#I should probably look through the tags more

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart) #2

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: February 13th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish),, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, sexual content, explicit content, breast play, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting, oral sex, oral receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, face sitting, sexually inexperienced jungkook, post-coital confession, afterglow, blowjobs, swallowing, sexual education, jungkook has supportive friends, explicit sexual content, friends giving sex advice, being walked through sex, spidey stamina, tender sex, first time giving oral, first time receiving oral, learning sex, being taught sex, breast worship, nipple play, handjobs, naked cuddling, confessions, jungkook is a shy baby, soft smut, explicit nsfw, comfort and reassurance during sex, superhero secret identity reveal, bathing/washing, caretaking.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 13.5k

→ A/N: Welcome back to part 2 of our Spidey!JK saga, where things get even steamier and somehow even more emotional?? 😭 Y'all's response to part 1 absolutely blew me away, so I had to deliver on that promise of exploring certain... scenarios... with those spider powers 👀 This part really dives into the tender dynamic between our confident noona and her adorably earnest hoobae as they navigate his first time(s) together. Fair warning: this is probably the softest explicit content I've ever written?? Like, I didn't mean to make it this emotional but here we are, sobbing over Jungkook being the most precious baby while getting railed walked through his first experiences. Special shoutout to Jimin and Taehyung for being the real MVPs with their mortifying but ultimately helpful "sex ed lesson" 😭 . Also can we talk about how Spiderkook thought he was being subtle this whole time?? Sir, you're about as subtle as a brick through a window, but it's okay because you're cute. As always, enormous thanks to my cat who encouraged me to finish this through my 7th cup of cofffee of day 6. Your enabling is appreciated 🫶 Hope you enjoy part 2 of this wholesome filth! 🕸️

→ PREVIOUS

He's trailing behind you again.

You don't even have to turn around to know it's him—his footsteps are too eager, too bouncy, like a puppy who hasn't quite figured out how to walk without tripping over its own paws. Something in your chest tightens at the familiar sound, a mix of fondness and guilt that you try to squash down.

"Noona!"

You sigh, but it's the kind of sigh that's more amused than annoyed, even if you'd never admit it. You should shut this down. You really should. After what happened in the library closet, you shouldn't be encouraging whatever this is.

"Jungkook," you say without looking back, your voice flat. "We've talked about this."

"About what?" he asks, his tone all wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't already know.

Like he hasn't been following you around campus with those doe eyes and nervous energy ever since that day.

"About you following me around like a lost duckling," you reply dryly, finally glancing over your shoulder.

The moment you do, you regret it.

Because there he is: Jeon Jungkook, Yonsei University's most persistent freshman, clutching yet another plastic convenience store bag like it's a peace offering. His hair is a mess—floppy and windswept from the autumn breeze—and his big doe eyes are practically sparkling with excitement. He looks so young, so earnest, that it makes your stomach twist with guilt.

You're his sunbae. You should be setting boundaries, not letting yourself get caught up in the way he looks at you like you hung the moon.

"I'm not following you!" he protests immediately, though the way he trips over his own feet as he rushes to catch up kind of undermines his argument. "I just… happened to be walking this way! Totally normal! Not weird at all!"

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. And the snacks?"

"Oh! These?" He holds up the bag like it's Exhibit A in a court case. "They're for you!"

"Jungkook," you groan, stopping in your tracks so you can turn to face him fully. "You keep giving me snacks, and I'm gonna get fat."

The gasp he lets out is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. This is the problem—he's too endearing for his own good, making it impossible to maintain the professional distance you should.

"Noona!" he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified by the very idea. "Your weight is literally perfect! And even if you gained weight—which you're not just because I bring you snacks sometimes—"

"Every day," you interject pointedly, trying to ignore how your heart flutters at his earnest defense.

You shouldn't find it charming. You're supposed to be the mature one here.

"—you'd still be beautiful and—uh—you—it'd be okay!" he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure you. His cheeks are already turning pink, and it only gets worse when he realizes what he just said out loud. "I mean—you're already—uh—"

You should stop this. Should remind him that you're his sunbae, that this kind of attention isn't appropriate.

Instead, something reckless and wanting unfurls in your chest as you watch him flounder.

"Well," you interrupt with a smirk, deciding to mess with him despite the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, "if I gain weight, maybe my boobs will grow."

The way his eyes widen is almost comical.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he struggles to find something—anything—to say that won't make this worse for him. You know you shouldn't enjoy his flustered state this much, shouldn't feel this rush of power at how easily you can reduce him to a stammering mess, but...

"Your boobs are already per—uh—ah—" He cuts himself off with a strangled noise, his face going beet red as he realizes what almost slipped out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—I mean—"

The library closet flashes through your mind—his desperate sounds, the way he trembled against you, how beautifully he fell apart. You should feel worse about that than you do. Should regret taking advantage of his obvious crush.

Instead, you find yourself saying: "Jungkook."

"Yep?" His voice cracks on the word, and his big doe eyes dart between yours like he's waiting for some kind of divine punishment to rain down on him. He looks ridiculous—and ridiculously cute—and it takes everything in you not to let your fondness show too much.

You roll your eyes and snort softly, warring with yourself. The responsible thing would be to send him away, to maintain appropriate boundaries.

Instead, you hear yourself saying: "Come by my apartment tonight."

His eyes somehow get even wider. "Your… apartment?" he echoes weakly, like he can't quite believe what he just heard.

The pure shock in his expression should be a wake-up call—a reminder that you're his sunbae, that you shouldn't be inviting him into your personal space like this.

"At eight," you add anyway, watching as his brain visibly short-circuits trying to process this information. "Yeah?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," he stammers, choking on his own spit in the process because of course he does. "Your apartment? At night?"

You nod slowly, biting back a smile as his face flushes an even deeper shade of red.

There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is dangerous territory—that after the library incident, you should be putting distance between you, not drawing him closer.

"Okay," he says quickly, nodding along with you like some kind of bobblehead doll. "Yeah! Okay! I can—I can do that." He swallows hard, his voice strangled as he adds, "Eight o'clock. Your apartment."

He looks so flustered—so completely overwhelmed by the mere idea of being invited into your personal space—that something mischievous sparks in your chest, drowning out the guilt.

You shouldn't tease him any more than you already have today—you really shouldn't���but the way he looks at you, all eager desperation and nervous energy, makes you want to see just how far you can push him.

"Bring condoms," you say offhandedly as you turn back around and start walking again, even as your conscience screams at you that this is crossing a line.

The sound Jungkook makes is somewhere between a gasp and a choke—a strangled little noise that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

You don't have to look back to know exactly what expression he's wearing: wide-eyed panic mixed with sheer disbelief and just a hint of something else... something darker that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet.

You should feel worse about this. Should feel guilty for teasing your hoobae like this, for playing with his obvious feelings. Instead, you find yourself turning back, unable to resist watching him fall apart.

"I—I—what?!" His voice cracks so hard on the word that it echoes slightly down the street.

He's standing there frozen in place, clutching the snack bag like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

His mouth opens and closes uselessly for several seconds before he finally manages to croak out: "Condoms?"

"You don't want to?" You tilt your head innocently, watching as his entire body stiffens at the question.

There's a twisted satisfaction in seeing how easily you can affect him, even as a small voice in your head reminds you that you're supposed to be the responsible one here.

"I want to!"

The words burst out of him so fast they practically trip over each other on their way out of his mouth—and then his eyes widen in horror as he realizes how eager that sounded.

“I mean—I—uh—yeah? Yes? I really—I really want to." He bites his lip nervously before adding in a much quieter voice: "...Please."

The way he looks at you then—like some kind of kicked puppy who just admitted all its secrets—makes heat pool in your stomach. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake, barely out of his military service and looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

But instead of letting him off the hook (because where's the fun in that?), you raise an eyebrow and say simply: "Good."

He nods frantically at that—as if agreeing with you might somehow save him from further embarrassment—but then hesitates when something seems to occur to him.

The guilt starts creeping back in as you watch him fidget, so obviously inexperienced and eager to please.

"Noona?" His voice is soft now—almost shy—as if whatever he's about to ask might actually kill him.

"Yes?" You stop walking again and turn fully toward him, trying to ignore how your heart clenches at his nervous expression.

"Where... where can I... uh..." He trails off awkwardly before finally blurting out: "...Buy them?"

This time, you choke on your spit.

Because fuck—the reminder of just how unversed he is hits you like a punch to the gut.

You're terrible for this, for teasing him when he's so clearly out of his depth. For wanting to see him fall apart again, even knowing you should be protecting him instead of corrupting him.

"Jungkook," you say after a long moment of stunned silence, your voice softer than intended.

"Yes?" He looks at you hopefully, and god, you're going straight to hell for the things you want to do to him when he looks at you like that.

"I was joking."

The look on his face when those words sink in is priceless—a mix of disappointment and relief so intense it almost makes you feel bad for teasing him this much.

Almost.

Because underneath that relief, you can see it—the way his eyes darken slightly, the subtle shift in his posture that tells you he wanted it to be real.

"...Oh," he says softly after another long pause, and something in his tone makes your chest flutter.

"But not about coming over tonight!" You call back as you start walking again, before you can do something stupid like take it back. Before you can give in to the urge to tell him you weren't entirely joking after all. "Bring me jajjangmyeon!"

Behind you comes another strangled noise—and then hurried footsteps as Jungkook scrambles after you once again.

"Noona!"

You keep walking, trying to ignore the way your heart races.

Jungkook bangs his head against the wall of Taehyung's apartment, each thud punctuating his words: "I. Hate. My. Self."

"Why?" Taehyung doesn't even look up from his game controller, thumbs moving rapidly as he dodges an attack on screen. "You're gonna get laid."

"Finally," Jimin adds helpfully from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he mashes buttons. "About time someone popped that cherry—"

"It's NOT like that!" Jungkook's voice cracks embarrassingly, and he seriously considers webbing both their mouths shut. Why does he have friends? Who allowed this? "She just wants to hang out!"

"At night?" Taehyung snorts, still focused on the game. "In her apartment?"

"Alone?" Jimin adds, grinning as his character lands a critical hit. "Just the two of you?"

"She literally said she was joking!" Jungkook protests, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of oversized puppy. "About the... you know."

"The condoms?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"Shut up!"

"Maybe," Jimin says thoughtfully, pausing the game to turn and look at Jungkook properly, "she was joking about joking."

Jungkook freezes. "No way."

"Yes way."

"...You think so?" And god, he hates how hopeful his voice sounds. How pathetically eager.

"Bro," Taehyung says, finally setting down his controller to fix Jungkook with a look. "You already nutted in your pants grinding against her in a library closet."

"DIE." Jungkook buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I hate you. I hate both of you. So much."

"I mean," Jimin continues, completely unbothered by Jungkook's death threats, "she obviously knows you want her. Like, it's not exactly a secret."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers, suspicious.

"Dude." Taehyung gives him a flat look. "You follow her around like a lost puppy."

"I do not—"

"You bring her snacks every day—"

"That's just being nice!"

"You literally stalk her as Spider-Man—"

"I'm PROTECTING her!"

"From what?" Jimin snorts. "Paper cuts? Bad coffee? The dangers of journalism?"

Jungkook makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I hate this conversation. Can we go back to you two failing at Mario Kart?"

"Nope," Taehyung says cheerfully, turning to face him fully now. "This is way more entertaining. So, what are you gonna wear?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks. "What do you mean, what am I gonna wear? Clothes?"

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that makes Jungkook's stomach drop.

"Oh no," Jimin says slowly. "No, no, no. You are not showing up to your potential deflowering wearing your usual disaster outfit."

"My WHAT—"

"The oversized hoodie and ripped jeans combo," Taehyung clarifies. "It's cute for class, but for this? Absolutely not."

"I'm not getting deflowered!" Jungkook protests, his voice reaching a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "She just wants jajjangmyeon!"

"Right," Jimin drawls. "Because girls always invite guys over at night for noodles."

"Some do!"

"Name one time—"

"I don't have to name anything! This isn't—she's not—we're not—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "She probably just wants to talk about Spider-Man again."

Another loaded look passes between his friends.

"What?" Jungkook asks suspiciously.

"Nothing," they say in unison, which is never a good sign.

"What?!"

"It's just..." Taehyung starts carefully. "Maybe she wants to... confirm her suspicions?"

Jungkook's blood runs cold. "What suspicions?"

"You know..." Jimin waves his hand vaguely. "About your... nighttime activities?"

"My what—OH." Jungkook's eyes widen in horror. "Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh god. You think she's gonna—"

"Interrogate you?" Taehyung supplies helpfully. "Probably."

"While you're vulnerable?" Jimin adds with a grin. "Most likely."

"Post-orgasm?" Taehyung continues. "When your guard is down?"

"I'm going to throw up," Jungkook announces, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I'm actually going to be sick."

"Relax," Jimin says, reaching over to pat his knee sympathetically. "Maybe she just wants to fuck you."

"That's not relaxing!" Jungkook squeaks. "That's the opposite of relaxing! That's—that's—"

"Hot?" Taehyung suggests.

"Exciting?" Jimin adds.

"Terrifying," Jungkook corrects weakly. "What if I... what if I'm bad at it?"

Another loaded silence fills the room.

"Well," Taehyung says slowly, "you've already set the bar pretty low with the closet incident—"

"I'm leaving." Jungkook starts to stand up, but Jimin grabs his arm and yanks him back down.

"No, you're not," Jimin says firmly. "You're going to sit here and let us help you not completely fuck this up."

"I don't need help!"

"You came in your pants from some light grinding."

"That was—it wasn't—she said it was cute!"

"And that's great," Taehyung says patiently. "But maybe this time we aim for something a little more... impressive?"

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. "I hate this. I hate all of this. Why couldn't I just be normal?"

"Normal is overrated," Jimin says sagely. "Now, about those clothes..."

"We're not having this conversation."

"We absolutely are," Taehyung declares, standing up. "Come on, let's raid my closet. You're not showing up looking like a freshman who just rolled out of bed."

"But I am a freshman who just rolled out of bed!"

"Not tonight, you're not," Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook's other arm to haul him up. "Tonight, you're going to look like someone who might actually know what to do with a woman."

"But I don't know what to do with a woman!"

"That's what we're here for," Taehyung says cheerfully, already heading toward his bedroom. "Sex Ed with Taehyung and Jimin, now in session!"

"Kill me," Jungkook mutters, but he lets himself be dragged along anyway. "Just... someone please kill me."

"After you get laid," Jimin promises. "Now, let's talk about foreplay..."

The noise Jungkook makes is probably audible from space.

But then he’s sitting cross-legged on Taehyung's bed, face buried in his hands as his friends settle on either side of him.

The game controllers lie abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of what Taehyung has dubbed "Operation: Don't Let Jungkook Embarrass Himself (Again)."

"Okay," Jimin says, his tone shifting from teasing to something more serious. "First rule: stop overthinking."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Taehyung cuts in gently. "We can literally see you spiraling. Your whole face does this thing when you're in your head too much."

"What thing?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers suspiciously.

"Like you're trying to solve quantum physics while having an existential crisis," Jimin explains. "It's not cute."

Jungkook groans. "How am I supposed to not overthink? She's—she's her, and I'm just—"

"A superhero?" Taehyung supplies helpfully.

"That's different! That's not—I mean—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise. "Spider-Man is cool. I'm not cool. I'm just... me."

"And she likes you," Jimin says firmly. "Not Spider-Man. Well, maybe Spider-Man too, but she doesn't know that yet. She likes awkward, rambling, snack-bringing you."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Taehyung says patiently, "girls don't usually let guys they're not into grind against them in library closets."

"Can we please stop bringing that up?"

"No, because it's important," Jimin insists. "She initiated that. She guided your hands. She told you it was okay. That means she's attracted to you."

Jungkook swallows hard, his face heating up at the memory. "But what if... what if she expects me to know what I'm doing now?"

"Then be honest," Taehyung says simply. "Tell her you're nervous. Tell her you want her to show you what she likes."

"Girls love that shit," Jimin adds. "Being all vulnerable and asking for guidance? That's hot."

"Really?" Jungkook looks between them skeptically.

"Really," they say in unison.

"Plus," Taehyung continues, "she already knows you're inexperienced. And she still wants you there. That means something."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip nervously. "Okay, but... what if... what if I..." He trails off, face burning.

"What if you what?"

"What if I... finish too fast again?" The last words come out as barely a whisper.

"Then you use your mouth," Jimin says matter-of-factly.

Jungkook chokes on air. "My what?"

"Your mouth," Taehyung repeats calmly. "Seriously, learn to eat pussy. It's like, the number one life skill."

"Oh my god." Jungkook falls backward onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Better us than you figuring it out on your own," Jimin points out. "Now sit up. This is important."

"I don't want to."

"Jungkook."

"No."

"Fine," Taehyung sighs. "Then we'll just let you go in blind and probably accidentally bite her cl—"

"OKAY!" Jungkook bolts upright. "Okay, I'm listening. Just... please be less graphic."

"No can do," Jimin says cheerfully. "This is detailed instruction time. Now, the most important thing to remember is—"

What follows is possibly the most mortifying yet educational thirty minutes of Jungkook's life. His friends, for all their teasing, are actually... helpful. They explain things clearly, answer his (extremely embarrassing) questions without judgment, and even draw diagrams that make him want to die but also kind of make sense.

"And remember," Taehyung says finally, "it's okay to laugh if something awkward happens. Sex isn't like porn. It's messy and weird sometimes."

"And communication is key," Jimin adds. "If you're not sure about something, ask. If something feels good, say so. If something doesn't, speak up."

Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything. "Okay. Yeah. I can... I can do that."

"And for fuck's sake," Taehyung says, "breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I might," Jungkook admits weakly. "This is... a lot."

"It is," Jimin agrees, patting his knee. "But you've got this. And hey, maybe nothing will happen tonight. Maybe she really does just want to eat jajjangmyeon and talk."

"Right," Jungkook says, though his voice wavers slightly. "Just... normal hanging out."

"But if something does happen," Taehyung adds with a grin, "at least now you know where the clit is."

"I hate you both so much."

"You love us," Jimin corrects. "Now, about those clothes..."

Jungkook flops back onto the bed with another groan, but this time, it's less panicked and more resigned. Because yeah, okay, maybe his friends are right. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster.

Maybe.

Probably.

Oh god, he's going to throw up.

"Stop spiraling," Taehyung says immediately. "I can see you doing it."

"I'm not spiraling!" Jungkook protests. "I'm just... mentally preparing."

"For what? The worst possible scenario?"

"Yes!"

"Which is?" Jimin prompts.

"I don't know! Everything? What if I trip and break her lamp? What if I say something stupid? What if I accidentally web her ceiling fan? What if—"

"Okay, new rule," Taehyung interrupts. "No spider powers in the bedroom unless explicitly discussed beforehand."

"Oh my god."

"He's right though," Jimin says thoughtfully. "Save the web-shooting for later. That's like, advanced kink territory."

"I'm leaving," Jungkook announces for the hundredth time. "I'm actually leaving this time."

"No, you're not," they say in unison, each grabbing one of his arms to keep him in place.

"We still haven't picked out your outfit," Taehyung reminds him.

"Or talked about protection," Jimin adds.

"Or—"

"Fine!" Jungkook throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Just... please stop saying 'web-shooting' in relation to... that."

His friends exchange matching grins that make him immediately regret everything.

"No promises," they say together.

Jungkook screams into a pillow.

The doorbell rings, loud and obnoxious, startling you out of your focus.

You pause mid-sentence, fingers hovering over your laptop's keyboard as you glance toward the door. When did the bell get so loud? It's like it's mocking you for forgetting—or pretending to forget—that you invited him over.

You sigh, pulling off your headphones and letting them rest around your neck as you shuffle toward the door.

Your bunny slippers scuff softly against the floor, and you tug at the hem of your tank top absentmindedly. You're not exactly dressed to impress—grey sweats, a loose tank top, hair probably a mess—but whatever. It's your apartment. Comfort trumps everything else.

(Though a small voice in your head reminds you that maybe you should've put on something less... revealing. Something that doesn't show quite so much skin, doesn't blur the lines between sunbae and…)

You open the door, and there he is.

Jeon Jungkook, standing in the hallway in his own grey sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking like he just stepped out of a cozy loungewear ad. His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he'd rushed to shower before coming over. He's holding a plastic bag in one hand, and his other is shoved awkwardly into his pocket. For some reason, he's staring off to the side, like he's too nervous to look directly at the door.

But then his gaze shifts—quickly, immediately—and lands on you. And just like that, it's like all the tension in his body melts away. His shoulders drop slightly, and there's this soft little exhale that escapes him as his lips curve into a sheepish smile. The pure relief in his expression makes your stomach twist with guilt.

"Brought jajjangmyon as you requested, noona," he says, holding up the bag like it's some kind of peace offering.

The way he says "noona," all shy and reverent like it's some sacred title only meant for you—it shouldn't make your chest feel warm, but it does. It really shouldn't.

You bite back both a smile and the urge to tell him to go home, to forget about whatever this thing between you is becoming. Instead, you step aside to let him in, watching as he hesitates for half a second before shuffling past you into the apartment, his sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.

You close the door behind him and turn to find him standing awkwardly near the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a lifeline. His eyes dart around your apartment—taking in the cluttered desk with your laptop still open, the half-empty mug of coffee on the table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch—but they always seem to come back to you.

Like he can't help himself, like you're some kind of magnet he can't resist.

And then there's this moment—a brief flicker—where his gaze lowers slightly, catching on your tank top and sweats. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he quickly looks away again, like he's afraid of being caught staring.

It reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, all desperate want and nervous energy.

He clears his throat. "Uh... nice place."

You snort softly, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "It's a mess."

"It's cozy," he says earnestly, and when he looks at you again, there's something warm in his eyes.

Something that makes you want to push him away before you do something stupid like pull him closer.

You shake off the feeling and motion for him to follow you further inside.

"C'mon," you say over your shoulder as you walk toward your desk, needing distance. "I need some help with something."

"With what?" he asks immediately, trailing after you like an obedient puppy.

Always so eager to please, so ready to do anything you ask. It would be easier if he wasn't so genuine about it.

You glance back at him briefly and smirk, falling back on teasing because it's safer than acknowledging whatever happened. "Carrying all this food to my desk."

His lips twitch upward into another sheepish smile as he holds up the bag again. "I can do that."

Of course he can.

You roll your eyes but don't say anything else as you plop back down into your chair and gesture for him to set everything on the table beside your laptop. You need to focus on something—anything—other than how domestic this feels, how naturally he fits into your space.

As he unpacks the containers of jajjangmyon with meticulous care—like each one is some kind of precious artifact—you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There's something about seeing him here—in your space—that feels... different.

Dangerous.

Like this is some kind of alternate universe where Jeon Jungkook isn't just that awkward freshman who follows you around campus with snacks and stammered compliments but someone who actually belongs here.

It's stupid. You know it is. But still.

"You didn't have to bring all this," you say finally, breaking the silence as he sets down a pair of chopsticks beside one of the containers. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, an edge of defensiveness creeping in.

"You asked for it," he replies simply, glancing up at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

Always so earnest, so sincere. It makes something in your chest ache.

"I was joking."

"I know." He smiles softly—just barely—but there's something about it that makes your guilt surge.

“Then why’d you bring it?”

“Because…” He hesitates for half a second before shrugging lightly. “Because I wanted to.”

There's something so simple—so pure—about his answer that it catches you off guard for a moment. You don't know what to say to that, so instead, you just grab one of the containers and pop it open with a quiet "thanks," trying to ignore how your hands shake slightly.

He sits down across from you without being asked—like this is normal now—and starts unpacking his own food while sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you're not looking. Each glance feels like a weight on your conscience, reminding you how badly you're handling this whole situation.

The silence stretches between you as you both eat, broken only by the soft clicking of chopsticks against containers.

Something’s... off.

Jungkook's usually endless chatter is conspicuously absent, replaced by this heavy quiet that makes your skin crawl.

You glance up from your food to find him staring intently at his container, his fingers fidgeting with the chopsticks like he's trying to work up the courage to say something.

There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, a nervousness that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, and—

Oh.

Oh.

The guilt hits you like a slap on the fucking face.

Because what kind of sunbae are you? Getting off on making your hoobae squirm? Letting him grind against you until he came in his pants? Who even are you? Was it worth the power trip?

God, you’re insane. You are out of your depth. You are disgusting.

And now he's sitting here, all quiet and nervous, probably thinking about it too, probably wondering if you're going to acknowledge it or pretend it never happened and—

Something ugly and defensive rises in your chest, a need to push him away before he gets too close. Before you can fuck this up any more than you already have.

"So," you start, your voice deliberately casual as you type random nonsense just to look busy. Your fingers move across the keyboard without purpose, just needing something to focus on besides the way he keeps sneaking glances at you. "Did you tell your friends about our little encounter?"

Jungkook chokes on his noodles, face immediately flushing red. "I—what?"

"You know," you continue, still not looking at him because you can't handle those doe eyes right now. "The closet thing. Did you brag about it? Tell all your freshman friends how you got felt up by a senior?"

God, you sound cruel even to your own ears. But it's better this way, right? Better to push him away now before this gets even more complicated. Before you let yourself get used to having him in your space, all soft smiles and eager eyes.

"N-no!" he stammers, sounding horrified. "I wouldn't—I mean, I did tell Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, but—"

"Of course you did," you cut him off with a sharp laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "Bet they were impressed, huh? Their baby Jungkookie getting action in the library?"

His breath hitches audibly, and you hate how the sound makes your chest tight. You're doing this for his own good, you remind yourself. He deserves better than some senior who gets off on making him cry.

"It wasn't like that," he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. "I just... I needed advice—"

"Advice?" You finally look at him, raising an eyebrow even as your nails dig into your palms. "What kind of advice? How to last longer than three minutes?"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see him physically flinch. His eyes go wide, glassy with unshed tears, and something in your chest fractures.

You're the worst. The absolute worst.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—I know I was pathetic—"

"Stop," you say immediately, panic rising in your throat because you can see it coming—the way his lips tremble, the way he's looking at you with such raw emotion.

Don't say it. Please don't say it.

But he's already spiraling, words tumbling out between hiccupping breaths: "I know I'm inexperienced and awkward and probably really bad at everything, but I—I really like you, noona, and I—"

"What's next?" You spit out, desperate to stop the confession you don't deserve, nails drawing blood from your palms now. "Gonna cry? Beg? Whimper noona until I take pity on you?" A harsh laugh scrapes your throat. "What would you even do if I told you to get on your knees right now?"

Silence.

You snort, turning back to your laptop, relief flooding through you because finally, finally he's going to realize what a terrible person you are and—

Fabric rustles. The soft thud of denim hitting floorboards. Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

He kneels between your spread legs, palms on his thighs. The overhead light catches the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Okay."

Your pulse thunders. "Okay what?"

"However you want me." His voice quivers but doesn't break. "However you need."

The cursor blinks mockingly on screen. You suddenly can't remember your Wi-Fi password. Your thesis topic. Your own name.

"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out strangled.

"You asked," he whispers, voice trembling but determined. "If I would get on my knees for you, noona."

"I was being cruel," you say quickly, but your mouth feels dry. "I was trying to hurt you."

"I know." His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, tears tracking down his cheeks. "But I'd still... I'd still do anything. Even if you're just being mean. Even if you're trying to push me away."

Your breath catches. "Jungkook—"

"I bought them," he blurts out suddenly, face burning red. "The condoms. Even though—even though you said you were joking. I just... just in case. Because I wanted—I wanted to be ready if you..." He hiccups, more tears spilling over. "If you ever actually wanted me."

The guilt chokes you. "Stop it."

"Please don't push me away," he begs, voice cracking as he shifts closer, forehead pressing against your knee. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm just some stupid freshman who came in his pants the first time you touched him, but I—I can't stop thinking about you. About how good you made me feel. About how much I want to make you feel good too."

You stare at him, caught off guard by his desperate honesty. "You don't know what you want."

"I do," he insists, looking up at you through wet lashes. "I think about you all the time. When I'm alone, I—" He cuts himself off with a hiccup, shame coloring his cheeks. "I touch myself thinking about your hands. Your voice. How you said I was good for you."

A broken noise escapes you—something between a laugh and a sob. "Jungkook, we can't—"

"I'll be better," he promises frantically, hands hovering near your thighs like he's afraid to touch. "I'll last longer. I'll learn how to... how to please you properly. Just please don't—don't regret what happened. Don't hate me for wanting you so much."

You drop your head into your hands, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. He's still crying, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he kneels before you like some kind of devoted supplicant.

"I practiced," he confesses in a broken whisper, and you can hear how much it costs him to admit this. "After... after the closet. Trying to—to last longer. Because I was so embarrassed about... about how fast I..." He hiccups, pressing his burning face against your knee. "Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, they tried to help. Gave me advice. Told me how to... how to be good for you."

"Jesus, Jungkook," you breathe, because what are you supposed to say to that?

"I know it's stupid," he rushes out, words tumbling over each other between hiccups. "I know you probably think I'm just some dumb kid with a crush, but it's more than that. You make me feel... you make me feel like I could be good enough. Like maybe being inexperienced isn't... isn't the worst thing in the world."

Your fingers find their way into his hair without permission, and the broken sound he makes at the contact nearly kills you. He leans into your touch like he's starving for it, tears still flowing freely.

"When you touched me," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "in the closet... it was the first time anyone ever... and you were so gentle. So patient. Even though I was pathetic and came too fast and probably squeezed your breast too hard—"

"Stop calling yourself pathetic," you interrupt, tugging gently at his hair until he looks up at you. His face is a mess of tears and vulnerability, and something in your chest breaks. "God, Jungkook. You weren't pathetic. You were adorable."

He makes this wounded sound, like your words physically hurt him. "But I—I ruined it. Made it weird. Got too desperate and needy and—"

"That's what made it beautiful," you admit softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "How honest you were. How much you wanted it. Wanted me."

His breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over. "I still do," he whispers. "Want you. So much it hurts sometimes. Even if you're being mean, even if you're trying to push me away... I just want to be close to you."

Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His skin is feverish under your palms, tears still flowing freely as he looks up at you with those devastating doe eyes.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, watching as he blinks in confusion. "For being cruel earlier. I just... I felt so guilty. About taking advantage of you. About wanting you when I shouldn't."

"You weren't," he says immediately, desperately. "Taking advantage. I wanted it so bad, noona. Still want it. Want anything you'll give me." His voice cracks on another hiccup. "Even if—even if it's just this. Just letting me be close to you."

"Jungkook..." Your thumbs brush away fresh tears, but they're quickly replaced by more.

"I know I'm not good enough," words spilling out between quiet sobs. "Know I should probably be with someone my own age. Someone who won't have to teach me everything. But I—I want it to be you. Want you to show me how to... how to make you feel good. How to be what you need."

Your heart clenches at his words, at how earnestly he offers himself up to you.

“Baby," the endearment slips out again, making him shudder. "You don't have to try so hard."

"I want to," he insists, hands finally settling on your thighs, grip trembling but determined. "Want to learn everything. How to touch you. How to... how to use my mouth. How to make you cum. Please, noona."

His voice breaks on the honorific, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I like you so much. So—so much it hurts. Can't focus in class because I keep thinking about you. Can't sleep because I keep remembering how you touched me, how you looked at me like I wasn't just some stupid freshman."

"Jungkook—"

"Please don't tell me to stay away," he chokes out, panic clear in his voice. "I know I should. Know it's wrong because you're my sunbae and I'm just—just me, but I can't. I can't." His fingers dig into your thighs desperately. "I'll do anything. Be anything you want. Just please don't push me away."

Your heart aches at how broken he sounds, at the raw desperation in his voice. "Baby..."

"I dream about you," he confesses in a rush, like he's afraid you'll stop him. "About—about your hands. Your voice. The way you said I was good for you. Nobody's ever—nobody's made me feel like that before. Like I’m good enough. Just Jungkook.”

He's rambling now, words tumbling out between hiccups and sobs. "I know I'm probably terrible at everything. Know I should've lasted longer, should've touched you better, should've—should've been more in control but I couldn't. Can't think straight when you look at me like that. When you call me 'baby' and touch my hair and—"

You can't take it anymore. Can't handle how earnest he is, how desperately he's trying to convince you not to reject him. Your hands slide from his tear-stained cheeks into his hair, and he makes this broken little sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Noona," he whimpers, looking up at you through wet lashes. "Please."

You lean down, your heart thundering in your chest as you press your lips to his.

It's soft at first—tender, careful, like you're afraid he might shatter if you push too hard. His lips are warm and slightly salty from tears, trembling against yours as he makes this tiny, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

When his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, you can't help but deepen the kiss. Your tongue slides against his, and the way he gasps—soft and surprised, like he can't believe this is happening—makes heat pool in your stomach. His hands clench against your thighs, fingers trembling with nervous energy as he tries to match your rhythm.

God, he's so fucking precious. So earnest in the way he responds, letting you guide him with gentle pressure and encouraging hums. When you thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your mouth, tears still tracking down his cheeks even as he kisses you back with clumsy enthusiasm.

You press harder, something possessive and hungry unfurling in your chest at how pliant he is, how desperately he tries to please you. Your other hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, and he just melts for you. His mouth is sweet and eager, and you want to fucking devour him—want to swallow every little hiccupping sob and breathy moan he makes.

You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake—this eager, crying freshman who looks at you like you hung the moon. But the way he trembles under your touch, the way he gives himself over so completely... it makes you want to wreck him. To take him apart piece by piece until he's sobbing for an entirely different reason.

When you finally pull back, he chases your lips with a broken whine that goes straight to your core. His eyes flutter open, glazed and desperate, tears still clinging to his lashes like diamonds.

"Noona," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked—all raw and pleading in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid again.

You shouldn't.

You really, really shouldn't.

But god help you, you do.

Jungkook's brain is absolutely short-circuiting.

Like, full system failure, blue screen of death, please-restart-your-computer levels of malfunction.

Because this? This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream or maybe he hit his head on the way over here because there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that you just kissed him.

But you did. You actually did. Your lips were on his, soft and warm and real, and now he's kneeling here like an idiot, staring up at you with what he's sure is the most pathetic expression ever because holy fuck.

He hadn't expected any of this. Really. After the whole teasing thing earlier (and the mortifying sex ed session with Taehyung and Jimin), he'd convinced himself nothing would happen. That's why he wore his comfy clothes—his safe clothes—even though yeah, okay, maybe he did buy condoms. Just in case. Because he's pathetic and hopeful and maybe a tiny part of him wanted to believe...

But no. He was fine with just bringing jajjangmyon. More than fine. He would've been happy just sitting here, watching you work, existing in the same space as you. That would've been enough.

Then you started pushing him away, and he just... broke. Started crying like some kind of oversized baby because apparently that's who he is now—someone who sobs at the first sign of rejection.

God, he's such a mess. Such an absolute disaster of a human being.

He apologized (between hiccups and tears because of course he did), but then you apologized too, and then—and then—you kissed him. You actually kissed him. With your mouth. On his mouth. While he was crying. Which should be embarrassing (it is embarrassing), but he can't even care because holy shit, you kissed him.

And now you're looking at him with this expression he can't quite read, your hands cradling his face like he's something precious instead of just some awkward freshman who can't keep his emotions in check.

"Stand up," you murmur, thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.

He scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process because apparently his body has forgotten how legs work. His knees protest after kneeling for so long, and he sways slightly, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them.

Should he touch you? Is he allowed to touch you? What are the rules here? Is there a manual for this? Why didn't Taehyung and Jimin cover proper post-crying makeout etiquette in their weird sex ed lesson?

"Breathe," you remind him softly, and oh—right. That's a thing he should probably be doing.

He takes a shaky breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart as you look up at him with those eyes that make him feel like he's simultaneously floating and drowning.

This is real. This is actually happening. Somehow, his pathetic, crying, disaster self has achieved... something. He's not sure what exactly, but something.

And he really, really hopes he doesn't fuck it up.

His tears haven't quite stopped—because of course they haven't, he's a walking emotional disaster—when you look up at him from your chair. His breath catches in his throat, expecting... well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More kissing maybe? You to stand up? To tell him to stop being such a crybaby?

What he's definitely not expecting is for you to slide out of your chair and onto your knees in front of him.

His brain short-circuits completely when your hands find his hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweats. A gasp escapes him—embarrassingly high-pitched and needy—because holy fuck, are you—is this—what is happening?

You look up at him through your lashes, and his heart actually stops. "Is this okay?" you ask softly, thumbs rubbing circles against his hipbones through the fabric.

He nods so fast he probably gives himself whiplash, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks because he can't seem to get his body under control. Words fail him entirely—his vocabulary reduced to a series of choked sounds as you hook your fingers into the waistband of both his sweats and boxers.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

This is actually happening. This is—

The fabric slides down his thighs, and Jungkook wants to die immediately because his dick is already hard. Like, embarrassingly hard. Because apparently his body is determined to humiliate him at every possible opportunity today.

A strangled whimper escapes him as cool air hits his exposed skin. His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, trembling with the effort not to cover himself as more tears track down his burning cheeks.

He's never felt more exposed in his life—standing here with his pants around his thighs, dick straining eagerly toward you like some kind of desperate compass pointing true north.

God, could he be any more obvious? Any more pathetic?

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice cracking. "I—it just—you just—"

“You’re okay.”

Your words are so gentle, so soothing, that it only makes Jungkook cry harder. Because how can you be this understanding? This tender with someone like him who can't even stop sobbing long enough to form coherent sentences?

But then—oh god—your thumb brushes against the underside of his cock, a slow, deliberate stroke from tip to base that makes his entire body shudder. And when you squeeze softly, testing, exploring? His knees nearly buckle.

He watches, transfixed, as your hand glides up and down his length with careful precision. Slow, so, so slow. The movement is hypnotic, making his breath catch on every upstroke, forcing tiny whimpers past his lips that he tries desperately to muffle behind his hand.

"Eyes on me," you command softly, and his gaze snaps to yours immediately.

His chest heaves with hiccupping sobs, tears still falling freely as he tries to process that this is real—that you're actually touching him, that this isn't just another fevered fantasy. His free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unsure where it's allowed to land.

You chuckle—a warm, tender sound that makes his heart flip—and murmur, "Don't hold back those pretty sounds, baby. And here..." You guide his hovering hand to your hair. "Hold onto me if you need support."

The permission—both to touch and to be vocal—makes him whimper pathetically. His fingers thread shakily through your hair, careful and reverent, like he still can't quite believe he's allowed this.

"That's it," you encourage softly. "Just like that."

He can barely breathe as you maintain eye contact, your hand working him in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. Every touch feels electric—too much and not enough all at once.

"I'm s-sorry," he chokes out between sobs, fingers tightening reflexively in your hair. "For the—hic—crying, I can't—hic—stop—"

"Shh," you soothe, your free hand stroking his hip. "You're being so good for me."

The praise makes him whimper, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. His cock twitches in your grip, already leaking precum, and he feels his face burn hotter with embarrassment.

"Noona," he whines, voice cracking. "I'm—hic—I'm already so—"

"I know, baby," you murmur, and then your tongue flicks out to taste the bead of precum at his tip.

The noise he makes is absolutely wrecked—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he catches himself, mortified.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to—hic—to—"

"It's okay," you assure him, looking up through your lashes. "You can move if you need to."

He shakes his head frantically, still hiccupping. "Don't wanna—hic—hurt you—"

Your response is to take him into your mouth properly, and Jungkook's entire world narrows to the welcoming heat of your tongue sliding against his length. His legs shake so hard he has to grip your hair tighter just to stay upright.

"Oh god," he sobs, watching through tear-blurred vision as you take him deeper. "Oh fuck, noona, I can't—hic—it's too much—"

You hum around him in response, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. He's babbling now, unable to stop the stream of desperate praise and broken pleas falling from his lips between hiccups.

"So good," he whimpers, "you're so—hic—perfect, I can't—please—hic—noona—"

Jungkook’s brain is mush. Absolute, scrambled, incoherent mush.

Because he’s seen porn—obviously he’s seen porn, military barracks aren’t exactly monasteries—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of your mouth on him. The heat, the suction, the way your tongue swirls just beneath his tip every time you pull back—it’s obscene.

He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or dying. Or both.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, a choked sob tearing from his throat as you take him deeper.

“N-noona—hic—’m sorry, I can’t—hic—can’t hold—”

You pull off with a filthy pop, and he nearly collapses right there.

But then you’re looking up at him, lips glistening, and saying the words that unravel him completely: “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. Noona wants to taste you.”

His vision whites out for a second. You want to taste him. Want him. His pathetic, trembling, overeager self. 

The thought alone makes his cock twitch desperately, more precum beading at the tip as he fights the urge to just—

"Please," he chokes out between hiccups, his filter completely gone. "Can I—hic—down your throat? Please, noona, I've wanted—hic—for so long—"

Oh god. Oh fuck. Did he really just say that out loud?

Taehyung and Jimin's voices echo in his head—focus on her comfort, ask what she wants, don't be selfish—but his horny brain has completely taken over, reducing him to this desperate, begging mess.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified tears streaming down his face. "That was—hic—so stupid, I shouldn't have—you don't have to—"

Then you swallow him back down, all the way to the hilt, and his brain restarts completely.

"F-fuck—hic—noona—" His voice breaks as his orgasm builds, violent and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens, probably painful (god, he's the worst, he's so fucking inconsiderate, he should let go, should—). "I'm c-cumming—hic—'m so sorry, I'm—hic—ah—!"

He tries to pull back, he really does, but you hold him in place, humming around him like this is exactly what you wanted.

His vision blurs with tears as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, a broken groan tearing from his throat that would normally send him into a spiral of embarrassment.

Stupid stupid stupid, his brain chants as he shakes through the aftershocks. So fucking selfish. So desperate. She probably thinks you're disgusting. Probably hates you now. Probably—

But then you're looking up at him through your lashes, swallowing deliberately, and his spiral breaks at the soft, approving sound you make. Like this is good.

Like he's good.

Your laugh—warm and tender—cuts through his panic as you pull off to press a gentle kiss to his sensitive tip.

"That's exactly what I wanted," you murmur, and his heart stops completely.

God help him.

Jungkook wipes at his tears with the back of his wrist, sniffling softly as he tries to gather what's left of his courage. His voice is still shaky, still thick with tears, but there's a determination in it that surprises even him:

"Please let me—hic—eat you out," he manages, his face burning but his gaze steady. "Want to make you feel good too. You've done it twice for me now, it's not—it's not fair."

"Jungkook," you start gently, "I'm fine, you don't owe me—"

"It's not about owing," he interrupts, surprising himself with his boldness. His hands tremble, but his voice stays firm despite the lingering hiccups. "It's not fair that—hic—that you get to taste me and I don't get to taste you."

The words come out needier than he intended, more desperate, and he feels his face heat further. But he doesn't take them back. Can't take them back. Not when he's wanted this for so long—wanted to know what you taste like, what sounds you'd make, if you'd guide him with your hands in his hair like you did in the closet.

"Please, noona," he whispers, eyes wide and earnest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. "Let me try? I—hic—I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'll be good, I promise."

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on your face, and Jungkook realizes you'd misunderstood—thought he meant it wasn't fair to you, when really... god, how could he explain that getting to taste you would be the biggest privilege of his life?

A soft chuckle escapes you, warm and amused. "Since when are you so bold, young mister?"

His face burns hotter, but he doesn't back down. Can't back down. Not when the thought of tasting you is making his head spin with want.

"Since—hic—since you let me have something I never thought I'd get," he admits, voice wavering but sincere. "And now I just... want more."

The last word comes out embarrassingly needy, but he's beyond caring at this point.

"More?" you echo, that amused smile still playing at your lips.

"Everything," he breathes, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. "Anything you'll give me. Please, noona. I just—I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you feel good like you made me feel good. Want to—hic—learn how to please you properly."

Your expression softens at his earnestness, at how desperately he's trying to convey just how much he wants this—wants you.

"You really want to taste me that badly?" you ask, standing up and pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

He nods frantically, leaning into your touch like a touch-starved kitten. "More than—hic—anything. Please?"

The way he says 'please'—all breathy and desperate—makes something in your expression shift. Your thumb brushes across his bottom lip, and he parts them instinctively, wanting to show you just how eager he is to learn.

"Such a good boy," you murmur, and his whole body shudders at the praise. "Always so polite when you beg."

Your words go straight to his dick, which—obviously—twitches back to life because apparently it has absolutely no shame when it comes to you. Zero self-control. None. Especially when you say things like "good boy" in that voice that makes his whole body feel like it's on fire.

"Oh, hi again," you chuckle, glancing down at his rapidly hardening length.

Something possesses him then—maybe it's the lingering high from his orgasm, or maybe it's just the way you're looking at him like he's actually worthy of your attention—but his hands move on their own, fingers trembling slightly as they cradle your jaw. He guides your face back up, wanting to see your eyes, needing to see them.

Then he's leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it makes his chest ache.

When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper:

"Can I please, then?"

You nod with a smirk, and Jungkook's entire nervous system goes into overdrive.

Okay. Stay calm. Everyone stay fucking calm. His brain is firing signals in every direction like a broken switchboard—hey blood cells, maybe focus on making his tongue work instead of rushing to his dick again? Thanks.

You help him pull his sweats and briefs back up (and he tries very hard not to combust at how domestic that feels), then grab his wrist. His heart leaps into his throat as you lead him through your apartment, past the living room and—oh.

Oh.

That's... that's definitely your bedroom.

His eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to memorize every detail like he's studying for the most important test of his life.

There's a small plant on your windowsill (note to self: you like greenery), some photos on the wall (maybe he could get you a nice frame?), books scattered on your nightstand (he should ask what genres you—)

His mental catalog screeches to a halt as you sit on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your palms and looking up at him with that expression that makes his knees weak. Your eyes flick meaningfully to your sweats, and then:

"Take them off for me, Jungkook-ah?"

He actually chokes on his own spit, because what the fuck. How do you do that? How do you make simple requests sound like commands that make him want to drop to his knees and pledge eternal devotion?

Jungkook crouches down in front of you, his fingers trembling as they find the waistband of your sweats.

Oh god. Oh god. Is this happening? This is happening. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Or pass out. Or maybe combust entirely. His dick is already twitching against his thigh, and he’s genuinely terrified he might actually cum just from looking at you.

He swallows hard, trying to steady himself as he pushes the fabric down, watching with wide, reverent eyes as your sweats slide over your hips and down your legs. It feels surreal—like he’s in some kind of dream sequence or shooting a luxury lingerie ad. The way the fabric clings to your skin, catching briefly on your foot before sliding free under his careful fingers—it’s too much.

Too elegant. Too perfect.

And then they’re off, and he’s back on his knees, staring at you like you’re a goddess descended from the heavens. His gaze trails up your legs, over the soft curve of your thighs, until it lands on the black panties that cling to you in a way that makes his mouth salivate.

Oh god oh god oh god. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right here on your bedroom floor because there’s no way his body can handle this level of perfection.

But then—your fingertip touches his chin, tilting his face upward until he meets your gaze. His breath catches as you make a small beckoning motion with your finger, and he stumbles forward without hesitation, letting you guide him.

"You should start with kisses," you murmur softly, your voice low and inviting. "Come here."

His breath hitches audibly as you part your lips slightly, leaning back just enough to wait for him. He scrambles up a little higher, hands planting themselves awkwardly beside your thighs for balance as he leans in.

His lips meet yours again—soft at first, hesitant—but then you hum against his mouth, and it’s like something inside him snaps. His hands grip the bedspread tightly as he kisses you deeper, pouring every ounce of devotion and desperation into the press of his lips against yours.

Because this? This is everything. You’re everything. And he wants—no, needs—to show you just how much he means that.

Your lips move against his, slow and deliberate, guiding him like you’re teaching him a language he’s desperate to learn. Jungkook tries to follow your lead, tries to match the way your mouth parts just slightly, the way your tongue brushes against his bottom lip before retreating. He’s clumsy—he knows he is—but you don’t seem to mind. Every time he falters, you hum softly, tilting your head to show him how to angle his better, how to deepen the kiss without rushing.

It’s intoxicating. The way you taste, the way you feel—like you’re pouring all your patience and care into this one moment. He can barely keep up, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts as his hands grip the bedspread tighter, knuckles white with the effort of not touching you anywhere else.

“Slower,” you murmur against his lips, and he nods frantically, trying to remember how to breathe as he adjusts his pace. Your tongue slides against his again—not too much, just enough—and it sends a shiver down his spine so intense he nearly collapses onto you.

He pulls back slightly, gasping for air as his chest heaves. His gaze flickers up to meet yours for a split second before snapping downward—and that’s when he sees it.

Your tank top has shifted slightly in all the movement, and now your nipples are peaked against the fabric, straining in a way that makes his brain completely shut down.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

He’s going to cum in five seconds if he doesn’t look away—if he doesn’t—

“Jungkook,” your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a lifeline, and then your hands are cradling his face again, forcing him to look back up at you. Your thumbs brush gently over his cheeks as you smile softly.

“Take it off for me,” you say simply, nodding toward your tank top.

His breath catches audibly as his hands twitch at his sides.

"I—I—” Words fail him entirely because what the fuck is happening? Is this real? Are you actually asking him to—

“Go on,” you encourage gently, your voice steady and patient in a way that makes him melt. “You can do it.”

He swallows hard and nods shakily, his trembling hands moving toward the hem of your tank top like it’s some sacred artifact.

He almost fumbles the hem of your tank top. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he grips the fabric and starts to lift it, moving slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift in existence. The soft material slides up over your stomach, then your ribs, and then—oh god—your breasts.

He freezes for a moment, tank top bunched awkwardly in his hands as his gaze locks onto you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

They’re perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Round and soft and exactly how he remembers them from the closet incident—how they felt in his hands, how they fit so perfectly against his palms like they were made for him. He’s revisited that moment in his head a hundred times since it happened, but seeing them now? Bare and right in front of him? It’s so much better than anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

His mouth goes dry as his eyes trace every curve, every detail. The way your nipples are peaked just slightly, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath—it’s mesmerizing. He feels like he should say something, do something, but all he can do is stare like a fucking idiot.

“Jungkook,” you chuckle softly, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. “Go on.”

Your voice snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s still holding your tank top halfway up your body like some kind of moron. His face flushes bright red as he scrambles to pull it the rest of the way off, nearly tangling it in your hair before finally tossing it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as he looks back at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt gently, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “It’s okay.”

He nods frantically, still blushing furiously as his gaze flickers downward again—just for a second—before snapping back up to meet yours.

“You’re just—you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise because there aren’t words for what you are.

Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You tap one of his hands where it's gripping the bedspread, and his gaze follows the movement before understanding clicks.

Oh.

You want his hand.

You're reaching for his hand and—oh fuck—pressing it against your breast.

He swallows thickly as his palm makes contact with soft, warm skin. It's exactly as perfect as he remembers from the closet, maybe even better because now he can actually see what he's touching.

His hand twitches automatically, squeezing slightly, and you hiss.

"Sorry!" he yelps immediately, trying to pull back, but you just chuckle and hold his hand in place.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice gentle but firm. "Don't grab. You need to knead." Your fingers guide his, showing him how to massage properly. "And brush your thumb... here." You move his thumb to your nipple, and the soft sigh that escapes your lips makes his cock twitch violently against his thigh.

Fuck, that was hot. That was so fucking hot he might actually die.

"Roll it between your thumb and forefinger," you instruct softly, "and do the same with the other one."

Okay. Okay, he can do this. This is fine. This is totally fine. He's just touching the most perfect breasts in existence while trying not to cum in his pants. Again. No pressure.

His other hand moves up hesitantly to mirror the first, and when you make another pleased sound, his nonexistent tail practically wags. Each soft sigh that falls from your lips feels like a reward, like proof that he's doing something right for once.

He can't help himself—he leans in to kiss you again, unable to resist the way your mouth parts slightly with each breath. His hands work in tandem now, one kneading gently while the other plays with your nipple, and the moan you let out against his lips?

Yeah, that's getting filed away in his brain forever. Right next to his most precious memories, ready to be replayed approximately ten thousand times when he's alone.

Because holy fuck, the sounds you make. The way you feel. The fact that you're letting him touch you like this, teaching him how to please you—it's almost too much. Almost overwhelming in how perfect it is.

But he wants more. Wants to earn more of those sounds, more of those sighs, more of everything you're willing to give him.

"Noona, I'm gonna cum," Jungkook stammers against your lips when you finally let him breathe.

He doesn't even know why he says it—except that it's absolutely true. His cock is twitching violently against his thigh, ready to explode at any second because apparently that's just what his body does around you now.

You chuckle warmly, and he almost starts crying again because god, he's so fucking embarrassing. But then your hand is in his hair, stroking gently, and your voice is so soft when you ask:

"Is this your first time? With breasts?"

He looks away, cheeks burning as he nods shyly. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes, too afraid of what he might see there.

"That's normal then," you assure him, fingers still carding through his hair. "Everything feels more intense the first time."

He glances back at you, heart stuttering at the gentle understanding in your expression. There's no judgment there, no mockery—just warmth and something that makes his chest ache.

"You can cum while sucking and playing with my tits if you want," you murmur, and the eager moan that escapes him should be mortifying but somehow isn't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like his enthusiasm is endearing rather than pathetic.

You lean back onto the bed, and his mouth goes dry as he watches you position yourself. He follows eagerly, hovering over you before leaning down to take one nipple between his lips. The moment his mouth makes contact, your back arches slightly and your fingers find his hair again.

Oh fuck.

The sound you make—this soft, breathy thing—nearly sends him over the edge right there.

His hand finds your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his fingers like you taught him, while his free hand fumbles desperately with his sweats, shoving them down just enough to wrap around his leaking cock.

He's so close already, pre-cum making his fingers slide easily as he strokes himself. Every little gasp and sigh you make sends sparks down his spine, making his hips buck into his own grip as he sucks and licks at your nipple like his life depends on it.

"Can I—" Jungkook chokes out between desperate pants, "Can I cum on your—your tits? Please?"

You nod softly, and he almost sobs with relief as he positions himself, straddling your waist. His hand works frantically over his length as he stares down at your perfect breasts, and then he's cumming with a broken moan, painting white stripes across your skin.

"I'm sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified at the mess he's made. But you just shake your head, reaching for some wipes from your nightstand.

"Stop apologizing," you murmur, but before you can clean yourself, he's already grabbing the wipes from your hand.

"Let me," he insists softly, carefully wiping his traces from your skin with reverent attention.

Once you're clean, he can't help himself—he leans down to press soft kisses against your breasts again. And again. And then he's back to sucking and kissing your nipples because how could he not? The content hum you make only encourages him further.

But then you're tugging gently at his hair, making him look up at you. "You can start kissing your way down," you tell him, and his face flushes crimson even as his cock twitches with renewed interest.

Yes. Fuck yes. Thank you god and jesus and buddha and whoever else is listening.

He starts trailing kisses down your stomach, each press of his lips deliberate and worshipful. When he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, moving to kneel between your thighs at the foot of the bed. His hands shake as he hooks his fingers in the waistband, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

Then you spread your legs, and holy fuck. The sight of your pussy—bare and glistening and so fucking perfect—draws a deep groan from his chest. You're so wet, so ready for his tongue, and he's pretty sure he's actually died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Because you are. You absolutely are.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, and his breath catches when he sees you propped up on your elbows, watching him with a soft, almost amused look. Your fingers slide into his messy hair, carding through it gently, and his heart stutters in his chest. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks,

“Can I…?”

You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yes.”

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He just has to remember what Taehyung and Jimin told him—don’t overthink it, listen to her cues, focus on what she likes—but oh god, he really doesn’t need to think about Taehyung and Jimin right now. What the fuck, brain? Not helpful.

He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he refocuses on you—glistening and beautiful and so fucking damp it makes his heart race. He did that. He got you like that. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through him, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“Start slow,” you murmur softly, your fingers still threading through his hair. “Use your tongue first. Just… explore.”

He nods eagerly, leaning in closer until he can feel the heat radiating off you. His tongue flicks out tentatively, tracing a slow line up your folds, and the quiet sigh you let out makes him shiver.

“Good,” you hum encouragingly, and he nearly preens at the praise. “Now try circling around my clit—gently.”

He follows your instructions immediately, his tongue moving in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your hips shift slightly in response sends a thrill through him, and he presses in just a little harder.

“Not too much pressure,” you warn gently, your hand tightening slightly in his hair to guide him. “Keep it soft for now.”

“Okay,” he mumbles against you, adjusting his movements until your soft hum of approval tells him he’s doing it right.

“Now try flicking your tongue,” you instruct softly. “Just there—yes, like that.”

The sound you make when he obeys is enough to make him moan into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support as he loses himself in the taste of you. Each little noise of pleasure that escapes your lips feels like a reward, spurring him on as he tries to remember everything you’re teaching him.

“Good boy,” you murmur again, and fuck—he’s pretty sure he could cum just from hearing those words alone.

Jungkook’s tongue moves with trembling focus, every flick and stroke guided by your soft instructions. The taste of you is overwhelming—sweet and musky and perfect—and he can’t get enough. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps at you, and the way your thighs tighten around his head makes him dizzy with pride.

“Slower,” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He obeys immediately, easing the pressure as he circles your clit with featherlight strokes. The whimper you let out sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock, which is already leaking against his thigh again. God, he’s so fucking sensitive right now.

“Use your fingers,” you murmur, your voice strained. “Just one… inside me. Slowly.”

His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his lips glistening. He’s shaking so badly he can barely coordinate his hands, but he manages to press a single finger against your entrance, sliding it in with painstaking care. The way you clench around him makes his head spin.

“Good,” you gasp, hips lifting off the bed. “Now curl it—there—”

He obeys, crooking his finger upward, and the choked moan you release is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, too focused on watching your face—the way your brows knit together, the way your lips part as you pant.

“Add another,” you say, your nails scraping gently against his scalp.

He slides a second finger in, marveling at how you stretch around him, how impossibly hot you feel. Your hips grind down against his hand, and he scrambles to keep up, curling and scissoring his fingers the way Jimin had described during their mortifying “lesson.”

“Fuck—Jungkook—” Your voice cracks, and he looks up to see your back arching off the bed, your free hand fisting the sheets. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t if he tried. Not when you’re falling apart above him, your thighs trembling as he works you closer. Your clit is swollen under his tongue, and he flicks it faster, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“I’m close,” you warn, your voice pitching higher. “Keep going, just like that—”

He moans against you, the vibration making you cry out. Your hips stutter, and then you’re clenching around his fingers so tightly he can barely move them. The sound you make—a raw, unfiltered gasp—echoes in his bones as you shudder through your release.

He keeps licking, keeps fingering you through it until your hand yanks his hair back gently.

“Enough, baby,” you pant, chest heaving. “You’ll overstimulate me.”

He pulls back immediately, fingers slipping free as he stares up at you in awe. Your skin is flushed, your hair fanned out around you like a halo, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Come here,” you murmur, patting the bed beside you.

He scrambles up, still trembling, his sweats clinging to his hips. You reach for him the moment he’s within reach, pulling him into a searing kiss that tastes like you. His hips jerk forward instinctively, his cock grinding against your thigh, and he breaks the kiss with a whine.

“Shh,” you soothe, your hand sliding down to palm him through his sweats. “You did so well. Let noona take care of you now.”

He nods frantically, his breath hitching as you tug his sweats down. Your hand wraps around him, and he nearly sobs at the contact.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his teary eyes snap to yours. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”

It takes three strokes. Three strokes and the way you’re looking at him—proud, affectionate, hungry—and he’s coming with a broken cry, stripes of white painting your stomach.

He collapses against you, boneless and spent, his face buried in your neck as you stroke his hair.

“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he nuzzles closer, his heart swelling so big it threatens to burst.

Twenty minutes later, after cleaning you both up with trembling hands and bringing you water, he's curled around you in bed, his nose buried in your hair. His cock is already stirring against your thigh because apparently his body has absolutely no chill when it comes to you.

"Noona?" he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

"Hmm?"

He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."

You shift slightly to look at him, and his heart stutters at how soft your expression is. "What is it?"

"I'm..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm Spider-Man."

There's a pause, and then you... laugh? Not mockingly—just this warm, gentle sound that makes his chest tight.

"I know," you say simply, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.

His eyes widen comically. "You—what? How long have you—?"

"Jungkook-ah," you interrupt softly, "you pulled me away from a bus from five meters away. And you're literally always wherever I am. And you bring me the exact snacks I mention wanting, even when you weren't there when I said it."

"Oh." He flushes, ducking his head. "Was I that obvious?"

"Extremely." Your fingers card through his hair, and he melts into the touch. "But it's cute that you finally told me."

He peeks up at you through his lashes. "You're not... mad?"

"That you're Spider-Man? No." You smile. "That you stalked me? Maybe a little."

"I wasn't stalking!" he protests immediately. "I was... protecting!"

"Uh-huh." Your tone is teasing, and he pouts until you lean in to kiss him softly. "Sure you were."

When you pull back, his expression has shifted to something more... heated. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow.

“So… since you’re not mad…”

“Yes?”

“Can we… go again?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” he blurts. “I’ve got—uh—stamina. Like, a lot. Super… stamina. From the… you know.” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “Spider… stuff.”

You snort, clearly fighting a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” He nods frantically, hands flailing as he tries to explain. “I can go for hours! Days! Well, not days, but—I mean, I could eat you out again right now if you let me. Please? You don’t even have to touch me! I’ll just—I’ll jerk off while I do it. I can cum three or four more times, easy. Maybe five? Let’s try five.”

You stare at him.

He wilts slightly. “Or… two? Two’s good. Two’s cool.”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

He scrambles up immediately, eyes bright and hopeful. You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his pouty bottom lip. “You want to taste me that badly?”

He nods so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Please.”

“Okay,” you say, flopping back onto the pillows. “But slowly this time. I’m not a superhero.”

He’s already scrambling down the bed, eyes gleaming. “Yes. Yes, okay, slowly. Got it. Thank you. Thank you.”

You snort as his lips find your inner thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously grateful,” he mumbles against your skin, and the vibration makes you laugh again.

Not done, he thinks, and this time, he’s grinning.

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

TAGLIST:

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @ahgasegotarmy116 @chloepiccoliniii

[gomzdrawfr]

Raven: what if he buys me a car, Kyle? I'm panicking here. Gaz: And? Don't see the problem, mate. Raven: He owns every bloody brand of watches, colognes, wallets—stuff I didn’t even know existed! How the hell am I supposed to match that? Gaz: Did he ever mention what he needed? Raven: Raven: So there was this torque wrench he used on his bird- Gaz: Uh huh... Raven: It's wrapped in, layers of black tape, like it has been broken into two but he still used it. The other day though, it was completely unusable and he seemed really sad. Gaz: Get him the wrench. Raven: Kyle. Gaz: Trust me, he'll bloody worship the ground you walk on. Raven: Really? You know how bad it’ll look if he gets me a car and I hand him a bloody wrench wrapped in pink ribbons? On Valentine’s Day. Really. Gaz: Bruv, a man needs his tools. I bet you he’ll use that wrench ‘til his last breath just ‘cause you bought it for him. Raven: Gaz, smirking On Valentine's Day.... Nik gifted Raven a custom-made hand gun (much to her relief), then Raven handed him a leather bag which took her weeks to secure and import. Nik: Ah! You really shouldn't have- Nik unzipped the bag and spotted the wrench, pulling it out and stared at it in disbelief: Oy yoy! Nik proceeds to kiss Raven then the wrench, spinning her off the ground, plopping her on the desk and went off rambling about how happy he was in Russian Raven, dishevelled and stunned, sitting on the desk: Bloody hell it worked…

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentences (fifteen)

pierre gasly - "the night's definitely not over yet."

tags: smut/pwp, established relationship, sexual experimentation (collars), implied sub!pierre & dom!reader, missionary, needy!pierre

sinful sentences catalogue

you were left with a gift when pierre went to do training with the team. your eyes wide at the expensive box on the bed. it had been delivered earlier that day with instructions over text from your boyfriend to open it.

what you saw a a collar. in a bed of white tissue paper was a expensive looking leather collar. when you picked it up you expected that you were supposed to wear it. but when you saw the engraving on the tag, it said that who wore it was property of you. this felt something stir in your gut as you gingerly placed the item on the bed.

a note laid underneath the sturdy leather collar, "we've been together long enough, my love. i think it's time that we try new things in the bedroom. forever yours, pierre."

you had to admit the frenchman looked good in the shiny black collar. it sat on his throat nicely so of course you couldn't help but give him a little praise. give him something to feel special about. he sat on his knees in front of you on the bed with you leaned over and cupping his face.

your thumbs rubbed against his cheeks and you chuckled lowly at the sight of him. he was painfully aroused, from the tent in his briefs. it was a cute sight, you had to be honest. he was so pent up for you. so wound up with a lustful need for you. you knew he had been thinking about it all training, knowing him he probably was a little hard while racing. but now he could relieve some of that pressure.

"look at you, my love." you cooed, "you got a nice collar on for me. like a good boy? oh you've done so well for me today, you worked so hard on the track. now you're back with me with a hard cock and your throat wrapped with my name." you leaned a little forward to kiss him on the lips.

he moaned into the kiss, it was sweet. you knew he was getting desperate, needy for your affection and love. that was the kind of man that pierre was, the kind that got wound up easily during sex. how could he not? he once described you as everything he needed in a partner. he looked up at you with hooded eyes and smiled, "only the best for you, my dear." then licked his lips, "hard to focus on driving when my thoughts kept lingering to you." he placed his hands on your thighs and leaned forward a little. his eyes locked with yours.

you knew he couldn't help himself and you laid back on the bed with him on top. you hooked your fingers into the collar and pulled him in for a heated kiss. and his clothed erection rubbed against your bare cunt. it was erotic and only drove pierre further into sexual madness.

"i want you. please, let me have you tonight." his hands roamed your sides as you pulled down his briefs. he maintained eye contact with you and you smiled at him. you gave him a soft nod before he went in for a heated kiss. he near moaned against your lips, needy with sexual want for you. it was erotic, you felt erotic. it was the type of sexual need that he craved from you.

you got one of the pillows and put it under your hips for leverage as you felt the lust race through you as he planted his hands on either side of your head. you helped him sink his cock into you and you arched your hips a little. you felt the euphoria run through you.

"fuck." you shuddered and pierre met with you at eye level. you held his face as he went in for a heated kiss. you moaned into the kiss. "look at you." you mused, "so good on top." you yanked on the collar a little more.

"i love you." he shakily exhaled.

"and i love you." you replied with a hitch in your tone, "you look so pretty with my name. maybe when we get married, you should take my last name. looks nicer on you." you laughed, a little out of breath.

pierre smiled down at you, lust was heavy in his gaze, "of course, of course. anything for you." he went in for a heated kiss, he leaned in closer to you. the two of you were chest to chest a she moved against you. your legs wrapped around his waist as the two of you moved together.

there was a noticeable heat between the two of you, a blush in your lover's face. he looked good on top of you. he looked good when you placed a hand over the collar and could feel his rapid pulse through the leather. he really was a good boy. you held onto his shoulder with your other hand and let him move his cock as deep as it would go inside of you.

his cock was pretty decently sized, and it rubbed against all the right places without it being overly painful. it made your back arch a little and your thighs clench around him. he moaned a little louder and felt the hammering in your chest. the two of you knew how to work each other's bodies. it felt good, heat radiated through you. sweat down your back and onto the covers as pierre moved against you.

you shared another heated kiss, you held onto him tightly. you moaned against his lips and felt the excitement run through him.

"feels good, honey." he purred as he continued to move against you. the fever was hot. the want was deep between you two, the simmering heat of lust was magnetic and you knew you only wanted him. only him.

"my fucking everything." he said with a hot moan, "you feel perfect around me. thank you for letting me have you, taste you, love you." he continued to work himself inside of you. he felt the leap in his pulse as his hips moved against yours.

you held on tightly, both hands at his shoulders as he worked himself into you. you moaned a little louder, savouring the feeling of his lust against you. your breaths were heavy and your noises were beautiful. it made pierre excited. he loved it, he loved you. and you loved him, you gazed into his eyes and smiled a little, "fuck, honey."

he kissed you once more. you pressed further into the kiss, he moved against you. the two of you continued to rut against each other. you moaned against his lips and he loved the feeling. he loved how you felt against him, a small slice of heaven for him. and he was yours. devour one another whole in sexual euphoria as the need for orgasm grew. his pace grew more desperate, his strokes eager to go as deep as they could as if to explore every inch of you. to have all of you as his, just as he was all of yours.

he'd happily wear a collar with your name on it, happily love and cherish you through everything. because that was what a good lover did, what a proper boyfriend and eventual husband did. love until there was nothing left to give.

"i love you, all of you." he panted.

you took him by his short hair and crushed your lips against his as you rolled your hips with his thrusts. you knew you were close, eager to cum as the flushed feeling of sex came crashing down on you. a heightened euphoric feeling as you clung to him. your entire body near wrapped around him as pleasure pounded through you.

"fuck, my love."

"i'm cumming." you panted and held on tighter. your cunt clenched around him as you continued moving against him. you let out such a sweet moan and it made the tips of your lover's ears burn.

he continued to thrust into you. his knees had a slight ache from being pressed into the bed and he clutched onto the covers under you and worked against you slick sex. he hissed through his teeth and felt the excitement race through him. a few more heavy thrusts and he finished inside of you, quickly after you came.

you stopped your movements and pierre stopped his. you both looked at one another for a moment before you pulled him in by the collar for another heated kiss. even with your skin heated and sweaty, you needed to feel more of your lover.

there was just something so intoxicating about him. it made everything in you run hot.

"honey." he purred.

you licked your lips and eyed his blissed out expression.

he soon laid out beside you, sexual spent as he heavily breathed, desperate to catch his breath. he felt a sheen of sweat of his body and you laid out next to him with your hand on his chest. he shuddered when you peppered kisses across his chest. he looked at you from the awkward angle, the pleasure still felt in his blood.

you looked at him with a wide grin and said "the night's definitely not over yet, pierre. now why don't you put that mouth on something else now."

he gave a curt nod and said, "of course, anything for you." <3

[smuttysabina]

AriaSaki Earns Some Mortgage Money

(Aria Saki x Male Reader, 5.3K Words) Tags: Prostitution, Regrets from selling your body, Getting off to selling your body, Unexpected creampies, Vaginal and Oral Sex, Tittyfucking, She really should just release an Onlyfans, No handholding, Protected Sex (lol)

AriaSaki looks glumly at her computer screen, her eyes glazed over as she wracks her brain for some way out of her current predicament; her mortgage. Who knew something so mundane could bring so much stress? How was Aria supposed to have known that her org contract would fall through literally right after she bought herself a house! So she had spent the last year streaming constantly, doing everything she could to make her monthly payments, going live for days on end to try and make it through another pay period. I mean sure, she had also been splurging on pets, oh and on Pokemon cards, and on figurines, and... um well lots of things actually. But now Aria was truly struggling to keep up, and she had no idea how to make things better. She had spent her early years as a cumdump for LCS players, before transitioning to helping the nascent OTV group around the house, and then finally moving to streaming fulltime herself; aside from her cooking skills, she didn't have much to make a living with if streaming fell through. Well, there was one asset she still had left, but her parents would disown her if she started an Onlyfans to show off her voluptuous body to her fans; so she couldn't do that! Even that slut Jaime was coy about openly showing herself off, she would just tease on camera but keep the juicy stuff for her rich benefactors... Wait a minute, if Aria couldn't sell her body online, what if she could sell it in person?

Aria shudders in revulsion, was she seriously considering prostituting herself for some easy cash? Yes, yes she was...

You had always enjoyed perusing the escort listings, imagining yourself with the girls on display, stroking furiously to the thought of spending your hard earned cash on the chance to cum inside a woman. Of course, you had never actually paid to sleep with a prostitute, it was just arousing to browse and fantasize, especially since some of the girl's prices were nothing short of absurd. You nearly choke on your own spit as you read one listing, ten-thousand dollars for only one hour! At that price you might as well rent her for a whole year, and though her body was nicely shaped, there was no way she could possibly be worth so much. You shake your head in disbelief, what sort of moron would burn so much money on a simple fling? Probably just some rich brats who didn't know any better, and the escort's face was even blurred out as well, this was more likely than not just a scam. But that haircut did look oddly familiar... Frowning, you scrutinize the few pictures the lady of the night had on display, realization scratching at the rear of your brain as your mind attempts to connect the dots it had been given. You had seen her before, you were sure of it, though from where... You continue to beat your meat even as you drink in the sight of those saggy tits framed by that severe hime haircut, a sense of deja-vu filling you as you discern that you had masturbated to this view before. Your eyes boggle as realization finally dawns, perhaps $10,000 an hour was not too steep a price to pay after all...

Almost a week later, and you found yourself standing in front of an upscale hotel room door. If anything, the past week of paperwork and extensive background checks had left you even more convinced that the girl you were about to meet was in fact AriaSaki. You had signed no less than five separate NDAs, each more strictly worded than the last and filled to the brim with draconian punishments should you even think about this encounter in public. And the fact that she had dredged up drama from back in middle school to confront you about indicated that this was someone with a paranoid streak more than a little wide. The fact that the hourly rate was so obscenely high also was a glaring indicator, Aria had always been wont to splurge, and so probably was looking to buy all sorts of expensive junk to hoard. So you continue to wait awkwardly in front of the door, having knocked several times already, with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you had somehow been scammed and that this entire endeavor had been a complete waste of time. But before you turn to leave with a heavy heart, several loud clunks sound from the entryway, and the door opens a smidgen, allowing an elegant hand to reach from the darkness within and frantically beckon you inside.

You gingerly push open the door, stepping past the lady into the gloomily lit interior, before it is shut behind you and thoroughly locked. You turn to examine her, but she hurries past you into the hotel room, before collecting herself with a huff, clearly she was as nervous about this as you were. In the dim lighting you strain to make out her features, her face concealed behind a dark facemask with her olive-shaped eyes peering out above it; her hair was shorter than in her photos, but it matched how Aria's hair had looked on stream recently. Her voluptuous body was tightly constrained by a sleek black dress, showing off her noticeable curves without making her look like, well, a whore. The woman coughs before speaking in a rather familiar voice, "Okay, so before we do anything, you're going to need to transfer the money over to my account," she holds out her phone, with her bank account's QR showing on the screen. You dutifully pull up her account on your payment app, hesitating a moment before tapping in the desired amount to transfer. $20,000 might take a while to work off, but it would certainly be worth it... The girl sighs in disbelief as the notification pops up on her phone, "Wow. So this is for... two hours then? Whew!" she appears to hyperventilate for a moment before calming down and giving you a nod, and slowly undoes her mask to full reveal the face of your favorite streamer: AriaSaki

Aria grimaces awkwardly at you, "Okay, so I have never done this before so, um, I guess let's get this over with then?" She starts walking towards the bed before whirling, "Wait! Okay, um, so no anal, no oral, no kissing, don't ejaculate on me, I won't give you a blowjob, and you have to use a condom at all times, got it?" She glares sternly at you before you agree fully to her terms, and only then does she stalk towards her bed, grabbing a plastic tray from the nightstand and placing it beside her as she clambers onto the mattress. Aria gets on her hands and knees, her back inexpertly arched as she looks back at you in trepidation, "Um, I don't know how large your... penis is, so there's a bunch of different sizes in the tray. Oh! And lube." Then she waits, studiously ignoring you as you undress, and she twitches nervously as you climb onto the bed behind her. Feeling a little let down by the lack of intimacy, you nonetheless find your manhood fully interested in the situation, and you rummage through the tray before finding the correct size to cover it. Your cock's enthusiasm remains undiminished even after sheathing it in cool latex, and you crawl forward on your knees until you are in position behind the streamer. Aria flinches when you pull her dress up over her waist, revealing her pale ass that neatly compliments her juicy thighs; and nestled between her cheeks was the thing you had been lusting after for years.

AriaSaki's pussy was a deep brown, its sunken shape endowed with some sizable lips that were no doubt the reason her camel-toe showed up so easily. And of course, like the lovable gamer gremlin that she was, she had obviously not bothered to shave in several weeks; well at least she had showered recently, you had been somewhat worried she would not have... Aria stirs nervously, "Are you done looking at me, are you not going to stick it in?" Remembering her warning, you apply a hefty dollop of lube to your dick before grasping her waist with one hand to hold her steady as you guide yourself in. Your tip presses against her folds before angling upwards enough to find her entrance, slipping suddenly inside of Aria's hole and causing her to jolt in surprise. Aria lets out a despairing groan as your cock fills her pussy, "I cannot fucking believe I'm actually doing this right now..." Whatever reservations Aria might be feeling went ignored by you as the sordid heat of her cunt can be felt even through the condom, and the pressure of her folds around her shaft had your eyes rolling. The streamer placidly stays in position as you thrust away at her rear, her lack of enthusiasm not bothering you in the slightest due to how excited you were to be fucking AriaSaki herself! This truly was a wet dream come true...

The steady slap of flesh fills the room as you plow Aria's bent-over form, the streamer gasping and groaning in a mixture of disgust and natural pleasure; her pussy cared not a whit about the moral implications of this coupling, merely that it was being filled. So as you continue to fuck her, the wet squelching noises that accompanied your sex seem to be growing louder with every passing minute, until... Until you can't hold on any longer, and with a moan you clutch at the streamer's waist as you thrust as deep as possible inside of her, your cock pulsating with pleasure as it fills the condom with semen. Aria gasps at your sudden motion, her butt clenching rhythmically as her body shudders, and you feel a film of wetness drips down your balls, "Oh my fucking god, did I just... from this?" Aria whines in horror, "What kind of slut climaxes just from some random guy cumming in her?" She buries her face in a pillow and screams into it, her feet drumming against the mattress. Once her tantrum subsides though, a red-faced Aria looks back at you and asks petulantly, "Are you going to pull out, or do I have to feel you going soft inside of me?" With such a bitchy attitude, in your post-coital clarity you were starting to question whether even your favorite was worth nutting inside for 20,000 dollars.

Acceding to Aria's wishes, you gingerly unmount her, allowing your cock to slip out, along with the reservoir of semen dangling from the tip of it. The streamer collapses onto her side, and then gawps when she spots the massive load contained within your condom, "What the heck," she squawks, tentatively poking at the yolk-like mass of jizz hanging from the end of your dick, "That would... that would have all gone... in me?" You blush at Aria's prodding, you had saved up all week for her, but even you were shocked by the sheer quantity of cum you had unloaded for her; and that had been with minimal help from her as well. When you start to remove the condom she stops you though, seemingly mesmerized by what it contains. Aria breathes rapidly, and appears unaware that one of her hands is getting rather busy between her thighs, as her face slowly moves closer to the object of her obsession, "I-I came, I came from this?" Aria's face becomes completely flushed as she masturbates while you watch, "I-I'm a slut!" she gasps out, her fingers furiously churning her cunt, "I'm a prostitute, a fucking whore, oh fuck it feels so good!" Aria's eyes narrow as she drowns her shame in a tide of lust, she knew what she was doing was wrong, and it filled her with a lustful mania to be doing it. She pants as her tongue lolls, and she hesitantly licks the swaying sack of seed, before letting out a sultry groan as she orgasms, her entire body shivering until it passes; and she looks up and gives you a lascivious smile.

AriaSaki reaches up and gently removes your condom for you, though you had grown so flaccid that it was about to fall off anyways, and then to your complete shock, empties it into her mouth. The streamer lets out a muffled moan as your thickening seed fills her mouth, her tongue visibly roiling it around as she savors the harsh taste of your semen. Well savor might perhaps be a touch too strong a word, as Aria gags violently, nearly expelling the load all over the bed before recovering and returning to attempting to swallow it. All the while her finger's continue to be busy stirring her slit, as she fights to overcome her disgust through sheer pleasure; until with a grimace the foul fluid slides down her throat. Aria trembles as yet another round of squelches come from between her shivering thighs, and when she opens her eyes again to stare up at you, her face is a mask of arousal. Her ample chest heaves as she struggles to breathe, "I think... I think I'm down for round two..." Aria glances at your cock and seems unsurprised that it is nearly fully erect once more. Naturally, watching your favorite streamer swallow your cum while masturbating, had indeed made you hard once more, powering through the aftereffects of your first orgasm with gusto.

Aria tentatively grasps your cock, slowly stroking it while judging your reactions, "Are you ready for it again?" she asks, making you nod frantically in affirmation, causing a sultry smile to spread across her lips, "Fuck, I'm ready for it again..." The streamer promptly turns about and bends over once more, though this time her back is lasciviously arched and she spreads her cheeks with both hands. She coughs pointedly when you slap your bare member against her slit however, even lost in a fugue of lust, she still expects you to wear protection. This time when you take Aria from behind, she is far more vocal about it, screeching into the sheets while your cock churns her sopping cunt until it is gushing all down her thighs, wailing for you to fuck her harder. The slap of her surprisingly well-sized cheeks against your crotch echoes around the room as you relentlessly plow her, now you truly felt like you were getting your money's worth pounding away at AriaSaki's sloppy pussy! Her folds tighten greedily around your shaft as you fill her, desperate for the seed that would invariably fill the condom, yet dumbly hungry for it anyways. Your core burning from your efforts, you slow down, switching to slow, long thrusts as you struggle to catch your breath. Aria glances back at you in confusion, tears glistening on her cheeks, "Wait, did you finish already?" she says in exasperation before hearing your frantic denials, "Okay good. Want to swap positions?"

After taking a minute to recover, Aria rolls onto her back and spreads her legs for you, showing off the sopping mess you helped make between her lower lips. She smirks as you lean down to closely examine her pussy, drinking in the details that you missed during your only cursory inspection of it framed by her butt. Aria puts a hand on your head and guides you in, gasping with delight as you dig into her swollen folds, "Oh fuck yes, taste it, fucking eat it!", she quivers delightfully as your tongue laps its way up her slit, "Fuck I cannot believe this feels so good..." By the time you are finished, a fresh slick of juices spills out and soaks her asshole, and she is more than ready, and you more than rested, to continue. With a sleazy grin, Aria pulls her legs back until they are behind her head, her meaty tits squished between them, and her pussy completely vulnerable to your attentions. As you slap your hardening dick against her, you comment on how much she looks like a fleshlight like that, which only seems to excite her even more, "Oh yeah? Does it turn you on thinking I'm just a filthy pocket pussy for you to dump your loads into? That I'm just a whore addicted to random guy's fucking cocks?" she snarls up at you. Well, she said it first...

You mount Aria then and there, slipping your covered cock into her hole and placing yourself atop her thighs, your body weight squishing down onto her in a classic mating press position. Your sex was fantastically intimate, face-to-face as your manhood plunges deep inside of her, it was only natural that you begin to sloppily make out; you had already fucked her twice and this was the first time you had kissed her. Aria's lips were as soft as you had expected, though her tongue was almost off-puttingly aggressive as it forces its way into your mouth. As enjoyable as being pressed against your favorite streamer with her arms locked tightly around you was however, your thighs were already starting to scream from the effort; this position was far more difficult than porn had made it out to be... So after taking a short rest laying on her soft body you reluctantly pull out of her embrace, much to her obvious bemusement at your lack of stamina. You haul Aria to the edge of the bed, her dress dragging against the sheets, bunching uncomfortably up against her breasts and revealing her fertile belly. Who blushes at the reveal of her somewhat pronounced tummy, but she is soon distracted from her gloomy thoughts as you spank her clit with your cock once more.

Now you are able to get more solid thrusts in, while being able to grind your member deep inside of Aria's guts had been quite pleasant, pounding away at her contorted body like a cheap toy was even better. And Aria seems to agree, if her rising voice is any indicator; soon she is howling as loudly as she had been when you had mounted her from behind for the second time. Grasping her sweaty thighs to hold her steady, you relentlessly slam your cock into her sloppy folds, her juices soaking the sheets beneath her as she leaks uncontrollably, "Oh fuck, I'm getting used," Aria groans, "My pussy is getting used like a fucking onahole, why does it feel so good to be a fucking whore?" Her cunt sloshes excitedly, squelching loudly as her entire body starts to quiver, "Fuck, it's happening again! I'm fucking cumming again! Oh god, oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK!" Aria gasps as a stream of fluids gushes out of her pussy, her eyes rolling back as she shudders, squirt spraying with every convulsion as her folds spasm around your shaft. You nearly join her in orgasm, but her shaking is so violent is expels your cock, the streamer unfolding herself and laying on her side until the pleasure surging through her finally subsides. Aria looks blearily up at you, "Fuck... I haven't squirted in like a year... Why am I enjoying this so much?"

Shaking off her reflective lapse in arousal, Aria returns to her cock-hungry state for ignoring the moral implications of selling her body, and needily spreads her legs for you once more. But after that last effort, you were exhausted, sweat slicking your skin while your back and abs scream with soreness, you might need a few minutes... But Aria doesn't have a few minutes to wait and ponder her situation, so instead she orders you back onto the bed, "Okay, just... just lay down, I'll get on top this time..." You are admittedly more than happy to let her take charge, her bossy attitude while streaming had always scratched at a particular itch, and your dick shows its enthusiasm by staying at attention. So you clamber onto the bed and settle down onto your back, your condom-sheathed cock resting stickily upon your chest, the rubber made almost opaque from Aria's juices. The streamer winces as she straddles you, her own legs a touch cramped after spasming while stuck behind her head, but she shows no sign of stopping to stretch out a little. Instead she seems intent on stretching out her pussy some more using your manhood, as she slides salaciously upon it, smearing yet more of her honey onto it. Giving into a whim, you reach up and yank the top of her dress down, allowing one boob to pop out while the other remains awkwardly caught in the tight fabric.

Rolling her eyes, Aria properly pulls her breasts out for you and leans back, allowing you to drink in the sight of her weighty tits sagging down her chest. She seems somewhat self-conscious about showing them off, but you are quick to reassure her by vigorously groping those flesh globes. Aria's thick, brown nipples harden quickly from your attentions, her pillowy boobs so large they are nearly spilling out of your hands, "Geez, you guys always love these so much, don't you?" she sighs, grinding all the harder upon your member, "Fuck, I need it..." Letting you continue to freely maul her tits, Aria squats over your cock, pulling it upright against her folds before sitting on it. You both groan as your dick slides into the familiar warmth of her pussy, the streamer taking it to the hilt and pressing her puffy lower lips against your crotch. Slowly, but swiftly starting to speed up, AriaSaki rides your cock, her thighs pistoning up and down your length with a frantic energy, her juices splattering across your chest with every bounce. Her face is beet ride as she fucks you, before she had been able justify her shameful arousal from letting a stranger use her for money with her passivity, but now that she was on top, she had no excuse to be enjoying this as much as she was, "Oh fuck!" she screams, "I'm a fucking whore! I'm a fucking whore! I'm fucking cumming on some rando's cock like a slut! Fuck, this feels too good!"

A fresh gush of squirt heralds Aria's climax, and she collapses down onto you, shuddering uncontrollably as her cunt floods her brain with pleasure. Your hands fervently roam her back, groping her squishy ass with glee until she recovers enough to continue riding you once more. Her pussy was so wet you could practically feel it slathering your shaft with every bounce, and it's burning heat made it feel as if you were not wearing a condom at all. Aria's messy hair sticks to her sweaty face as she fucks you, her face locked in a paroxysm of lust, "You fucking love it, don't you?" she salaciously licks her lips, "You love watching your favorite streamer turn into a slut for you? You love watching me begging it for it? Fucking give it to me!" she snarls, "I want your fucking cum!" she shrieks as she slams herself down onto you again and again, her folds gripping you like a vice. Having nearly finished twice already, your balls were more than ready to mindlessly empty themselves into this virile slut, and you hold desperately onto her waist as she rides your load out of you; her breasts flopping wildly as she does so. With a loud moan, you creampie AriaSaki, every fresh spurt of cum sending shivers through your body, filling the condom to capacity with your thick seed. The streamer quivers atop you, your sweaty skin stuck together as you both gasp for breath, and you felt as if you had just lost a year of life from orgasming so hard. Aria smiles blearily down at you before her face twists in confusion, "Wait, why is it...?"

Aria scrambles up off of you, hurriedly unmounting you before shoving her fingers into her cunt before dragging out a string of creamy fluid. She looks at the goop coating her fingers in shock, before you both look down at your cock as realization dawns; it turns out you had been feeling her wetness. Several inches of bare skin stands proudly above the yellow wrapping of the torn condom, streaked with your conjoined juices; insufferably proud of itself. Aria gawps at it for several moments before stammering, "Wait wait wait wait, that means... oh gOD YOU CAME IN ME?" she frantically scoops out yet more of your semen, hyperventilating as she processes the scale of this disaster, if it was as big as your last load then... "Oh FUCK," she groans in despair, "Am I gonna get pregnant? Did I really just get knocked up by some random guy?" her fingers stop scooping and instead start churning instead, "Fuck this is so risky! I need to... I need to..." her eyes roll back as she shudders once more, too busy drowning in pleasure to do anything about the unwanted creampie drying in her cunt. Desperate to continue outrunning the inevitable crash, she tears the remains of the condom off before bending down and taking you in her mouth.

Aria throws herself into the blowjob with reckless enthusiasm, her teeth scratching against your shaft while she gags violently from your tip banging against the back of her throat. You wince as your cockhead grinds against her molars, and you hesitantly suggest you take this to the edge of the bed once more...? "Oh, um okay?" Aria looks up at you in confusion, clearly worried that she was doing something wrong. She understands though when you get her to lay on the mattress, her head tilted back over the edge, and her tongue lolls expectantly as you rest your dick against it. Your brain was working overtime to overcome the usual post-climax downtime, and the stimulation from Aria's hole would assist greatly in that. And this time when you fill her mouth, you are easily able to push onwards into her throat. The streamer gurgles as your meat fills her throat, and a noticeable bulge shows in her neck, the sight of which dispels any lingering hesitations. Grunting like a beast, you fuck Aria's face with abandon, your cock roughly stuffing itself down her hole again and again, her Adam's apple bobbing frantically as she struggles to breathe. Spittle pours out of her mouth and erupts out of her nostrils as your balls slap against her nose, running down her forehead and into her hair while she steadily continues to masturbate even as her mouth is getting abused. Her breasts wobble enticingly upon her heaving chest while you relish the warm, wet hole you are fucking, and you know how you want to finish.

You pull out of Aria's mouth, and your dick is soon followed by a fresh gush of spittle that pours down her face as she gasps for air. She hurriedly scoops the frothy fluids out of her eyes as you haul her back onto the bed and clamber onto her chest, and she smirks knowingly as you grope her breasts, "You fucking want-" she coughs, "my fucking tits don't you?" her hands shove yours off of her breasts so she can squish them around your cock, and you start thrusting before she is even able to position it properly. You groan as the soft flesh of her boobs presses in around your shaft, it felt even better than you had fantasized, and you feel your balls quickly rising as you continue to hump her chest. Aria bites her lip and nods frantically, "Oh yeah, you fucking love my boobs, don't you? How many times have you beat your cock to my huge fucking tits?" she leans forward and sticks her tongue out, licking at your tip whenever it peeks out between her fleshy mounds, "I know you fap to me all the time, thinking about me on my knees with my slutty fucking tits out out for you... Yeah? Yeah you fucking do you fucking pervert! Oh fuck! Do it, fucking do it!" You are almost blubbering as you reach your orgasm, desperately fucking AriaSaki's massive breasts while she naughtily urges you on, precum already slopping out down her neck. With a howl you explode between her boobs, your load filling her cleavage before your cock slips out and your next ropes splatter against her open mouth and face. You frantically stroke your dick, working out the last dregs of sperm from you balls as you cover Aria's nipples with thick globs of cum, "Oh fuck yes," Aria exults as you paint her chest with your semen.

Aria happily sucks you clean, and while she does an idea pops into your head that you cannot ignore. You reach for your phone, which surprisingly had not been launched off the bed by your vigorous sex, and the streamer smiles dreamily as you hold it above her. You heart hammers as you drink in the sight through your camera: the famous AriaSaki with your softening cock resting between her tits, her breasts streaked with sweat and lines of cum, throwing up a double peace-sign while her spittle and jizz slathered face was twisted into the most depraved ahegao you had ever seen. It was almost enough to get you hard again, almost. But then Aria's alarm goes off on her phone, and you both glance over at it, realizing that your two hours were up, just in time. The streamer coughs awkwardly, and you scramble off her as she woozily lurches upright, giving you a shell-shocked look as she processes what she had just done. Sure, she was up 20,000 dollars, but now she had a stranger's semen roiling in her stomach, his sperm was wriggling its way into her womb, and his load covered her entire upper body. Aria lets out an exhausted sigh, before giving you a gloomy glare, "I think you should leave now," she says testily, before collapsing back onto the stained sheets. Not wanting to endure her infamous rages (by this point the poor neighbors had probably heard enough screaming already), you hastily dress before departing. And as you leave you hear her groan, "Oh my fucking god, he CAME IN FUCKING PUSSY! NEVER! NEVER AGAIN!", and you promptly slam the door shut to drown out the rest of her enraged shrieks.

A month later and you were at it again, perusing the backpages for hot escorts to masturbate to. Your time spent with Aria if anything had increased your arousal towards escorts, and when you were not pounding one out to her streams or your own memories of your time with her, or even that picture, you were pumping away to images of some lady of the night. Your heart nearly stops though when you come across a familiar advertisement for an insane price, it couldn't be. She said she would never do it again... But when you open it, you see that it was posted recently, and unlike before the description now was for a "No limits prostitute, please get tested so that you can fuck me raw in any way you want, my curvy Asian body is yours to use!" You are shaking as you type out a message, inquiring when she would next be available, and you almost pass out when you receive a response. A lewd selfie of Aria with her tongue sticking out, her arm pushing up her fat tits, precedes the message: "You again? Make sure to get tested this time so you can fuck me bareback properly this time! I love being your nasty little whore..."

Well, it seems like you will be spending the rest of your life ruinously in debt, but at least you will be spending it balls deep inside of AriaSaki's pussy!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

The Opening Act

Pop-Up Prompt: Valentine's Day/Love | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Over the Clothes Sexual Acts | Tags: Valentine's Day, Roommates, First Kiss, Confessions, Getting Together, Resolved Mutual Pining, Steve Harrington Will Jump in With Both Feet

The grocery store selection is lacking, at best. Steve waited too long. Dragging his feet on what he should, or shouldn't, do. If anything at all. It's Eddie. Eddie, his roommate.

Eddie, who probably doesn't feel the same way Steve's been feeling. But Steve has to find out. The not knowing, the possibility, is eating him alive. Nobody's ever accused Steve of not jumping in with both feet when he feels things. He wears his heart on his sleeve, according to Robin, anyway. 

He doesn't mind. He'll wear it there, and someday someone will be happy to see it. At least he hopes so. Sometimes he feels like Eddie might be the one who finally would.

"She must be pretty special if you're taking this long to choose."

Steve turns towards the old woman standing behind him.

"Girlfriend? Or someone you hope will be?"

Steve grins, just a little quirk of his lip, "That last one."

He's not gonna make corrections, Mother Goose here can think what she wants. He likes girls. But he loves Eddie. A lot.

So much so he's not sure where to put it all. 

"If you pick something out with love, she'll know," she says, smiling.

Steve nods. 

"Thanks," he says, and she rolls away, leaving him standing there, still unsure of what would best express his love. 

"Hey! I got pizza," Eddie says from the kitchen, shirtless, but when he looks up at Steve, his expression closes off, just a little. "Oh. Right. It's Valentine's Day. I'll save you some."

Steve's confused, then realizes he's standing there with flowers. Eddie doesn't want flowers. Eddie doesn't even have an inkling that they could be for him. This was a dumb idea. Steve tosses them on the counter.

"They're for Robin. Pizza's great," Steve says, and Eddie grins, flipping the lid of the pizza box open. 

"Look at this thing. It's a heart. Like, surprise! Everybody gets bludgeoned with Valentine's Day, like it or not."

The pizza is heart-shaped. Even the pepperoni slices are cut into hearts, and he wonders who on earth the pizza place has hired with that kind of get up and go. Not him and Robin, that's for damn sure. 

Sure, they'd solve a Russian mystery on company time, but go out of their way to make things special for the customers? No fucking way.

Maybe kids are more motivated these days. 

Eddie pulls two pepperoni hearts off of it, shoving one in his own mouth, and one in Steve's. Pepperoni stolen off slices is the best tasting pepperoni, or so Eddie has loudly declared, over and over.

Steve chews his contraband pepperoni, and puts the brown paper grocery bag on the counter. Eddie immediately starts digging through it, "Oooh! Honeycombs and Miller, you do love me, Harrington."

Shit. 

He does love him. Like, obviously. 

"And a heart-shaped box of candy? You shouldn't have, Harrington," he says sarcastically, tossing it next to the abandoned flowers.

He'd like to be locked into Eddie's heart-shaped box for weeks. 

Steve blushes at the thought. He doesn't even know what that'd entail with Eddie.

But he wants it. Wants anything Eddie would be down for, honestly.

Just wants Eddie.

Steve's having a minor crisis. He can't look away from Eddie's remaining nipple like a weirdo, like he hasn't seen him shirtless nine-thousand times. And now his dick's suddenly being insistent. Eddie's paying no attention, rooting around through the groceries like a raccoon, and Steve realizes nearly every item he pulls from the bag was specifically bought for Eddie.

And it was bought with love. Mother Goose was right. Hopefully Eddie is feeling it, even if he doesn't know what he's feeling. 

That's okay. Steve can love him, can buy what he likes, just to see him happy. It should be enough. 

It's not enough.

Steve grabs Eddie by the back of the neck, and Eddie squawks. Steve presses his mouth to Eddie's, and when he slides his tongue inside, he tastes pepperoni. It's not the best first kiss. 

But the fact that Eddie's gripping his sides, pulling him closer, makes up ground.

When they break apart, Eddie's breathing heavy, eyes a little wild, but he's still looking right at Steve, like he's unwilling to let Steve back away from this.

"The flowers. They were for you. I lied."

"Sucks for Robin, then," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"You on board with this?" 

"Are you fucking kidding me? I've been dropping hints for two years, Harrington. It's about fucking time."

Steve laughs, leaning forward, resting his forehead against Eddie's.

"Your breath stinks," Eddie says.

"Whose fault is that? I was minty fresh when I walked in here, Pepperoni Poacher."

Eddie laughs, and Steve pulls him closer, until they're kissing again. Eddie's breath is no better, but he doesn't give a shit. He's here, they're here, and he's gonna make the goddamn best of it. 

He slides his hand down Eddie's chest, quickly moving south, and Eddie just kicks his legs further apart, an invitation if Steve's ever seen one.

Eddie's in sweatpants, Steve's sweatpants, and they aren't hiding shit.

Steve presses the heel of his hand to Eddie's dick through the fabric.

"You could buy me dinner first," Eddie teases, but contradicts his own words, by grinding up into Steve's large palm.

"I think you bought me dinner," Steve says, nodding towards the pizza, still working his hand, getting a good feel. Letting the anticipation, the desire, build. 

Determined to make Eddie come undone, right here.

Eddie's head is tilted back, panting, exposing his throat, and his hands have a death grip on the edge of the kitchen counter. It makes Steve feel wanted. 

Maybe even loved.

And this hasn't even started yet. Not really. This is just the opening act.

"I, I," Eddie starts, choking on the words, "I ordered the pizza like that! Paid an extra fiver!" Eddie blurts, and Steve laughs, leaning into him, rewarding him with a firm stroke. 

"Of course you did."

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[bettystonewell]

SNICKERDOODLES & SPECIAL SAUCE

Part 3: Good Things Come in Threes

Story Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: 'Twas the night of fake Christmas and all through the halls, creatures were stirring, eventually on all fours... or ...Mrs Butters isn't just messing with Dean's underwear drawer. She's messing with your love lives, too. 18+ only

Word Count: 5.7k words (multiple POV)

Tags/Warnings: crack, friends to lovers, love potion, language, dubious consent, pining, eggnog, Mrs Butters is a terrible wingman, SMUT—————————————————————PART 1 || PART 2 || Part 3 || Read on AO3

Part 3: Good Things Come in Threes

…and Dean have been hit by some kind of lust spell, the message read, but Sam hit the backspace, scrapping it all. He tapped that screen almost as fast as your finger had done under your panties when he—nope!! He wasn’t going there.

He couldn’t send a message like that to Eileen, either. It would just lead to more questions, and he didn’t want to think about the situation, let alone go over the details of it all. Didn’t matter that Dean’s arm pumping action was enough to douse any fire, now and in the future.

Yeah. Dean. It was better to tell her about him, so, Dean’s been cursed, he tried, leaving out the part about you being hit with it, too.

Only, what if it got out you had? What if someone let slip what the actual curse was, and how Sam had walked in on you both?

He sighed and erased the text again, typing out, Mrs Butters is missing, instead. It didn’t explain Dean desperately calling him away from their phone call, but it was the truth.

God. Why was this so hard?

Because it’s Dean, he chided.

He’d been de-aged, lost his memory, kidnapped in his car and had her chase him twice, so if anything, this shouldn’t be a surprise. This kind of shit always happened to Dean.

His thumbs hovered over the screen, still contemplating what he should type next, when Jack appeared in his peripheral, popping out from the junction in the long corridor.

He shuffled down the hall towards Sam with a worried look on his face. All that twinkled overhead, lighting up the stray pieces of glitter he’d caught on his forehead and cheeks.

If only the wood nymph had left a trail through the remaining sparkles on the floor. Little heel shapes would be mighty helpful to find her, but no. It’s like she’d vanished into thin air.

“Hey,” Sam said, and hit send. He was quick to add, Dean pissed her off, and sent it straight after. “Any luck?”

He looked up just in time for Jack to step into his personal space. His drained eyes, hopeful and ready to cling to any good news Jack threw his way. Anything was better than the fat-load of nothing he had to show for.

But, “No,” Jack said, brow creasing in the middle in concentration. “And I checked all the closets and opened all the cubicle doors just like you told me to. Maybe we should call Cas?”

They were not calling Cas. Keeping Jack occupied was hard enough without another angel not understanding how consequential Dean and you having sex under a curse could be.

“Yeah. No, ah. You know what?” Sam shoved his phone back into his pocket and rejigged his Taurus in his hand. “Why don’t you check on them? Make sure Dean’s ropes are still tight.” He found Jack’s eyes and gave him his best reassuring smile, ignoring the niggle in his gut that knew Dean was a flight risk and probably busted out already.

“What about you?”

Sam cocked his gun and patted Jack on the shoulder. “She came out when Dean hit the reset button. I’m gonna see if I can lure her out by shutting this place down.”

And with that, Sam left Jack, and Jack headed towards the library, a little apprehensive about going in alone. Being told to check the ropes, even though he could smite Dean if he wanted to, was no easy feat. He respected him a great deal.

He was strong, knowledgeable about the world, and had taught him a lot. They’d even got around to “the talk,” so Jack was also knowledgeable about what was happening in the bunker that night.

Dean’s body, not the spell.

No, Jack had no idea why everything was happening as it was.

Just the physicalities.

He knew all about courting and fucking and the differences and similarities between them. It was all thanks to Dean. They hadn’t covered masturbation because Dean had said, “he was better left on his own there,” but Jack understood the basics of what Dean was going through.

Blood was pumping through Dean’s penis. He’d busted his nut three times (Sam had stopped him on the fourth), and was still erect now. Oh. And in pain. Which was difficult to understand because Jack had only ever experienced an erection when he woke up and it had just gone away on its own.

But he also didn’t sleep much, and he shrugged, considering his options as he walked the halls to you.

He wanted to ask Dean what it felt like. He was curious about you too, but from their talk, he knew not to ask you anything relating to your breasts or your vagina. It was okay to ask your partner, but it wasn’t okay to ask someone you weren’t courting, dating, or fucking.

Right. Yes. That’s definitely what Dean had said.

Coming from the lower levels meant Jack came into the war room via the eastern corridor, on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Besides the vibrant tree, still littered underneath with presents no one was supposed to open yet, it was Dean he spotted first.

His legs, from his calves to his ankles, were tied to his seat and not outstretched, as you’d expect. There was no manspreading going on, as you would say, either.

No. He was far from his usual relaxed self, calling out Jack’s name in irritation. Unbeknownst that his attempt to hide his relief was thwarted by Jack’s keen senses.

Jack rounded the edge of the map table and stepped up the stairs with a patter and a frown. Losing the squeaks his sneakers made when moving from the polished floors to wood always disappointed him.

“Hello Dean,” he said back to the hunter, hand waving in greeting, before setting his sights on you.

You looked no better. Eyes half lidded. Chest heaving. The skin that dipped below the neck of your shirt was lined with sweat, and tracing the curves of your breasts made Jack’s stomach feel funny. It also made his throat dry.

Why did it do that?

He popped his ears. Tried clicking his tongue and swallowing, but neither helped and his voice came out croaky like a frog’s. “Sam asked me to check on you both.” He rubbed his lips together.

“And where is Sam?” Dean asked. His sarcasm wasn’t missed. “Have you found her yet?”

“No. But he’s going to try the boiler room.”

An ominous clank cut Dean off mid eye roll. The lights cut him off, too. Well, the lamps and ceiling ones around the library and beyond in the halls did, but not Mrs Butters’ Christmas tree. It shone brighter. Rivaled only by the baubles, looped, and still blinking, ‘round the balustrades and staircase.

You could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the train’s whistle and Dean’s groan. “For the love of… What’s he planning to do?”

“Reversing you doofuses letting her out, obviously,” you said with a wheeze, and Jack decided it was time to get to work on the ropes. He did not want to be here any longer than he needed to be.

Dean was angry. You weren’t much better, but you were the best choice to start checking. The low lighting thankfully covered your breasts, but it wouldn’t for long. “She’s nowhere to be found.” He pulled on the ties that held your arms in place. “Sam thought she might appear if he tried restarting her.”

“Restart,” Jack felt Dean’s aura flare. He heard the blood as it pumped through his veins. “Okay, you know what? Jack, you need to untie me right now.”

“I can’t do that, Dean.” He wouldn’t. Sam had told him to check the ropes and make sure Dean was secured, and it was imperative that he did. “Sam said you two needed to stay separated.”

“And Sammy needs your help more than we do. Angel trumps wood nymph.”

“But I’m a nephilim.” And he was very confused.

“Yeah. Okay, sure. Son of Lucifer,” Dean quipped, but soon changed his tone to one of pleading. “Look. We’ll behave, alright? I promise.”

He promised? Dean never promised. At least he never used the word itself. He hadn’t exactly promised when he’d said they’d have the talk, and he’d kept his word then, so maybe it would be okay?

“She’s not looking too good there, Jack,” Dean added, and it was true, you weren’t.

Your breathing was slow and shallow. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead on top of your breasts now, and Jack could feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“Speak for yourself,” you said, but it was so quiet and lacking your usual pep, Jack’s stomach flipped. His mind did, too.

He stood tall and turned to face Dean. His eyes narrowed as they had when he’d questioned Sam’s plan in the first place.

He could trust Dean, couldn’t he?

Yes. Yes. Of course he could, and he nodded. “I’ll go back to Sam,” he said, and without even checking on Dean’s arms, rushed away to the boiler room to help there. Mrs Butters needed to be found, after all.

In his haste to be useful, however, even though he’d been reading both your auras; even though he’d heard Sam’s spiel about how dangerous the situation was; Jack was oblivious to the smirk that graced Dean’s face the second his back was turned.

Yeah. Dean was proud of himself. Oh-ho, yeah, he was, and his smirk only grew wider as Jack’s footsteps trailed away.

He’d been working on the ropes since the moment Sam had left the room. In control enough to know you were off limits, not enough that he could stay here any longer. Nope. He’d been watching your rack, too, though unlike Jack it’d been more than a few seconds, and he was not going there with you. Not when he’d probably come the second his dick got wet.

He had a reputation to uphold. That and you’d never let him live it down, knowing you. He’d be the butt of your jokes for as long as he lived.

So, rather than bothering to talk or check in with you, he let his dick and its needs lead. As soon as Jack left, he got back to it, shimmying his wrists back and forth, only it wasn’t doing much good.

Stupid nightgown. Why the hell hadn’t he put on his jeans and jacket? Oh right. Because then it would’ve chafed. Caught on fire like flint and tinder.

Screw this. The floor was below him and with enough force, he’d break the chair just like he’s done in Texas. Sam and Jack wouldn’t notice that with all the concrete, rebar and wiring layered between them and him, giving Dean plenty of time to escape. Plus, the boiler room was at the other end of the joint.

Perfect!

He tested the waters, pushing his toes into the polished wood below them, and when he was certain he wouldn’t add injury to the insult, he braced himself.

‘Okay,’ he breathed out a puff of air. ‘You can do this, Deano.’

Huh. Deano? Your nickname for him was cute, but why the hell was he using it? He was gonna count to three, but after that he gave up and just went for it.

He gripped the right arm of his seat and swung himself to the left, lifting the leg an inch if he was lucky. Shouldn’t have had that second helping of turkey or ham.

He sighed louder than the first time, eyes flicking to you when he realised you’d said nothing since Jack left. Not even a squeak of surprise at the thump he’d made.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” He had trouble pulling himself away from your rack to your chin. “Sweetheart?” he tried again, and a small choke answered him.

You see, while Dean was doing alright, you weren’t so much. It was bad enough Sam’d tied you up, but leaving you smack bang across the table from him was the stupidest, most inconsiderate thing Sam had ever done.

You were going to kill him. You were no longer sorry Mrs Butters had told you his business. Eileen deserved her privacy. Sam did not.

Just being in Dean’s presence had doubled the pain. You thought it was excruciating before? Hah! Think again.

You’d dropped your head just to avoid his sultry gaze. A mix of concern and dilated pupils you’d mistake for him being high had it not been seeing him equally affected by whatever she’d done to you.

“It hurts, De.”

Your white knuckles and sweaty palms held on too tight to the arms of the chair. Damn. That Pink song knew a thing or two, even if the lyrics and your body had differing opinions.

You didn’t want Dean to blow you one last kiss. No. Oh no. You’d settle for blowing him, or better yet, him blowing his warm breath over you because everything was on fire. The depths of your panties, the worst. The stiff wood under your ass and your pyjama shorts weren’t doing nothing for you. Neither were your knees rubbing together.

“Would you quit it?” Dean growled, and the echo went straight there.

A shiver. A trickle. A shock? Whatever it was, your cooch clenched tight to trap it and you had to stifle the moan you almost couldn’t.

Fuck. Your head wanted to explode. Your front teeth bit so darn hard into the meat of your lower lip, they grazed the bottom set below them.

“It really hurts,” you said again, as if saying so was the magic chant you needed to tell the spell uncle.

“Yeah, well. You squirming like that ain’t exactly a picnic for me, either.”

The gravel in his voice had your head flicking back up. It moved to follow his staring at your boobs.

Your nipples, unlike in the kitchen earlier, were now visible through your sleep shirt. Hard and perky. You’d be insulted, but all you saw besides the lights flashing in the other room was a dick on legs, and what it could do for you.

Those fingers of his, just below the ledge of the table. Those lips, pink and plump, rivaled only by his tongue that swiped over them, could wrap around the girls any day, and, “Fuck.” Your body shuddered through the long squeak it released, elongating the word even further, like a balloon neck still pinched tight.

Nothing. There was nothing you could do to make this better. Had the knots not tied you to the chair, you’d have crumpled in a heap on the floor, shuffling and moaning. Probably would’ve pissed yourself by now.

The pressure was severe enough, and your head dropped once more. Shoulders rising and falling beside your neck as you pulled the air back into your lungs with deep breaths.

“Hey. You okay?”

No. No, you weren’t. Your body needed physical stimulation. You knew it, Jack knew it, and you’d settle for a brush of Dean’s pinky finger against your own at this point.

His fingernail. The hair at the end of his knuckle. The cool metal of his 1911 would get him and you both off if you were smart about it.

So you fluttered your lashes and let the tips fan your cheeks. Your eyes peeked through them with your best wanton gaze. “There must be something you can do,” you said. “If you get us out, I’ll scratch your back, and maybe you can scratch mine?”

Not only did you hope that would get Dean’s attention, you sure as hell fucking meant it.

And you got it.

His cock twitched below his nightgown. A bead of cum spilled out from its tip, and Dean planted his feet on the ground and tried rocking again.

To the left, to the right, adrenaline was an amazing thing. Each new lift of the chair legs had him swinging and swaying, and the floorboards making god-awful sounds. But then inertia gave way and kinetic energy kicked in, and Dean’s right arm and shoulder pummeled into the floor with a thump.

His funny bone twanged. His throat gave a grunt. His dick bobbed up and down. It re-pitched the tent in his purple polyester blend the second he bounced back, tall and proud.

Fuck yeah! He was free, and scrambling on his bow legs to free you, too.

“You really wanna?” His question trailed off as you licked your lips. Your eyes, drawn to the tent of his giant hug.

He’d be insulted, but his small brain and actual brain were fighting for dominance. That moan you made when his pinky grazed your thigh was porn for his ears, and with the added ambiance, your face belonged in one. But did you just?

Wow. Well, if that didn’t do it for a guy (or girl), he had some questions. He’d barely touched you.

Screw Miss January. Mrs Butters could get stuffed like her turkey. He was gonna fuck you if you were going to let him, and his lips found their way to yours, crashing down with force and heat, before you could say no.

They seared, unrelenting, not letting you leave your seat. He’d jump you like a dog, but he wasn’t that far gone. Or was he?

Chuck. Fuck the spell. Mrs Butters had done him a favour. He’d die happy if that’s what this was. Satisfied with the taste of you on his tongue. The power he had over you with just his fingertips.

He just had one question - could he keep it?

No! Absolutely not, if Sam had anything to say about it. This night was the worst.

Seeing Dean’s junk, seeing you touch yourself, seeing an old wood nymph cry.

Oh yeah, he’d found Mrs Butters. Or rather, she found him, having apparated before him the second he shut the power off. She now stood in the corner, cowering, her hoot high in pitch when Sam pulled his gun on her, beady eyes only likening her more and more to an owl as they widened in terror.

You were right about her making a mean Merlin, or whatever his name was, but Sam was at his wit’s end, and about ready to shoot.

“So it was you?” His gaze pierced those peepers of hers back, finger trembling on the trigger of his Taurus. Unaware of what might happen if he shot at her. Very aware not to show it.

He should’ve checked the lore.

But then she dropped her head into her hands, remorseful or conniving, Sam wasn’t sure, and “Yes,” she said. “But it wasn’t supposed to do this…and…and—”

“And what?” Sam’s nostrils flared.

“It’s too late.”

And it was.

Too late to stop you, that is.

Dean had you on your feet and you were walking. Hands grabbing, fingers caressing, your bodies stepping in time like a practiced dance.

Through the halls he led you, lips nibbling and sucking your neck, your collarbone, the top of your cleavage. Wherever he could reach, he attacked, and wherever he went, you welcomed. Your hips and pelvis especially.

Yes, you undulated against him while your hands fumbled with his nightgown. His bedroom door slammed shut behind you, but you were too busy to bat an eyelid. Wrapped in hugs? No. That thing, with its excessive amount of fabric, wrapped Dean up like a chastity belt, protecting him from you and your aching heat from him.

It still burned. Still throbbed. Sweaty palms and fingertips, leaving prints that’d put crime-scene investigators outta their job if they used it for evidence. Not that he cared. He was too busy helping you with your clothing.

Your shirt, your shorts, he pushed you forward and soon had your lust-drunk-ass tumbling onto the memory foam of his bed with a bounce and grin from ear to ear. And when he pulled that lilac monstrosity off and over his head himself, he gave you little warning or vantage to take a decent peek at that part of him. You sure felt it, though.

Dean pinned you beneath him and pushed a knee flush between your legs. Anyone would think you were going somewhere, but you weren’t. Your pussy lips spread open wide, trying to draw him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck.

Fuck indeed. It was all too much. The length of him glided over your hip, electrifying everywhere it touched. You’d gone from seeing it, to feeling it, hard, hot and more than ready for you in a matter of hours. You’d tear apart into a million pieces if he didn’t tear you with it soon.

So, without a word, your arm snaked its way between your bodies to grip him, experimenting with a soft tug or two, pleased when he grunted under your touch.

You’d high five yourself, but your hands were busy and you didn’t have the resolve to stop. Neither did he.

No. There was no checking in. No questioning. Who cared if you were on birth control or not? He just pulled up, shifted himself to claim your lips, and prodded your lower ones with his blunt tip.

Your sloppy kisses struggled to return his intensity, more focused on pulling him closer and encouraging him to move by opening your legs even wider, hooking your ankles over his. You really were a floozy, and Dean only exemplified it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t,” he said against your chin, before snapping his hips forward with a groan that rumbled straight up your spine.

Just as his pinky had left your panties a mess, that one thrust was all it took. Your inner walls spasmed ‘round him. The rest of you clung where you could as he set his pace, chasing the high Sam had interrupted two hours ago.

Your muscles contorted; skin tingled. Your back arched off the mattress. But even though you’d just come, your clit, your cunt, your whole being demanded more. Fingers dragged down Dean’s back, scraping, raking down and around to knead the soft flesh of his ass.

“Oh god. Don’t do that. I’m not gonna—”

But it was too late. His mouth opened into a tightened O and ropes of his cum painted your insides. Each throb pulsing against your still clenched walls.

“Shit.” He panted, chest heaving against yours. “I never blow that quick.” He swallowed, then grunted. The primality of it, the sexiest damn thing you’d ever heard.

“Me either.” You huffed. He’d given you two orgasms with little foreplay. Hell, you hadn’t even spoken. That had to be a record for any girl, not to mention he’d come, what, four times himself? The guy was over forty, and still his flesh burned molten hot.

Then again, so did yours.

You let go to star-fish underneath him, rolling your neck backwards into the pillow to draw air into your lungs. “You, ah, you good?” you asked. Though why you bothered when even Dean, with his world-renowned game and prowess, couldn’t break the spell, was beyond you.

“Are you?” He cocked his brow.

“It’s manageable,” you said, which was better than no.

Of course, Dean looked down at you. His eyes searched for the truth. He found it too, when he gave up on your top half to watch between you, drawing another couple of slow pumps in and out.

“Manageable, huh?” He chuckled at your whimper. Even gave you a devious wink. “Think you can manage switching positions?”

Sam wished he could switch positions, too.

No, not like that.

Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of what was going on behind Dean’s door. Well, no, that’s not true. He did. He stood above the evidence you’d left behind in the library, put two and two together, and now stood, staring dumbstruck at the broken seat.

Why did he bother?

“I told you to check the ropes,” he said to Jack, who was looking mighty sheepish. Of course, Sam should’ve known he’d been rather quick returning to the boiler room.

“Dean promised he—”

“And you believed him?” Yeah, Sam was wrong. Cas might’ve been useful. At least he wasn’t so gullible.

He thought.

Honestly, Sam could only scoff. His grin, wide in disbelief, as he stretched thumb and pointer over his eyes.

Blowing his brains out would be easier. Then he wouldn’t have to face your wrath when you realised what you’d done. Screw Dean’s. Though he guessed it was in his best interests to fix things.

“Okay.” He turned to Mrs Butters, cuffed and still looking sorry for herself. Whether the cuffs worked on her was another matter altogether. She hadn’t fussed about them at least. Though her beady eyes still stared into the depths of his soul as if this was all his fault. “Say you did it right. What was supposed to happen?”

“Does it matter? Aren’t you going to stop them before th-th-th-they—”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah. Even you said it was too late.” Though she’d made it sound like you were going to die.

He tucked his gun into the waistband of his sweats so as not to be tested. “But if you want to,” his arm stretched out wide in the general direction of room eleven, “Be my guest.”

Like Mr Bean and his incompetence or Mr Magoo, well past his prime, she’d messed up the love potion, not him. He couldn’t be held responsible for what you guys did because of too much henbane from a housekeeper who needed glasses.

Her thrill was less impactful. Her whole body shuddered. The woman, old-fashioned and teetering on sexist, was more disgusted than Dean was going to be once he learned he’d lost his free will to food.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Then sit.” He pointed at her, then at the table. His other hand ran through his hair, waiting as she did what she was told with a slow step and a pout.

“So will it wear off?” Jack asked over his shoulder, and honestly, Sam didn’t know what to say.

He was tired. His experiences with love spells sealed shut years ago for good reason, so unless he looked up the lore or called Rowena, he was leaning along the path of, was it fatal and could it be left until morning?

But Mrs Butters whimpered. “A kiss would have made or broken the spell,” she said.

“So that means Dean just needs to ejaculate inside her?” Jack chimed in before Sam could, seeming very proud of his speculation, and, yeah, that did it. Sam was going to bed. Part of him wanted to know why she’d done it, but he’d had enough.

As much as he hated to admit it, he and Mrs Butters were on the same page as Jack. If her beet-red cheeks were anything to go by, you’d both be fine come morning, assuming Dean had enough juice left.

Embarrassed, yes, and ready to kill Mrs B. But maybe, just maybe, dare he say, you’d be happy about it? He would when she was gone.

Dean was still oblivious to the mystery being solved, still seated in your sweet heat. Sure, he was doubting how much longer he could keep it up, but the squelch was heavenly. You, on all fours before him now, crying in pleasure with your continued eagerness for him to touch and taste you; he wondered if you’d do it again? Or was this a onetime thing?

“That’s it,” he drawled, trying not to let thoughts of what happened next bother him. He watched himself push in and out. Watched his spend and your juices mix and get pushed back inside, too, savouring the sight for his mental spank bank. This one would be a treat.

“Give me another one,” he cooed.

“Listen to your own advice,” you clapped back, and he fucking loved it.

He reached around to your clit and thumbed the now over-sensitive bud, proud of himself yet again when your body betrayed you.

You squirmed on his cock, and he was spilling into you with more ropes of his special sauce soon after. Your sweet pussy gripped him like a vise.

Yeah, that joke was long past its use-by date, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to use it.

He pulled you in close and rolled you over before he could fall on you, exhausted, keeping you flush against him. A sheen of sweat, the only division between. Whatever the old bitch had done, if she was out to get you, he’d deal with it, but he’d also thank her, maybe…it depended on what happened here with you.

“You good?” He cursed the croak in his voice, but if you noticed his moment of weakness, or the repetitious irony, you said nothing towards it, first answering with a contented hum.

“It’s manageable.” You chuckled, wheezing when he gave a soft slap to your ass cheek. “Okay, it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“But you’re still hurtin’?”

“Just chafing.”

You shook your head, and Dean frowned, raising himself on his elbow to lean over you. His dick slipped free, although with the sight of your rack before him, it wouldn’t take long.

“You wanna make a run for the showers? Get cleaned up?” He might even consider getting you ice from the kitchen, though he couldn’t see that helping when he shuddered at the thought of putting some on his junk.

At first you were silent. Eyes refused to look back up at him. He felt your heart pick up its pace. The tightening movement in your limbs and chest, too, before you’d even moved.

“Guess I should get outta your hair,” you said, sitting up, and Dean was foolish to let you. Or maybe just a genius. A stupid one, but a genius nonetheless, recording more footage to his brain for further use, because it looked like he was going to need it.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He stood up, too, not caring that little-Dean was also on display.

He strode over to where you stood, drawing you in with a hand on both hips. His fingers traced the marks they’d left earlier, electrifying your skin all over again.

“No. No.” You took a step back. “It’s okay. It’s weird, right?”

Least, it was for you. This all happened because of a stupid spell. Something well beyond your control. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to fuck you before all this. He’d never even made a move on you until now, and now didn’t count.

But his hands gripped your flesh tighter. Bound to indent the little calluses you’d discovered on his hands the further you got throughout your evening. Your overused cunt even fluttered with interest when he said, “Only if you keep walking away.”

His eyes darted to the floor, and yours followed.

Oh god. You’d left a trail of cum there. One large dollop even hung just below the edge of your slit. Now you really wanted to die.

Your hand tucked down into your folds, slipping through the mess you’d both made. “How many times did you—”

“Three,” he boasted.

“And before we?” Your free hand, not holding everything in, swept the air between you.

“Three.”

Oh god. Even on birth control, you weren’t taking the risk if three times one way and three the other meant making stuff with love. You searched his eyes and found them, still wearing his cheeky grin. “First thing tomorrow, you’re taking me to a pharmacy.”

“Why?”

“To get Plan B.”

“You’re not on anything?” His voice hitched.

“Course I am!” Living a hunter’s life? You’d be stupid not to. “And now that my heads screwed on, I ain’t risking it given the circumstances.”

Dean blinked and flicked his head down. “What? you think my special sauce is extra special now?”

“That’s not funny.”

Fuck! You needed a shower. An actual douche would be better. But unless Mrs Butters’ boys had vaginas and kept them in the infirmary with all the other outdated equipment, one of those was coming from the pharmacy, too.

You looked to Dean in horror, expecting to see mirrored panic. Expected him to at least hide the pearly whites in his mouth, but no, those lips of his flattened into a thin line. One that curled on the end.

“Okay. Would you relax?” he said.

“Don’t tell me to relax. You’re not full of,” you couldn’t say those two words again. Cum seemed worse outside the act. Baby gravy? Jizz? Spunk? Oh god.

“I made it!” And he looked insulted, too. “Look, I’ll take you first thing, alright? But we’ve still got a few hours before they open.”

You didn’t miss the wag of his brows or the suggestive tone that further accompanied the suggestion to relax, either. Typical Dean. He’d just been up close and personal with your cunt, yet he struggled to open up.

“We’re past the awkwardness, don’t you think?”

“Look who’s talking.”

He had a point, but the phrase just brought on memories of babies sounding like Bruce Willis, and that ship needed to set sail. So when those calloused hands of his grazed your skin further to grab the globes of your ass, your body and mind welcomed them. Yup. Floozy.

He pushed you flush against him, much like he had throughout the night. Fingers embedded into flesh from both sides. His lips, no longer tasting of cinnamon and snickerdoodles, pressed into yours with the taste of him and you. The squelch, more delectable than anything made down below.

“I gotta sink right there,” he said between kisses. “Plenty of clean shirts.” He chuffed through another. “Wanna stay the night?”

And what did your floozy do?

Yeah. She agreed.

She didn’t even need to think hard about it. Better leaving hardness to other things. Yes, he was crude. Yes, he liked to wear his underthings inside and out, but the man had already reeled you in with an oversized purple nightgown. And the way he made his special sauce.

Or should you thank Butters for that?

PART 1 || PART 2 || Part 3 || Read on AO3—————————————————————There was another scene on the end there, but it didn’t feel like a satisfying conclusion when I was getting ready to post so I scraped it last minute which means - there might be a part 4? Mrs Butters needs some consequences right?

Leave it with me 😉 Coming next:

To You I Belong - 21/02 🇦🇺🕕

Omegaverse - Soulmate AU - Pregnancy (x reader) Dean isn’t looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to find the one meant for him is on the job. But it’s not the monsters he hunts that you need rescuing from. It’s someone closer to you. (Dual POV) 18+ only MDNI This one is darker than the other things I’ve been posting and might not be suitable for everyone - pls check the warnings in the series Masterlist (link above) final word count unknown 20 parts + timestamps—————————————————————DEAN TAGLIST:

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2

SNICKERDOODLES UPDATES:

@happyfxckinghorrors @bitchykittenconnoisseur

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my work, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

[firstprincehornyramblings]

In lieu of a wip wed posted at the correct time, I am teasing a mini fic at 2am that I started on a whim- which I hope to have finished and posted within the coming days, involving these two pretty things

snippet below the cut?

----- yes, it is an 80's AU between rock cover band singer acd and pop princess enthusiast henry

“Alright, one more,” the man’s voice was teasing as he sauntered to the front of the stage, leaning down closer to eye level as he rested one hand on the mic stand, “How about one for the ladies?” he asked, before turning his head to lock eyes on Henry, “And you too,” he added with a devilish wink before standing up straight. It probably should have been cheesy, watching this god of a man stand up and clap in time to a bass beat of the drum, while announcing the song was a cover of Mötley Crüe’s ‘Girls Girls Girls’ but at this point Henry was convinced he could do anything, and it would still be sexy. That included the way he stepped to the edge of the stage, taking the microphone off the stand and leaning down close while he sang the lyrics. What Henry did notice was that several girls in the crowd were nearly pawing at this man’s legs, all the way up to his thighs. Clearly it was allowed, because occasionally he’d lock fingers with one of them, holding hands for a moment before he stepped to a different place on the stage. That was one thing Henry had to give him, he owned the stage like he’d been doing this his entire life, maybe he had, he looked slightly older than Henry. In a moment of daring and audacity usually only thrust upon him with vodka or a private room somewhere, as the song slowed to a bridge Henry reached his own hand up. He pressed against the hard wood of the stage; it only came up to about his thighs anyway. He did have the slight advantage of being a bit taller than most of the outstretched hands. But the man walked closer, almost walking his thigh right into Henry’s palm, that would have been enough to kill him if he’d had a moment to absorb it. That privilege wasn’t afforded to him, as the man’s free hand rested on his, the size totally encompassing Henry’s fingers. He grabbed Henry’s hand, pulling it up higher, pressing it right into the crotch of his jeans- Henry’s palm pressed right into this man’s cock, he could feel the outline under that skintight denim, especially as hips pressed closer. ‘I’m such a good, good boy, I just need a new toy.’ Those dark eyes locked on Henry’s as that line was sung directly to him? Henry was sure his heart stopped, feeling electricity shoot through him as seconds later the man turned on heel, walking to another side of the stage. His heart was still racing, and it did for what felt like the remaining years left of that song. He was staring in wonder as those long fingers played another guitar solo, that man biting his bottom lip with intense focus right until the song ended.

YAY LETS HOPE I KEEP MOMENTUM AND FINISH IT AS QUICKLY AS I WANT

no pressure tagging time <3

@taste-thewaste @henrysfox @mikibwrites @judasofsuburbia

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @anti-homophobia-cheese

@redlipstickandglitter @eusuntgratie

@thesleepyskipper @tailsbeth-writes @thighzp @lfg1986-2

@bitbybitwrites @midnight-soulless-system

+ literally anyone else; I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[smoooothoperator]

Rewrite The Stars

00: Prologue

Lando Norris x surgeon!OC (Lyra Montgomery)

runnaway bride, forbidden love, destinated lovers, love triangle, second chance, road trip

a/n: Are you guys excited to get into this new story? Because I'm so excited to show you this story!!

If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

🩺

I have always known exactly what my life was supposed to look like.

From the moment I stepped into my first anatomy class, from the first time I stitched skin back together, from the first night I stayed awake in the trauma bay, I understood the path that had been laid out for me.

Surgeon. Like my father. Like my mother. Like my siblings.

A Montgomery.

And now, with the weight of my engagement ring pressing against my skin, I had one more title to add to my carefully built life.

Fiancée.

Soon-to-be wife.

The future Mrs. Davis.

A soft laugh escapes my lips as I glance across the ballroom, my fingers curling around the crystal champagne flute in my hand. The engagement party is in full swing, and everything about tonight feels like it’s been taken from the pages of some perfect love story movie.

The city skyline stretches beyond the glass walls, London twinkling in the distance. The hum of conversation blends with the soft notes of a string quartet in the corner.

It’s elegant. Sophisticated. Everything my mother wanted when she helped plan the party.

And at the center of it all, standing across the room in a tailored navy suit, is Edward.

My fiancé.

The man I love.

His blond hair is neatly styled, his sharp features relaxed as he listens to one of my father’s colleagues. But as if sensing my gaze, he looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

A smile tugs at his lips. The smile that still makes my heart skip a beat.

I don’t wait for him to come to me, I move first, weaving through the crowd, murmuring polite greetings to family friends and hospital board members.

When I finally reach him, his hand finds the small of my back, pulling me effortlessly into his space.

“Having fun, Dr. Montgomery?” he murmurs, amusement in his tone.

I roll my eyes at the use of my last name, even though I secretly love the way he says it. 

“Immensely.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe a little.” I smirked.

His hand tightens around my waist, and when he leans in, his breath is warm against my ear. 

“Let’s run away.”

“My mother would kill us.” I laughed.

“Worth it.”

I shake my head, resting my forehead against his shoulder for a brief moment, breathing him in. He smells like home.

My mother would call him the perfect match, and for once, she would be right. 

So why do I feel like something is missing?

The thought comes out of nowhere, like an uninvited guest slipping into the party. I try to shake it off by drinking a small sip from the flute glass, to let the champagne and laughter drown it out, but suddenly, I find myself scanning the crowd.

Looking for someone who isn’t here.

I exhale, forcing myself to focus as my father raises his glass, commanding the room’s attention.

“To the future of the Montgomery legacy” he says proudly. “Lyra, my brilliant daughter. Edward, the man we are proud to welcome into our family. This marriage is more than a union of two people. It is a symbol of trust, history, and the bright future of the Montgomery Memorial Hospital.”

A round of applause follows. 

And yet, I can’t ignore the emptiness creeping in at the edges of my happiness.

I know what, or rather who, it is.

Lando.

He should be here. He was supposed to be here.

For years, we talked about this moment, jokingly, then seriously. He always swore he would be at my wedding, standing in the front row, probably making some inappropriate joke under his breath to make me laugh.

But he’s not here.

And I don’t know why now that suddenly matters so much.

Edward’s fingers lace through mine as the speeches continue, his thumb brushing absently against my skin. I let myself sink into the warmth, the familiarity, the certainty.

This is the life I have always known I would have. This is the man I will marry.

This is everything I want.

Isn’t it?

🏎️

I shouldn’t care.

I should be happy for her. That’s what best friends do, right? They show up, they smile, they make stupid speeches about how they always knew this was meant to be.

But I can’t.

The wedding invitation has been sitting on the table of the living room for weeks, unopened. I don’t need to read it. I already know what it says.

Lyra Montgomery &  Edward Davis request the honor of your presence…

I let out a slow breath, gripping the railing of my balcony as I stare out at the city lights below. Monaco is beautiful this time of night, but the view feels empty.

Because she’s not here.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Lyra was always going to end up with someone like Edward. Someone perfect. Someone steady. Someone her family approved of. Someone that wouldn’t risk everything by getting in a car.

Still, knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Fourteen years.

That’s how long I’ve loved her.

Fourteen years since I met her in the halls of our high school when we were both twelve, when she was the only girl who ever managed to shut me up.

Fourteen years of friendship. Of late night calls, of her showing up at my races, of me sitting with her while she studied.

Fourteen years of wanting more. Of almost saying something. Of swallowing it down every single time because I was terrified of losing her.

And now, I have lost her anyway.

A sharp laugh escapes me, bitter and quiet. 

Maybe I already did. And the worst is that I can’t remember why we grew apart.

She hasn’t called. Not about the engagement. Not to check in. Not even to ask if I’m coming to the wedding. One day the invitation arrived to my mail, without a warning.

That’s what stings the most. Because once upon a time, she promised I would be there and give me the invitation herself.

We used to talk about it. She used to say I would be the one making her laugh right before she walked down the aisle. That she would be the one rolling her eyes at my terrible speech during the reception. That no matter what happened, I would always be there.

But then Edward came, erasing me from her life.

Edward got her.

I exhale, running a hand through my hair, trying to shove the thoughts away. It shouldn’t matter anymore.

I shouldn’t go.

It would be easier to stay away, to pretend this doesn’t bother me, to let her marry the man she loves.

But I’ve never been good at staying away from her.

And a part of me, the reckless and selfish part, wants to see her one last time.

Because if I have to lose her, I at least want to know if she ever felt even a fraction of what I’ve felt for her all these years.

Even if it kills me.

taglist

@alltoomaples @helvegen-s @leptitlu @mendes-bae @cmleitora @elisysd

[mikibwrites]

Fuck it Friday

It's 4:13AM and I just wrote a scene in a wip I haven't touched in over a year, so that's something! Here's a gift for those who continuously tag me every week in wip games, you don't know how much I appreciate you, even when I'm having such horrible writer's block. This is from my TrueBlood AU, in which I am attempting to rewrite each episode of LS, except it takes place in the TB universe. It's slow going bc of the changes I have to make BUT it still lives in my head all the time. So here's something a little sad and angsty, but maybe hopeful? This is from 1x08, so you have context, but obviously things are different ;) It's a long one, too. An entire scene, 1k! So there's more under the cut :)

Hours later, his father had gone home exasperated and TK couldn’t find it in himself to care. The sweet nurse was back. This time, for some reason, he clocked her name badge: Traci. 

Traci didn’t pay him any mind as she grabbed the chart off the end of Carlos’ bed, checked his heart rate, oxygen saturation, all the monitors and lines connected to his body. She pulled out a penlight and carefully, so very gently, raised his eyelids to shine the beam into his pupils. TK knew she’d find no reaction, but he also knew it was another thing to check off a list, just in case. 

Traci went through the entire checklist in silence, not acknowledging TK at all, which was odd. She usually had a kind smile for him, even if it reminded him of his father’s—a little exasperated. But this time she ignored him entirely as she went about her duties. He wondered if he’d annoyed her enough that her kind demeanor—her customer service face, he almost snorted to himself—had fallen by the wayside when he was the only one present in the room. He’d become furniture, which was fitting, since he felt like he’d solidified in place. He hadn’t moved a single muscle in hours, not even needing to breathe to put on a good show for anyone. 

Finally, Traci hooked the chart back on the end of the bed, but instead of leaving the room without a word as TK expected her to do, she turned and looked right at him.

For a moment, her eyes were hard, determined, but it seemed like this sweet woman was incapable of harshness because they softened after only a moment, looking at him with something like pity. It didn’t even raise his hackles like it normally would. He had no strength left to care what she thought of him.

“Listen,” she began softly, still standing a few feet away from. “I don’t know much about vampire health, but I do know about the bleeds. You need to sleep soon, or feed, or you’ll die.”

“I’m already dead,” was TK’s rote answer. She sighed, and he could tell she was slightly annoyed at him but didn’t want to show it. 

“I can bring you a bag from the—”

“No.” He almost winced at his harsh tone, his nature creeping out of him a bit, snarling. 

She didn’t question why he wouldn’t take a blood bag from their supply, just moved on. He was oddly thankful amidst his melancholy. 

“Then let me find you a light-tight room for a couple of hours. Please, you need to rest. Do you think, when he wakes up, he’ll want to see you like this? Not taking care of yourself?” TK could applaud her tactic, appealing to his very obvious care for the man in the hospital bed, but he had an answer for that too. 

“To be honest, he probably won’t want to see me anyway. It’s not like we’re anything serious.”

She raised a very skeptical eyebrow at him. He couldn’t blame her. He was purposefully slowly killing himself holding vigil for a man he’d pushed away at every slight show of something deeper between them. He probably should have taken this as a sign from the universe that he should cut ties with Carlos for good, that being around TK wasn’t safe for him. The worst part was, what happened had nothing to do with the supernatural at all; it was just Carlos’ job and it’s random, merciless dangers that landed them here. But TK couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t a sign from the universe anyway. 

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word on that. Please, let me find you somewhere to rest, and you can come back in a couple of hours.” Her face was all sympathy, almost pleading.

“Why do you care what happens to me, anyway?” I’m a monster from your nightmares, he doesn’t say out loud, a qualifier that isn’t needed but true all the same. 

“I’m a nurse. Caring about people is in the job description,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“I’m not people.” It’s a true statement, full stop.

“See, I don’t believe that. I think everyone, good or bad, living or dead, has a right to health and happiness. And right now, I care about his health and your health and also my own sanity, so I can’t watch this anymore without doing something about it. Also, I’m pretty sure I could take you right now, in the state you’re in, so don’t try me again. I’ll be back in a moment.”

With that, she breezed out of the room and TK was left floundering. She was right, though; she could probably bully him into any position she chose right now, given how much his body had deteriorated without rest or blood. He felt like he’d melt into the floor soon. 

When she returned less than ten minutes later, she practically did just that. She threw a heavy blanket over him and grabbed his wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. “Can you stand?”

“Maybe,” he said honestly. 

He let her help him from the chair, unsteady on his feet and leaning on her more than he would like to admit. 

“There’s no windows between here and where we’re going, but I brought the blanket just in case. Come on, we’re even staying on this floor. But if you sass me one more time, I’m putting you down in the morgue.”

That almost startled a laugh out of him, more an exhalation of air than anything else. 

The room she brought him to had two small cots and a row of five lockers. A break room of sorts. What he really needed was to go to ground, an enclosed space near the surface of the earth would rest him properly, but if this was the best he was getting it was more than he deserved. She didn’t turn the light on when they entered, which he was grateful for. The harsh lights of the hospital were already getting to him, another thing he didn’t want to admit, but she seemed to instinctively know how to handle his needs in the moment. 

She guided him over to a cot and helped him sit. He was nearly instantly horizontal, like a felled tree, but he was grateful when his head hit a pillow and not something hard like the cot’s frame. He lost track of the passage of time while she tucked him in like a sweet mother, taking care with him like he was someone worth caring about. Like he was human. 

“Sleep, and I promise I’ll come wake you myself if there are any changes, okay?”

He looked at her wryly with all the strength he had left, his body already drifting into a state of altered consciousness. “You’d wake a sleeping vampire? You have a death wish?”

She scoffed at him with a smirk. “Did we not just establish that I could totally take you?”

He wanted to laugh at her, wanted to come back with something snarky but also menacing, but he was already out.

Tagging some Tarlos mutuals @herefortarlos @guardian-angle22 @bonheur-cafe @carlos-tk @paperstorm @basilsunrise @rmd-writes @lemonlyman-dotcom @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @firstprince-history-huh and also specifically thanking @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses and @strandnreyes for tagging me in other wip games :)

[aambearr]

Mr. Forgetful ❦

Summary- Soldier Boy isn’t one for valentines. SoldierBoyxfem!reader

Warnings- none <3

Notes- first time writing something so please be mindful 🙈

Dividers @strangergraphics @chaeneuu @roseraris

You’d been off with him all day, quiet and seemingly mulling something over in your brain. At first he had brushed it off, in true Ben fashion, as you ‘being a hormonal woman’. His words not yours. Usually he’d leave it at that not wanting to be on the receiving end of your ‘nagging’, however, Ben couldn’t cease the idea that someone more was brewing.

As he sat, legs spread on the couch, a joint precariously resting between his fingers, he seemed to study you intently for any kind of giveaway.

“Alright, tell me what’s up. ‘Been ignoring it all day but I’ve missed that pretty smile of yours”Throwing in a bit of charm in hopes it would warm you up, but, to his avail a scoff is what he got.

“I’m fine, nothings wrong”

The response was curt and disinterested, instantly making his curious frown deepen into one of slight impatience and worry. Whilst he portrayed himself as some big Marlboro man, Ben did care. Ben wasn’t Soldier Boy as much as he liked to tell you that there was no matter of indifference.

“Don’t give me that crap, c’mon, what have I done?” His tone was a little agitated as he huffed out a plume of thin smoke, the stench of weed permeating the air. The only flaw he would ever admit to having was impatience.

This time however you dont say anything, instead your gaze is now deciding that, wow that rug you’d dragged in from the street is actually really nice.

And that evade of your eyes tells him that he’s clear-cut. He had done something. Though what was still a mystery.

A grunt left his lips at your choleric behaviour, but it worked in getting the man to start racking his brain for something.

Had he taken the trash out? Yes. Had he picked up his dirty laundry? Most likely answer would be no. Had he left dishes in the sink? Probably.

Though these were everyday Ben behaviours as he slowly adjusted to the fact that you, as a woman, weren’t in fact his personal maid. An eye roll was what you gave at most in those moments. So he files through other things any man would do to piss off their woman.

Birthday? No. Anniversary? Didn’t think so. Valentines Day? Oh fuck.

What did Ben think of Valentine’s Day? Well not much, in his opinion the so called ‘holiday’ was just a hallmark way to get couples spending more and more money, which to be fair to him, he wasn’t at all wrong. Then again, it was a tradition, and who wouldn’t want to be spoilt by their partner for a whole day?

You briefly raise your head to him when he states he’s going out and he’ll be back soon. You roll your eyes.

“Women” he grumbled, and when he turns away he too rolls his eyes. Then you roll your eyes again, at the fact, he most definitely was rolling his eyes now. It was one of those little things the two of you had, it was your thing. As much as you would irk each other, something as simple as eye rolling only made you both run deeper into that pit of yearning.

✫.���。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・✭

Bens eyes glimmer fondly when he returns home to see you splayed peacefully on the couch. And boy he was proud, he was convinced he’d outdone himself, no way you could still be sulking after this.

“Look, I got you something darlin’”

Curious to what he had, your head snaps round like a little owl. A smile embellishing your lips.

“What? Didn’t think I’d forget did you?” Voice a gentle scoff. Oh how rich of him to say.

“Well…. Maybe I did think you’d forgotten” your brow jerks up “did you buy these just now, on your ‘beer run’.”

“Fucking Christ you think nothing of m-“

“Ben… the tags still on them” a slight giggle escaping you. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, as much as you probably should, you couldn’t. He did care, just in his own, special way. When your friends would say he was bad for you, you’d shut them down *he was trying and that’s what mattered*.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever I still remember didn’t I? Or does that not matter nowadays?” to anyone else he might seem serious but you could tell his tone was one of banter.

With a grumble, he sat himself beside you after placing the floweret of roses down. Rough hands pulled out a black velvet box from his pocket. He wasn’t one for formalities, instead he opened it up for you. A dainty necklace lay resting on the soft pillow within. The delicate golden chain mirrored the light of the room. The colour was rich, like the ichor that pumped through the gods. It was simple, yet opulent, aristocratic even. It had that ‘old money’ feel as you so put it to him.

“Put it on for me?”

His tainted hands become so featherlight as he clasped it shut around your neck.

“What so I don’t even get a thanks these days? Just a demand? Christ on a cross, back in-“

You silenced him from a rant with a caress of your lips against his.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Mr. Forgetful, I love you”

A look of gratification etched into your face. And you swear you can see the vines of his grassy eyes lustre at your affection.

“Happy Valentines sweetheart”

Feel free to let me know that this was absolute ass but if you like it please feel free to interact <33

[galaxymagitech]

So many…I’ll stick with seven for now though! Most of these are Batman, but the last is a general DC one. I’m also not sure if you’re looking for horrifying or sad or philosophical, and what you’re comfortable with, so let me know if you want more in a specific category!

Sacrificial Lamb by Kgraces and smallzita — The concept is just so horrifyingly sad, and it’s handled really well. I love this fic. Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne-centric.

It Wasn’t Me by nolongerson — Dick Grayson kills the Joker, and the family helps him cover it up one by one. The execution of this fic is absolutely amazing and the mood is perfect. So good. Batfamily-centric.

what’s left if i give you my all by wingedgrace — This fic is such a fascinating look at memory and emotional abuse, and I think everyone who is looking to portray abusive family dynamics in something other than the stereotypical way you normally see in fics should read this. While this fic wasn’t the direct inspiration for Bleed the Poison Out and the Telling Tales series, it encouraged me to bring these memory warping and loss elements forward instead of cutting them out as unrealistic projection. So it ended up being a huge influence. Dick and Jason-centric.

that’s why we call it the present by yasminindifference — I don’t know what to say about this one other than the fact that it is a) extremely unhinged; b) it left me staring at a wall in horror/concern; and c) I love it for that. Probably not for people who want Jason to be reasonable though, he is absolutely a villain in this. Tim and Jason-centric.

The Protector by GlitterStained — A horrifying and really well-written continuation of envysparkler’s paying dues. Batfamily-centric, but with a bit more focus on Jason.

Terrible Sting, Terrible Storm by airyoubreathe — The mental breakdown of mental breakdowns. Amazingly written and portrayed. I read this fic and midway through was like, “wow, this is an actual genuine mental breakdown.” This fic portrays Dick hitting rock bottom really, really well in an extremely visceral way. Read the tags though, this is super heavy. Dick Grayson-centric.

something just broke by BeatriceEagle — Very realistic, fascinating, well-thought-out fic about systematic abuse in superhero organizations. Many, many references to canon. It really made me think about how investigations of abuse would actually go in the DC universe, and how difficult it would be for them to be effective. DC Ensemble Cast.

what are y’alls “oh my god” dc fic recs. the ones that break and remake you. the ones that leave you staring at the wall after the words have ended and the story is done on the page but not in your mind.

[extraliga-related]

y don't you post more

Sometimes life just feels like receiving a cartoonish steel beam to the head, you know? There's always shit to do.

Do you want to see more posts? Help out now by:

making your own so I can reblog them

sending in requests so I won't have to pick & choose

telling me what you'd like to see

interacting with the ones I do make?

[marigraphia]

I've had this pose ref saved for a while and the Superman set photos just gave off the same energy 👉🏻👈🏻

The reference is this photo of Katharine Hepburn as Antiope and Colin Keith-Johnston as Theseus in the 1932 play 'The Warrior's Husband' (and I'd love for people to turn into a draw your otp meme pls pls pls this pose is so good)

And also, of course, the Superman (2025) set photos

[tetraandtheapples]

Erm!! I did more art!!!!!! My art style is so inconsistent I want to draw more realistically but I'm goofy goober at my core....... Gehahahaha

Also???? Pony Error under cut??????? (and a few error sketches!) Hidden slightly because I'm still a bit unsure about the design RAHH

I think it'd be cool if he had strings all over his body like he was some mangled stupid hasbro official pony plushie...... but the strings were like insanely last minute LMAO so I want to redo it again with that in mind.... when the pony takes me over again.

Transcript for Pony Info (because my handwriting is a bit messy)

PONY INFO!

Strings run along entire body

Used to have a cutie mark, but the file is "lost"

Horn sparks & glitches dangerously when using magic

-> Not harmful to him, but strong emotions can cause it to flare up (basically when the horn starts fuzzing a lot you know he's close to a full-on reboot)

Whatever the hell this thing is core -> (pic of very stupid looking Hasbro official Princess Twilight Sparkle plushie with brushable hair!!!! Batteries not included)

↓ WARNING!!! STUPID IDIOT BELOW!!!!!!! 🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️☢️☢️☢️☢️☢️☢️☢️☢️☢️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 ↓

[applestorms]

much love to the (multiple) mutuals i’ve seen agony posting on this fine new year’s day my heart is with you all in spirit 🎉🎉 the pain is incredible but this too will change

[jamietwat]

👀