would feed me for the entire winter (or just more luffy begging if it's no problem to you, love ur writing xoxo)

sorry for answering back so late i was absolutely out of any and all creative juice (lord help me), but i love writing sub!OP men and you guys seem to like it so here we go!! (im supposed to be on hiatus to focus on exams but writing smut never hurt nobody)

"i want to watch you fall apart, baby" ft. luffy <3

ft. (very submissive) luffy x (somewhat dom) fem!reader

set-up: you made a bet with the captain and he lost, now he has an aphrodisiac in his system and you have an insanely submissive boyfriend ;)

warnings: nsfw drabbles; nsfw stuff includes overstimulation, dirty talk, a bit of a meanie!reader, sub!luffy, all that haha; MDNI (thankyou very much)

luffy:

^^ credits to the artist!! (found it on pinterest lol)

- you knew monkey d. luffy wasn't okay - it was evident from his strained breaths, reddening face and jittery body - "luffy, you okay?" your words were sickly sweet, cutting through the tension in the room as you looked at his sweet face - it was honestly a miracle he was even sitting still and not pulling you and hovering over you as he fucked you senseless - "ugh" he groaned, palming his borderline-painful erection, "pl-ease come on, please come fuck me" you tut, making a sympathetic face, "i thought we were going to see how long you can hold back?" "yn~" his head is thrown back, features pleading with you helplessly - a smirk crosses over your painted lips, taking in his disheveled self - the menacing captain of your crew was reduced to a animalistic state. his fingers barely skimmed over his pants and even the slightest touch seemed to ignite his skin on fire "yn please, pl-ease c'mere-" his voice was strained, as if he was holding every muscle in his being from pulling you towards him and fucking you senseless till he forgot where he ended and you began - good thing luffy was always quick to react - so he did just what he had been imagining for the past seven minutes; he pulled you towards himself, reeling you in till your chest was flush against his and you teeth scraped harshly against your lips - "lu-" all your attempts to stop him were swallowed by his hungry kisses; tongue lapping against yours, teeth pulling your lip down, spit threatening to dive past his lips - his mouth moved down to your jaw then to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses in its wake, "yn let me fuck you, please. please." - his hands ripped off your t-shirt and his teeth sunk down on the soft flesh across your chest. he hummed against your skin, as if relishing in the softness and the faint citric aftertaste lingering on your skin - he was going insane, harshly tugging on your nipples and pressing his face between the valley of your breasts, licking feverish stripes down, "i wanna fuck so bad, keep going till you beg me to stop, come on please" "re-really? you wanna? what do you- fuck, fu-" - without even lifting his mouth off of your sensitive nipple or opening his eyes, his hands forced yours to skim over his straining cock as if to accuse you, look what you fuckin' did to me - when your hands languidly palmed him, his face contorted till he was gasping and grinding against your shallowest touches - "don't play with me, baby, y'know-" his breath hitched when you increased the pressure and pressed down harder, "yn stop it" you laughed, a cocky sound, "what's wrong luffy?" - his eyes were wide open now, staring you down and as if he had lost of sense of himself, he growled as he turned you around so that you were face down, ass up. - a harsh smack reverberated against your ass and you moaned at the subtle sting, "i've been nice f' too long, huh? let's see how long you stay cocky with my dick down your pretty pussy."

a/n: i have another ask for the sub!op men and i was out of ideas so the others (including ace and shanks hehe) will be well compensated over there!! just hold on guys!!!

#one piece #opla #op #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #one piece smut #luffy smut #luffy x reader smut #luffy imagine #one piece fanfiction #one piece imagines

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moonstruckmoony · 4 months

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LATE MERMAY POST - Because last month my job was very hectic and this weekend happens to be June already 😔

I wrote a quick small drabble below that goes with this drawing, enjoy

SharkMerman!Sebastian x IceBettaMermaid!Winter (MC) ❄️🩵🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♀️

Sebastian is a magical shark merman that loves exploring new places and has a voracious appetite for adventure. While exploring the Greenland Sea, he encountered and fell in love with Winter, a rare mythical species of Betta mermaid that could live in icy seawater. He discovered after talking with her that there are currently only three of these Betta merfolks in the entire Arctic ocean, including her.

He could only see her a couple of times a week because his body could not withstand the icy temperature and his self-warming spell could only last for a day. During the remainder of the time, he would have to return to his home in the Northern Atlantic Ocean.

When she first met Sebastian, Winter was enthralled with his vast knowledge and intellect, as well as his witty and charming attitude. He has a kind and loving heart, despite the fact that he could be rather crafty at times and his stubborn disposition occasionally left her shaking her head.

Sebastian adores her quirky personality and caring nature, and he became even more enamored with her when he discovered that she possesses both intelligence and curiosity that rivals his. And Merlin’s bloody tail, while he finds her beauty captivating, her desire for knowledge is as powerful and forceful as the Gulf Stream, and he’s a goner for her. When he comes to visit her place, they always spend time together, whether it's going on long swims exploring places or simply chatting for hours.

Driven by a desire to see each other frequently, he trained his body to become more tolerant of the cold while she increased her tolerance to warmer waters. He would teach her spells to keep her body chilly while he practiced his self-warming charms to last even longer than before.

Even though their training allowed them to spend days or even weeks together, their enchantment doesn't endure long enough for their liking.

Nevertheless, they are resolute to search for a way to remain together, indefinitely, without the use of their magic.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

I actually have more lore on this drabble involving Ominis and other characters but I'll leave it like this for now, indefinitely

EDIT: omg I TOTALLY FORGOT but I meant to give some credits! I eyeballed some poses (by floorsdelluna) and background (from this painting i found in pinterest)

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kakushino · 11 months

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Haiku connoisseur

Iguro Obanai x GN!Reader

Sleepy and drunk Obanai mutters everything that comes to his mind under his breath, no matter the place or audience.

Tags: alcohol consumption, fluff, established relationship Word count: 0,8k

Masterlist

AN: Written to cheer one of my dearest friends (read: wives) up. The haiku are written by Kate Miller-Wilson and JS Parker (found on pinterest).

It wasn’t often that Obanai got drunk. The occasion called for it however, as Giyuu had just gotten married. The celebrations went long into the night, the flashy God of Festivals making sure everyone had their cups filled and smiles stretched wide on their faces.

However, it now left you supporting most of Obanai’s weight as he stumbled along, Kaburamaru wound around your neck instead of his. He kept mumbling nonsense under his breath, steps unsteady, until you heard a few words that made sense.

“-ptured water… Y’hold me.. in y’cupp’d hands…”

“Hm? What are you saying?” you stopped in the middle of the road, trying to listen closely.

“I said- hic - I said,” he said a little louder, his usual raspy voice softer from his intoxication. “I said… Like captured wa- water… Y’hold me in y’cupped hands…” Obanai sighed, his hand gripping onto your yukata tighter. “I flow on y’palm…”

It took a few seconds to realize he had just created a haiku on the spot. A small smile spread across your lips. “Nai… Can you repeat that?” You wanted to remember it and write it down at home. It was too precious a moment not to.

Obanai mumbled a few grumpy curses about not listening to him and repeated it once again:

Like captured water,

You hold me in your cupped hands

I flow on your palm.

Not many knew your love had a softer heart, one meant to awe people, instead of being forced to harden and kill demons. He deserved better, so much better. He deserved to not be ashamed of the art he created to brighten your bleak world.

You wished you could tattoo each of his poems behind your eyelids, so you could forever hold them close. “That’s sweet, Nai,” you told him quietly and started walking again, dragging his form along. At least he wasn’t heavy, you couldn’t imagine dragging Kyojuro, or Gyomei, home.

“I- ‘m not sweet,” he grumbled, and then went on a mumbling rant about everything and anything, slurring his words heavily until his own brain got confused, and he fell silent. You were nearly at his estate when he started to whisper more gibberish.

Once you reached the building, you sat him down on the engawa, making him waver in his seat without your support. You took off his sandals, your own, and helped him stand up on the wooden floor, gripping his hand.

Obanai refused to take a step further, staring at your joined hands, and intertwined your fingers. “I wan’ f’r all time…” he dragged your hands to his bandaged lips and whispered on against them, a kiss bestowed upon your knuckles, “t’ fill the spaces between… y’r fingers with mine- hic -”

You were torn between bursting out in laughter and hiding your face, overwhelmed with feelings. Gods, he was completely smitten, wasn’t he? Then again… so were you. “You can always hold my hand - whenever you want to, dearest,” you told him with a smile as blood rushed to your face. Kaburamaru tightened around your neck slightly, seeking the warmth of your skin.

He glared at you, “Good.” The sight combined with his flushed face was too adorable. You wished you could paint it just then.

You smothered your chuckles and started to guide him into your shared bedroom. He would need to handle bathing in the morning by himself, for tiredness made you drag your feet as you struggled to steer your partner out of his yukata and into bed once inside you stumbled inside your room.

“I… ‘ve loved y’soooo long, y’ve… b’come the lyrics to m’ favorite song.” Obanai swayed on his feet as his yukata fell, leaving him only in his fundoshi. “D’you hear me?” he asked with a petulant frown.

“Yes, I heard you,” you grinned, helping him lie down onto the futon before you started to undress yourself. “I love you too.”

“You better…” He blinked a few times, trying to focus on your figure in the dark. The sound of rustling fabric was all that guided his imagination of what you were doing. You walked away from him a few steps and murmured something under your breath, making him realize you were taking care of Kaburamaru. Oh, he could kiss you right now. You were so good to them both he could hardly believe it.

And if all it took was him telling you haiku to make you happy, he would wax poetics until his voice gave out.

When you laid in his arms at last, snuggling against his warmth just like Kaburamaru did every day, he recited the last poem he had on his mind that day.

You shatter my sleep

All milk-need and petal lips.

You smile, and I melt.

His dreams were as sweet as your scent was.

dividers made by the amazing @benkeibear

idea from @glitchtricks94

Network: @enchantedforest-network

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #obanai x reader #obanai x y/n #obanai x you #iguro obanai #iguro obanai x reader #kny #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #tw alcohol #kakushino

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bethanysmiled · 2 months

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hi! i make moodboards here on tumblr and found your art on pinterest (which i can send u the link to if you want to get it down). after finding your blog i saw your policy on using your art, and wanted to get your permission before doing so. your art is so cool, and I love the way ur style and the themes u portray come together in it ^^ have a good day!

(i couldn't find the original post on your blog, but it looks like a traditional painting of ur oc fortune! i can send it 2 u..)

Hello! Thanks for asking, but I’d prefer my art not be reposted or used for aesthetic purposes etc. My art is very personal to me and a lot of it represents coping with trauma, memories and emotions and so on, so I feel uncomfortable with it being used in something like a mood board.

You are incredibly kind and I appreciate you asking and also I’m so happy you like my art! That means a lot 💕! / w \

also, I’m not sure if I can have it removed from Pinterest but link me if you can! Thank you!

#Hope that makes sense #ask #Thank you for being considerate and asking!#Just making this ask public in case others in the future are wondering

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moonxytcn · 5 months

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I’m so happy you write for Billie! Please can you do something cute and fluffy with Billie and reader kissing for the first time after being friends and having so much tension for a while

awakening of feelings

Billie Eilish x reader

summary – billie and you have your first kiss after a while of tension

warnings – fluffy

word count – 538.

a/n – thanks for the request, I hope you like it

English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

This gif isn't mine, I found it on Pinterest

–––

In the dusk of an autumn afternoon, the gentle wind played with the golden leaves as Billie and you walked together through the park. You had been friends for years, sharing laughter, secrets, and adventures. But in recent months, a tension had built up between you, something beyond friendship.

"It's so peaceful here." You commented, looking around, but your thoughts were elsewhere, focused on Billie's presence beside you.

"Yeah, I love coming here to unwind." Replied Billie, casting a sidelong glance at you. She too was lost in thoughts about you.

As you walked, the sun set on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The tranquil atmosphere and natural beauty around you created an intimate, charged atmosphere.

Billie and you found themselves face to face, captured by the intensity of the moment. You gazes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear.

"Are you okay?" Billie asked, his soft voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, feeling your heart racing in your chest. You wanted to say something, but the words seemed to escape your mind. Instead, you leaned in slowly towards Billie, your body reacting on its own to the magnetism that bound them.

Billie's heart raced as he felt the closeness of you. She was aware of the tension between them, but she never imagined it would lead them to this moment.

Without thinking, she leaned forward, her lips meeting yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was a meeting of souls, a long-awaited moment finally coming to fruition.

Your lips moved together in perfect harmony, exploring the sweetness and tenderness that had grown between you over the years. Each touch was a revelation, each sigh a silent confession of long-repressed desires.

When you finally pulled away, both were breathless, gazing into each other's eyes with a mixture of surprise and longing.

"I... I don't know what to say." You murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

Billie smiled tenderly, caressing your face with her fingertips. "There's no need for words." She said. "I've felt this for so long, but I never had the courage to admit it."

You felt a comforting warmth spread throughout your body at Billie's words. You had never felt so alive, so complete as you did in that moment.

You stood there, beneath the starry sky, lost in their own world of emotions and feelings. Time seemed to lose all meaning as you surrendered to the present moment, savoring every moment together.

When you finally decided to head back home, the air was charged with a new energy, a promise of adventures yet to come. Billie and you walked hand in hand, sharing knowing smiles and looks full of promises.

That night, as both lay in their beds, both knew that their lives had been irreversibly changed. The first kiss had brought them to a new chapter of their stories, where friendship transformed into something deeper and more meaningful.

And as you drifted off to sleep, your faces bathed in the moonlight, you knew you were ready to face any challenge, as long as you were together. The love that had blossomed between you was stronger than anything, and nothing could stop you now.

#moonxytcn requests #billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #celebrity imagine #wlw #billie eilish x y/n #gxg #moonxytcn writes

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prythianpages · 7 months

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The Sun & the Moon | Rhysand x Reader

summary: Rhysand wants to write you the perfect poem for Valentine's Day and calls up Cassian and Azriel for help.

warnings: fluff and some implied smut/mainly suggestive tones.

Happy Valentine's Day! ♡

a/n: So I got a little ahead of myself because this can be read as a stand alone (all you have to know is that reader is a healer from Dawn Court.) But it is a part of my Wanna Be Yours series. All because I saw this tiktok sound of this poem and found it so beautiful. I did not write this poem, all credit goes to this creator. I also wanted to write a scene of Rhys struggling to write a poem (I had some saved on pinterest) in part two but had to scrap the scene out for other ones. Now, it's a win-win situation. Don't worry, there are not really spoilers in here for what I have planned. Just know this takes place after their happy ending (:

Valentine’s Day is approaching and Rhysand finds himself facing an unprecedented dilemma. Getting you a gift. A gift as special and perfect as you.

The pressure is high, and the responsibility lies squarely on his shoulders, particularly given the mating gift he presented to you. An expansive estate, where everything–the architecture, the decor, and furniture seamlessly marries the celestial essence of the sun and moon. The grand house paints an exquisite portrait of dawn, reflecting the enchanting blend of your old court and now new one.

So naturally, given his stress, he calls upon his brothers for help.

“You called us here because you don’t know what to get y/n for Valentine’s? y/n, your mate?” Cassian asked, carrying a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“I thought this was important,” came from Azriel.

Rhysand shoots Azriel a pointed look. “This is important.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow while Cassian grins. The two exchange a knowing glance that hinted at a shared understanding. Just as Rhysand prepared to delve into their minds to unravel their thoughts, they turned their attention back to him, nodding in unison.

"Alright, Rhys," Cassian began, clearing his throat dramatically, "How about flowers?”

Rhysand slumps into his desk chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I get her flowers every week.”

Cassian mirrors Rhysand, seating himself on one of the chairs across from him. He throws his hands up in the air. “Then, I don’t know.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“How about you gift her something a little more sentimental?” Azriel offers. He crosses his arms deep in thought, resting his chin on one hand. “Something small but meaningful.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes light up, the silver specs in his irises glimmering like stars. “Like a poem! Y/n loves poetry."

The library in your home is stocked with a vast amount of poetry. Mainly romantic ones and then, the initial enthusiasm gives way to a fading spark.

Expressing the depth of his feelings verbally comes naturally to Rhysand. His silver-tongued declarations never fail to effortlessly convey how much you mean to him. He is the master of tone and inflection when it comes to expressing his feelings for you and when those are not enough, he loves to show you. Often. With that silver-tongue of his.

However, the transition to writing felt like a different art form altogether. It was challenging because how could he successfully capture the nuances of his love for you in writing? When he'd rather show you...

Rhysand runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, a frown creasing his face. He wants to do this for you but--

“I’ve never written a poem before.”

He looks up to Azriel for help, who in return merely shrugs with a smirk. “I don’t resort to poetry.”

“Oh! I got it!” Cassian, on the other hand, leans forward in his seat with nothing but pure mischief reflected in his gaze. “How about this? Roses are red, violets are blue. y/n, my love, I’m obsessed with you.”

The silence was loud. And then Azriel’s deep laughter fills the air. He finally takes a seat next to Cassian’s, sensing this is going to take awhile. “That is terrible.”

“Absolutely,” Rhysand agrees, his expression defeated. It doesn’t stop him from summoning a quill, ink and paper right in front of Cassian. “But jot that down...just in case.”

As the trio delved deeper into their poetic endeavors, Rhysand's frustration grew. Cassian's attempts became increasingly cheesy. Meanwhile, Azriel just sat back and watched, his shadows peeking curiously over Cassian’s and Rhysand’s papers. He would give his input when necessary, more inclined towards laughter than actually helping.

Nearly two hours later and drowning in parchment full of scribbled attempts at poetry, Rhysand lets out an exasperated sigh, finally excusing Cassian and Azriel. They leave all too quickly, slipping away before Rhysand could retract the words of dismissal that had escaped him.

There’s still a frown in his brow as his eyes graze over all the poems him and Cassian wrote together. He couldn't bear the thought of presenting any of these creations to you. The inked words on paper seemed to mock the depth of his feelings, failing to capture his love for you.

His eyes flutter shut as he allows his thoughts to drift toward you. The clock's hands have nudged past noon, and the familiarity of your daily rhythm dances in his mind. He knows your schedule as you know his. It’s right after your lunch so he knows you’re at your desk.

A mental portrait forms, capturing you leaning forward at your desk. Maybe a touch hunched over as you read over a patient's reports with that adorable furrow in your brow. There’s a window right behind you and given the sun is currently at its peak, he can imagine how it glows upon you like a radiant spotlight.

And when your eyes grow tired from reading, he can already picture the way you’d lean back in your chair, spinning around to face the sun. Your eyes would be fluttering shut like his at this moment. The sun would now be shining on you, its golden hues cascading upon you in an ethereal glow where every beloved feature is highlighted. A living embodiment of warmth and brilliance.

You're his sun but you’re also his moon.

His eyes snap open, his grip on the quill tightening. Before he knows it, words are spilling effortlessly onto the blank parchment in front of him as he lets his emotions flow. He feels a tug down the bond, as if you could sense his thoughts, and with a smile, he echoes the sentiment. He couldn’t wait for you to read it.

Valentine’s day dawns a week later, and Rhysand’s excitement for you to read his poem is palpable. It took all his restraint not to give it to you as soon as he finished it.

Unfortunately, you weren’t able to take the day off. It didn’t matter as your plans for tonight were simple–just a lovely dinner together, made by Rhysand, in the privacy of your home. All that mattered is that you had tomorrow off.

Rhysand waits for you right outside the steps of the clinic, not wanting to distract you from your last reports. He could feel your presence grow nearer and nearer through the bond. He tugs on it, a silent urge to pull you to him faster. The door opens and you’re rushing down the steps to meet him.

Throwing your arms around his neck, you bury your head into his chest, inhaling softly. He feels his heart flutter and he tightens his arms around you, holding you close in his embrace. “Hi, love,” you murmur.

He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands. He smiles and then kisses you, pouring all his love and devotion to you. A promise of what’s to come later. “Hey, beautiful. You ready to go home?”

“Always. As long as it’s with you,” you tell him, voice still breathless as your hand effortlessly entwines with his.

Rhysand’s lips twitch and he finds himself melting at your words. Instinctively, he averts his gaze, warmth flooding his cheeks as he bites his lip. He intended to walk you home as Velaris had decorated the streets with hearts, flowers and pink garland. He gives your hand a squeeze and winnows you both directly to the comfort of your home instead.

He reluctantly lets you go so that you can wash up and change.

When you join him in the dining room, the glamor he had placed earlier lifts, revealing an exquisite dinner that has your stomach growling. Cute hearts, flowers and confetti adorn the table and walls around you, filling your heart with a cozy glow.

As his gaze lifts from the table, his eyes widen, pupils flaring.

“Come here, you,” he breathes, pushing his chair back just enough for you to have space to settle onto his lap.

“I’m hungry,” you say, a small warning delivered with a touch of mirth. His eyes sparkle at you with an unmistakable gleam as he drags a finger up the fabric of your red dress. But your body betrays your words, leaning in to his teasing touch.

“Me too," Rhysand replies with a smirk and it's evident he's not referring to the food plated in front of you.

Your stomach growls and he chuckles, resting his hand on your waist instead. “Let’s eat then.”

The two of you dive into the dinner Rhysand made, feeding each other and catching up with one another. You’re nearly in a food coma, collapsing into Rhysand’s chest when you're done. He rests his head on your shoulder, his strong arms securing their place around your waist.

“I got you something,” he whispers against your neck, lifting his head only to speak his next words. “Well, I wrote you something.”

“You wrote something for me?”

He takes delight in the surprise and excitement in your voice. Raising a hand, he retrieves his valentine card from the pocket realm. The only place he deemed fit to hide his poem for you. He’s too busy pressing his lips against your neck, to hide the giddiness he feels inside, to notice his mistake.

“Roses are red. Violet’s are–”

“Not that one!” Rhysand exclaims, body tensing behind you as he rips it from your hands. “I did not write that one!"

You can’t help but laugh. “Then who did?”

“Cas.”

“Cassian wrote a poem for me?” You reply, eyes widening slightly as you shift in his lap to face him. You're thankful the dress you chose has a loose skirt as it allows you to move freely and settle a thigh on either side of him.

“Gods, no,” Rhysand groans, cursing himself for not discarding that poem once he had written his. He leans forward, burying his head into your chest for a moment to hide his embarrassment.

“I asked Cas and Az for help. I didn’t know what to get you because–well, you’re perfect to me and nothing could ever amount to the love I feel for you. Az suggested I give you something small but meaningful and I know how much you love poems but I’ve never written one so then–”

You interrupt Rhysand with a soft and sweet kiss. When you pull away, Rhysand chases after you but you stop him, pressing your fingers his lips. He plants a kiss on your fingers, holding your gaze.

“Let me read it. The poem you actually wrote.”

“Okay,” Rhysand breathes as he summons another red envelope from the pocket realm. He holds it out to you. “But don’t laugh.”

“Never,” you reassure him as you take the envelope, fingers eagerly tearing it open.

He watches with bated breath, a cascade of emotions swirling within him, as your eyes gracefully traverse from left to right, absorbing every emotion he poured out to you. It's endearing—the tender way your expression, while immersed in his poem, mirrors the very sentiment he wore on his face while crafting it for you. Your lips curve into a radiant smile, and the spark in your eyes begins to glisten with heartfelt tears. In that moment, he can feel the ripples through your shared bond, overwhelming and flooding with an abundance of pure, unbridled love.

“I love it,” you manage to say as you lift your gaze to meet his again. Holding the poem to your chest, you store into the safety of your pocket realm. “I’m going to frame it.”

“I love you,” Rhysand says and then kisses you. “So, so much.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips and then wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him even closer to you. “Now, it’s my turn to give you your gift.”

this is the poem:

"If the sun and moon had a baby, it would be you.

Cause you are so beautiful.

You radiate light like the sun.

And you bring me calmness like the moon.

You balance me out like the earth and that’s just the beginning of everything you do.

I think that you’re so gorgeous and sometimes it brings tears to my eyes.

Because how could I get so lucky to have someone so beautiful like you in my life.”

a/n: I thought this poem was really cute, especially given the sun/moon theme of this series. It's 11:58pm where I live so technically, I made it before Valentine's Day was over lol. I apologize if there are any typos. I tend to make them a lot and switch words out (like I caught myself writing lips instead of lap) when I'm tired. This is exactly the type of vibe i'm going for, for Rhys in this series. It's a scene from a kdrama, where the male fell hard first for the female and he's totally endeared by her. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

tagging: @minnieoo , @phoenixgurl030 (I know this isn't part two but I tagged y'all just in case, y'all were interested ♡)

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #rhysand fanfiction #rhys wby au

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