#its an image of my fuckin plush

[daisyglips]

why is he so.?

[shawtuzi]

can’t stop thinking about nanami putting you in a full nelson omg :(( (not proofread btw sorry <//3)

the first time he brought it up to you you were very intrigued, until you did a quick google search and saw wrestling images??? after he helped you find the correct images your interest peaked once more—i mean how could it not???!!the mental image of his big n beefy arms manhandling you in a such a position had the cogs in your brain turning and your pussy dripping with excitement.

“cmon let’s do it now now now!” you squealed tossing your phone to the side. you jumped into nanami’s buff arms, peppering his jaw and neck in glossy kisses. kento chuckled lowly, giving your plush ass a rough squeeze. such an eager little thing you were.

“now hang on baby i think you should stretch yourself out a little bit before we get started, don’t want my sweet thing to get a cramp hm?” he pet your hair softly, looking directly into your eyes to make sure you understood him. you let out a dramatic sigh and nodded, making kento smile at your obedience.

within minutes nanami had you strip down to your panties, knees digging into the plushness of the bed while your hands laid folded in your lap. “don’t look so serious little dove, we can have a little fun while we do it,” he chuckled, running his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling the digit away when he saw you tried to suckle on it.

nanami pecked you on the lips three times before slowly pushing you back, slipping your panties off once your back was to the mattress. he took this opportunity to admire your body in its most vulnerable state. he looked at every curve, every scar, every stretch mark with so much love in his eyes it made your eyes glassy. “you’re so beautiful….most beautiful woman i ever laid eyes on. god could strike me down right now and i’d be happy with this being the last thing i see,” he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, running his surprisingly soft hands up your thick thighs.

he slowly trailed his hands to the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest. “fuck would you look at that….already soaking for me,” kento pushed his thumb between your soaked folds, covering the digit in your essence before bringing it to his watering mouth.

“alright m’gonna push your legs back a little more okay?” he waited until you verbally answered him before pushing your knees back until they were practically touching your ears. in all honesty nanami knew this shit was light work for you and he could manhandle you into any position he wanted with ease—he just wanted an excuse to eat your pussy hehe.

nanami couched down, spreading your pussy lips with his thumbs before spitting on your swollen clit. you gasped, clenching around nothing as he spit on your pussy once more. “how you doin’ up there gorgeous?” nanami spoke softly, chuckling lowly at the way you tried bucking your pussy into his face.

“s’easy babe! i can handle it just please do somethingggg!” you whined, kicking your feet in the most precious way possible. without a word nanami wrapped his lips around your clit, humming at the sweet yet tangy taste that is you. “oh! f-fuck kento,” you mewled, bringing your hand down to mess up his perfectly styled blonde locks. nanami slapped your hand away, grunting against your pussy as a way to tell you to keep your hands to yourself.

that’s how you both stayed—nanami on his knees devouring your drooling pussy while you held your legs back with shaky hands. “d-do it side to side again…yeah like th-that! oh my—!” you were cut off by kento swiping his tongue side to side with vigor, your legs beginning to shake, signaling your nearing orgasm.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” nanami growled, gripping onto the soft flesh of your ass cheeks before maneuvering your body up and down on his tongue. for such a prim and polished man he sure was a messy fucking eater.

the slurping noises coming from below you would’ve disgusted anyone but you personally?? oh it was your favorite. the only time nanami really lost himself was when his head was between your thighs, so you made sure to cherish every sloppy lick, slurp, and glob of spit he gave to your soaked pussy.

“i-i’m cumminggg,” you threw your head back in pure bliss as your orgasm washed over you, wave after wave of cumming hitting kento’s awaiting tongue. nanami lapped at your pussy a few more times, giving your clit a cheeky little suck before letting go with a pop!

nanami cleared his throat and stood up, loosening the tie on his neck. “you ready for me?” he asked, squeezing his achingly hard dick through his slacks. if you looked close enough you could see the tiniest wet patch where his tip was.

you made quick work to sit up and undo his belt, your mouth watering at the thought of sucking him off before he ravaged you. “slow down honey s’no rush yeah?” he cooed down at you, taking your face in his hands. you nodded slowly, tossing his belt to the side and undoing the zipper. “lemme….lemme suck you off a little please? need it kento,” you pouted, nuzzling your face into his toned stomach. nanami smiled down at you and brought his hand to your face, smushing your cheeks together before giving you a very sloppy kiss.

“later darling i can’t wait to be inside you another minute,” he gave your lips another kiss, smoothening the furrow in your brows with his thumb.

a few minutes later….

“ready for me my love?” nanami grunted, slapping the tip of his cock against your pussy. your back was snugly pressed against him while his strong arms held the backs of your knees up. “y-yes kento m’ready for you,” nanami wasted no time lifting your body until his tip was poking at your entrance, hissing at just how fucking wet you were. you both moaned in unison as he slowly sunk you down on his cock.

“f-fuck sweetheart you gotta ease up. cmon ease that pretty pussy up for me,” he took advantage of your exposed neck and began to kiss and suck on the most sensitive parts making you whine. he encouragement worked like a charm and soon he was almost entirely inside you. “yeah…yeah there we go,” you squeaked when nanami slammed body down, finally filling you to the brim. fuck you felt so warm and tight around him there was no way he’d last long.

“d-don’t go slow ken, fuck me till i pass out pleaseeee i need it,” you cried, clenching around him. nanami hissed and without another word began a brutal pace, the sheer roughness taking you aback. “yessss f-fuck kenny!” you squealed, your head falling back on his shoulder. in this position the tip of his cock repeatedly hit that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. your wetness already began to soak both of your guys’ thighs, a sharp slapping sound echoing throughout the room from it.

“oh i know baby i know. feels good yeah? tight little pussy is fucking soaking us, you hear that?” he breathlessly chuckled, referring to the slapping noises your thighs were making. “uh huh! uh huh! i hear it kenny,” you whimpered, trying your absolute hardest not to start drooling.

kento securely held both of your legs in one of his arms while the other gripped your chin, forcing you took look at him. you stuck out your tongue the tiniest bit making him chuckle, “gimme a kiss baby.” he sucked your tongue into his mouth making your eyes roll back. you loved when he did that. nanami’s sloppy, tongue filled kisses were your personal drug of choice. the way he made you feel every ounce of love and want in just a single kiss made your head spin and your pussy throb.

“s’good ken you’re so strong. so. fucking. stronggg.” ken thrusted up a tad rougher towards the end of your sentence, his head inflated beyond belief. your praise was making his head spin, he had to give you the most earth shattering orgasm you’ve ever had—he had to.

he adjusted your position to where both of your legs were hanging over his arms once more, both of his hands now clasped behind your head. “ready pretty baby?” he huffed out, chuckling when the only noise you let out was a loud moan.

you didn’t know it was possible to be fucked completely braindead yet here you were, eyes rolled back and not a thought in your mind as kento brutally thrusted up into you. he could only imagine how full your pussy must’ve looked, god the thought had his balls tightening.

“ken! ken! ken! kenny!” you chanted his name like a prayer, your pussy now squelching each time his fucked up into you. nanami tightened his hands around your head (not too tight though ofc) and forced your head to look down, giving you a delicious view of his soaked cock spearing into your puffy pussy. “we *hiccup* look so pretty together kenny, wish you could *hiccup* see,” you sighed dreamily, because it truly was a beautiful sight.

“don’t worry baby i will later, s-see that—fuck! see my phone? hm?” he slowed his pace, and loosened his grip on your head allowing you to look up and see that his phone was indeed propped up recording the entire thing. you smiled and bit your lip, now excited for when you both watch the video together which will probably lead to him having you like this again hehe.

“rub your clit my love, cmon make yourself cum on your husbands cock—yeahhhh that’s it honey there you fucking go,” nanami growled in pleasure as your pussy squeezed him like a vice. his dick was getting wetter either each thrust inside you until he accidentally slipped out making you whine very loudly. “i got it baby i got it,” he huffed and slammed you right back down on his cock, making your eyes cross. “yes yes y-yes fuck, so good kenny please cum in me,” you cried, digging your nails into his toned thighs.

nanami growled removing his hands from your head to spread thighs as wide as possible, one hand toying sloppily with your clit while the other found purchase on your neck. “i’m gonna cum baby—right inside this tight little pussy, and you’re gonna take all of it like my good little wife aren’t you?” his hand began to slap your clit, making a broken moan slip past your swollen lips. “yesss kenny m’gonna take it all i promise!” you cried, aching to feel the warmth of his cum inside you.

“fuck fuck fuck goddammit,” kento let out a guttural moan right in your ear, his cock throbbing as he pumped his cum into you. there was so much. so much it began to slip down his cock and onto the bed. he was about to pull out but you quickly stopped him, wanting to stay like this for just a little while longer. “can i at least turn you around so i can look at you?” he hummed , giving your shoulder a gentle kiss.

you nodded and nanami slowly pulled out making you whimper before turning your body so you were facing him. he pulled you tightly against his chest mumbling praises on top of praises in your ear while he carefully pushed himself back inside you, moaning softly.

“so how’d you like it my love,” he grinned nudging your nose with his. you lifted your head up and cradled his face in your hands, pressing your foreheads together. “that was so. fucking. good. rest up while you can because you’re gonna fuck me like that again tonight!” you giggled, purposely clenching around his now soft cock. kento hissed, squeezing his eyes shut in sensitivity.

he’s probably created an even bigger monster in you but shit he wasn’t complaining!!!

btw peaches and coconut!eren fic coming soon!! i just wanted to get this out of my drafts *kiss kiss*

[ink-n-shadow]

Hmm thinking about angel reading in a book about the exotic and rare flowers on earth, shoving the page in demon!simon face :

“I want” she frowns a little “please..”

“sure.” He sighs

PLEASE THIS IS THE SWEETEST IDEA???

"you're not even lookin'," you whine softly as you try to shove the book you're reading further onto the one that ghost is reading, nail scraping against the page when you swirl your finger in a circle around the flower. "it's the rarest flower on earth, ghost!"

ghost finally acquiesces when you cover the line of the book he's reading, lifting his coal black eyes up to glance over the image of the flower you're trying to show him. it's frighteningly bright red, almost rose-like in the way it has petals looping round and round of a tight center. its petals are slightly more pointed than a rose's petals, giving it a rougher appearance.

"aye—s'real pretty, angel," ghost nods softly as his eyes skim the top of the book's page, taking in the name of the flower and committing it to memory—middlemist's red camellia. "can i go back to m'book now?"

you pout as you pull your book back into your lap, turning slightly away from ghost and burying your cheek further into the corded sinew of his thick bicep. "fine. go back to your book then."

and you're convinced that ghost seemingly forgets out the flower and your excitement over its beauty until one day when you're lounging on the plush sofa of his living room, feet kicked up over the arm as you quickly skim through the book once more.

you don't even notice ghost standing over you until one of his clawed hands tickles it way up your calf, making you squirm and kick at his forearm. "ghost, stop! y'know i don't like when you—"

but your words fall apart on your tongue when you notice the glass case ghost has balanced on his large palm, eyes widening as you realize what's inside. there's no way that it's—

"got ya that flower you were after," ghost mumbles softly, fighting against the proud smile that's itching its way onto the corner of his lips as he watches you scramble to sit up and take the encased flower excitedly. "could've told me how hard it would be to find it though. had to make a lot of fuckin' deals for it."

link to all my works in the demon!ghost au can be found here

[gothwives]

of course he would try and minimize her valid concerns regarding calling it quits, acting as if she was blowing things out of proportion, when really buffy was just looking out for his best interests. just because he wanted to keep his public image as pristine as possible, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be utterly miserable without her. it wouldn’t take long for him to realize that she was an essential facet of his happiness and come crawling back, but she wanted to cut right to the chase and get him to see the error in his ways. “this ain’t a big deal? you think you can just use me up and throw me in the trash when you’re done, and i’m just supposed to sit here and take it?” her attempt at luring him back in with a honey trap was short lived and her indignant nature began to show through as she shoved at his chest and went back to the head of the bed, laying back propped up by the pillows. “you’re right, you ain’t bein’ an asshole, you’re bein’ a coward,” she accused him, voice dripping with disdain. “you’re a grown fuckin’ man, steven. are you really gonna live your whole life scared ‘a what other people think? runnin’ back to your lil’ mouse of a fiancée with your tail between your legs all ‘cause you don’t want nobody findin’ out you found someone who knows how to take care of you?” now it was her turn to laugh in his face, a blunt guffaw as she took a long drag from her cigarette to try and ease her growing irritation. “bruise my ego… please. you wish you could have that effect on me.” while buffy was tempted to curse him out and continue making jabs at his character, he’d managed to hold her impending tantrum at bay with his offer, her interest piqued as she mulled it over for a moment. obviously he had a lot more to lose should shit go south than she did, and for that reason she held a considerable amount of power. her posture slightly softened, she relaxed into the plush hotel bedding, some of that usual sparkle finding its way back to her eyes as she regarded him. “how much d’ you make in a year? roughly.”

She was playing dirty, getting a humorless laugh out of him at the lascivious retelling of everything she’d could do for him. All the ways he’d already fucked her before. “Let’s not make this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” Steven pleaded, running a hand through his hair with exasperation and trying to ignore the way his cock protested inside his pants. He was too smart to get caught up in games he couldn’t win, and that would always be the case as long as Buffy was his opponent. He had already let her into his life, she knew shit that could destroy him within an hour of being posted in the media; so maybe he should be more tactful. However, for someone who was usually diplomatic, his frustration was definitely showing. “You’re taking me out of context, that’s not what I meant. I– I’m not being an asshole, I’m just saying that this thing between us, it has to stop.” Buffy wasn’t twisting his words, but he really preferred to argue back instead of just apologizing about the way his words had come out. Of course she was worth a lot of things, but his entire reputation? His future? He wasn’t about to start waxing poetic about how in another life things might’ve been easier, ‘cause neither of them would buy it. They’d enjoyed it, the secrecy, the obscene encounters no one got to know about, but it wasn’t healthy for him. No matter how much he’d like to just coax her back into bed and fuck her rough and deep for the nerve she had of fighting him back on this. “Why don’t you cut it and help me out? I didn’t mean to bruise your ego or whatever. But we can be civil about this, how about I get you something you want? As a goodbye gift,” he emphasized, “and then, we’ll be out of each other’s lives, yeah?”

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

505- S.G ROGERS

Pairing: SteveRogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1548

Summary: You and Steve are going back to 505.. except the room only has one bed. This would be fine on normal circumstances right? Except one thing.. you cannot stand Steve's guts. At least thats what you keep telling yourself.

Warnings: name calling, swearing, pet names, kissing, enemies to lovers, feelings get confessed 

Note** ive never wrote an enemies to lovers fic so lord have mercy i apologise if its bad and rushed. i kinda made it as if they've both had feeling for each other but have been pushing it down for a LONGGG time. enjoy!

-claire 

“I’m so sorry sir, you must be mistaken, this room only has one bed!” 

The front lady’s solemn voice rang through your head like a church bell as you trudged up the concrete staircase to floor 5. Your black duffel bag was slugged across your shoulder as you huffed up another flight of stairs impatiently.

  One bed my fucking ass. Fuck you Tony!, you thought, already irked from the mission. 

Having to share the bed with Steve fucking Rogers was not making your mood any better. The golden boy trotted ahead of you, barely breaking a sweat as he jogged up the stairs with ease. God, you despised him. You had hated him ever since you had joined the Avengers.

  Oh look at Steve he’s so perfect! Oh look at Steve he’s so handsome and so good! I bet he helps old ladies walk across the street any chance he possibly can! Blugh. His goodie two shoes attitude and perfect ass did not fool you.

“ Are you coming anytime, Agent?” 

The blonde looked down over the railing at you, eyebrow raised, his gruff voice breaking you out of your thoughts. You stopped and looked up at him, giving him the death glare. His ocean blue eyes shot lasers right back at you.

 “ Was planning on it, Rogers. Think you could help me up the stairs like you do them little old lads?” you grumbled and he rolled his eyes. “ There’s no need for the sass agent Y/L/N” he taunted as you rounded the corner, huffing. 

Steve opened the door leading to the hallway and nodded his head. “ Ladies first.” You rolled your eyes as you stepped into the dim hallway, the plush velvet carpet feeling better on your extremely sore feet. (Note to self! Do not wear high-heeled black boots on a mission. It looks badass but KILLS.) 

Steve tossed you the key and the two of you made your way towards your room. Room 505. It was dead silent along the corridor, the sound of your boots clicking echoed off the walls. Steve sauntered beside you, his presence so close to you made you itch.  Finally, you and Steve had reached your room at the very end of the hall. As you swiped the key, the light showed red. You swiped again, getting more and more pissed off by the second. Red.

 “ God! Stupid fucking key.” You growled impatiently, and Steve snatched the key from your hands with a start. 

 “ Language.”

 He swiped the card and green reflected back at him. As he swung the door open with a creak there was only one thing on your mind. I wish I could shove that shield where the sun don’t fuckin shine.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The image that stared back at you was horrendous. Your hair was tangled, lipstick smudged and eyes glassy. A cut was sliced against your cheek, and you noticed purple and blue bruises starting to form across your body. You were a mess. It may not have appeared so, but the mission was a success. You and Steve had got into a HYDRA base and had downloaded the information Tony needed on a USB stick. 

It wasn't smooth sailing, but somehow you managed to come out alive. Just not in top shape. The water was hot and felt refreshing as you rinsed yourself off and washed your hair. You let the water fall as you leaned against the shower wall, feeling the tears starting to leak.

 Everything had been eating at you lately and it was getting to the point where you couldn’t handle it much longer. The stress of this job was something you were expecting, but you didn’t realise just HOW much stress. Tony sent you on mission after mission, and after each one you felt yourself deteriorating a little more. 

The water mixed with your tears as you covered your hands over your mouth to stifle back the sobs.

 If Steve heard you… you didn't even want to think about it. 

Cool air hit you as you turned off the water and stepped out on the white tile. Grabbing a towel, you shivered. And that's when you realised. Your pyjamas were out in the main room. With Steve. Shit shit SHIT! You took a deep breath and creaked open the door. “ Steve?” you mumbled quietly.      

 “ Y/N?” His voice sounded confused and you prayed he wouldn't turn the corner. “ I- Um, I forgot my pjs out here and I’m in my towel. Do you mind turning around or something?” 

He chuckled as you rolled your eyes. God you wanted to strangle him.

 “ Course.” 

You peeked around the corner, and there he was, facing the window. You scurried to your pjs on the bed and ran back to the bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“ I can sleep on the floor.” You whisper as Steve untucks the covers and adjusts the pillows. 

“ Don't be silly.” He huffs, meeting your eyes with a glare.  

  “ Get in. I don't bite.” 

“Steve I swear it's okay-” 

“ Get. In.” Your eyes widen at his authoritative tone and you'd be lying if you said you didn't get a LITTLE flustered. You swallow and begin to climb into bed hastily. 

“ Can I turn out the light?” You hinted and Steve nodded curtly. Click. The two of you were enveloped in dark, minus the faint green 1:46am glaring at you from the bedside table. Dead silence lingers in the air. Minutes upon minutes go by and you’re too scared to move. You really should have slept on the floor. You cannot stand this man, so what on earth were you doing? Well, it’s not like you hated him. You just envied him. Your best coping mechanism was to become distant and cold, making him think you hated him. And if you told yourself you hated him enough maybe you truly would. You hated him. There. You thought it loud and clear. But he wasn’t all that bad was he? He was beautiful and smart and caring and funny and god he smelled so good right now... Y/N SNAP OUT OF IT!! You thought, shaking your head as if it would take away any positive thoughts you had about the man. 

Maybe if you pushed them super deep down and didn’t speak to him for the rest of well... forever, he’d take the hint.

  You shuffle around to attempt to get comfortable when a gravelly voice breaks you out of your trance. “ Y/N?” 

Well, there goes that plan. 

“ Steve?” you question. “ Why were you crying?” Your eyes snap open and you freeze. Fuck. Super soldier hearing. “ I don't know what you’re talking about.”

 “ Don't play dumb with me girl.” 

His hand brushes against your shoulder and you turn to face him, feeling his warm breath flutter against your eyelashes. “ Why do you care?” you sneer, not wanting Steve to know any more than he needed to.      

 “ Because even though you hate me, I care.” 

It went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “ Why do you hate me?” He whispers, and you pull the sheets higher, attempting to hide yourself.

 “ Because you're everything I'm not.”

 “Y/N-”

 “ No. Don't start. You are everything I want to be Steve. And it kills me to know I can’t ever achieve that. You can do nothing wrong, you’re smart, sweet, and god I’ll admit you’re fucking handsome too. You're perfect and I could never compete with that. I'm in the background, the person no one cares about. It kills me, Steve. It kills me to see you all perfect and pretty and to see everyone love you. I can never do as good as you and I'll never be enough-” 

Your voice cracked and a sob escaped your lips. Steve wrapped his arms around you and brought you close to his chest as sobs racked your body. It was all coming out. Everything you wanted to hide from him, everything you wanted to push down- it came back up. 

You had never felt so vulnerable in your life. Steve brought his hand to pet your hair soothingly as you continued to let the tears fall. “ Shhh it's okay sweet girl let it out.” He whispered and held you closer. “ I'm so sorry I-” 

  “ Do not apologise. Please.” You met his eyes and he wiped the tears from your cheeks as you sniffled. “ Can I kiss you?” he asked hesitantly.

 “ What?” You froze.

 Steve Rogers wanted to kiss you? After everything you just told him? 

“ I said can I kiss y-” You leaned closer to him and kissed him passionately, rolling on top of him and running your fingers through his hair. His lips were soft and he tasted like butterscotch. You felt as if you were floating as if you were on cloud nine. “ You are perfect Y/N. You are more than enough.” He whispered softly, as you placed your forehead onto yours.

 And at that moment you knew that Steve Rogers was not in fact, your enemy. You were your own enemy. With that, you'd decided, that he would help you defeat the negative thoughts that clawed at your brain every waking second. You felt safe. Loved. And perfect.

[flecks-of-stardust]

[image description: three images of my mosscreep crochet plush. The images are, from top to bottom, a front view, a side view, and a back view. The mosscreep has a black body, white eyes, and dense green leaves all over its body. The side view and back view are virtually identical due to how dense the foliage is. The front view shows the mosscreep's face peeking through. end image description]

none of yall have any idea how long this fuckin took and to be honest, i don’t either. i wasn’t tracking it properly, but it’s in the ballpark of 30+ hours. good grief

behold, my magnum opus in crochet and amigurumi. this was such an ambitious project and i’m glad i went for it but wow did this take forever. it took the better part of a month with mostly daily effort made on it in roughly one to two hour bursts, but none of my other projects have ever taken this long. i am very proud of it though, it all works out.

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[knivesareout]

Day and Night For You

Pairing: Steve Murphy x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut! (18+ ONLY!) Fingering, Oral (fem receiving), spanking, ass play, squirting, breathplay, cock warming, unprotected sex.

A/N: Aaaand another one. Started this on Tuesday and now we’re here. Am I a writer now? Who can say at this point- it’s only two fics and a couple drabbles. You can also read it on AO3 here.

Summary: Settling in to watch a movie with Steve takes a turn when you can’t stop your mind from wandering and he confronts you about it. 

Your husband coming home with enough time to eat dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed at the same time as you had become a rare occurrence lately. Having Steve sitting next to you on the couch was something you wanted to soak in, your body pressed tightly against his side as you two watch a movie. 

You were vaguely aware enough of the plot playing out on screen that if Steve were to ask you questions later on, you could answer, but your real focus was on him. The steady breathing of his chest, the roughness of his fingertips tracing along your bare thigh. The atmosphere had lulled you into a comfortable feeling- at least until you heard someone yelling on screen, your head perking up at the loud voice.

Watching as the male character pushes his wife against the wall with his hand around her throat, you swallow slowly. The scene was something you were no stranger to in your personal life; not with how dominant Steve was in the bedroom. But lately you’d barely managed a quickie most nights before he was out like a light, exhausted from work and snoring lightly in your ear. The fault was hardly his own; trying to catch Escobar was proving no easy task and you were willing to do whatever little you could to help Steve in supporting him.

Your thighs rub together as the scene escalates, the couple moving to the bedroom and you sigh, biting at your lip. The movement of Steve’s hand on your thigh stops and you peer up at him, a question in your eye.

“What’s wrong?”

“Could ask you the same thing, honey. You’re over there making all kinds of noises and I’m just tryin’ to watch this. Everything alright?”

You simper with a nod, looking pointedly at the screen. “I’m okay, promise. Let’s just finish the movie.” Patting his thigh, you turn your focus back to the screen where you’ve managed to completely miss the passionate scene between the couple and you make sure not to make a disappointed noise, less Steve question you again.

—–

The film ends an hour later and you’re no less horny than you were before. Nothing but images of Steve’s hand around your throat fill your mind and you can feel the stickiness between your thighs as you stand up and stretch, the oversized t-shirt from your alma mater lifting up around your hips before dropping down again. Steve’s yawning into his fist and looks exhausted, his body heavily pressed into the couch and if he could sink into it, you’re sure he would.

“Come on then big guy, let’s get you to bed before you fuck up your back by passing out on the couch,” you tease, offering him a hand that he takes gratefully. 

Steve grunts, reaching out to pinch your hip. “That was one time, damnit. Will you ever let me live it down?”

You bat his hands away with a grin, moving around to turn off the lights in the living room before heading towards your bedroom. “Nope,” you tell him easily, turning around as you stand in the doorway and wait for him to stand in front of you. “You alright though?” Steve’s looking at you with an expression you’re not familiar with, his eyes bright and posture stiff, almost like he’s vibrating with the need to move.

“You know I can smell you right?”

Your posture falters and you almost choke on your tongue, glancing up at Steve with a question in your eyes. The blunt query has your mind in a scramble as you try to find the words to answer him and he doesn’t seem to like that as he steps closer and you’re toe to toe. 

Steve inhales deeply before speaking, his hand coming up to take your chin between his fingers and lock your gaze with his. “Can’t even enjoy a movie without you being a needy little thing,” he tuts, dragging a thumb across your bottom lip and you have to stop yourself from pulling the digit into your mouth. “Have I been neglecting you?”

The question is a genuine one, no teasing tone to be found, and you’re almost hesitant to answer, hoping that maybe your explanation will shed some light on how you’ve feeling. “No, not really. I just miss you. Miss when we used to take our time with each other is all.” You shrug, hoping you give off the appearance of being aloof rather than touch starved like you actually were.

It’s clear Steve appreciates the honesty as he nods in understanding, gripping your chin a bit tighter. “M’sorry about that sweetheart. How about I make it up to you, yeah? Let me take my time with you tonight.”

Your head nods so quickly it’s almost comical, your body shaking with a need so overwhelmingly intense you could cry. The promise of relief, no matter how long it’ll take to get there, is something you’re willing to do anything for and Steve can see it written across your face as you watch his every move.

Steve walks you back into your room, your steps careful as you maneuver towards your shared bed, feeling the back of your calves hit the foot of the bed frame and you fall onto the mattress, hands reaching behind you to catch your fall. 

“You’ve been teasing me all night, honey. Shorts so short I can’t even see them under your shirt, your nipples hard all night. And then I realized half way through the movie I could smell you. What part turned you on so much that I’d bet you’re soaked between those pretty little thighs of yours, hm?”

The low timbre of Steve’s voice makes your whole body warm as he looms over you, waiting for an answer. His large hands are sat on his hips, gaze trained on you and the way your body shifts to seek any sort of friction. His eyes follow your every move and it makes you nervous, teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

Normally you would play coy with him, shrug and say you didn’t know, but with how worked up you were it seemed silly to do anything but be completely blunt. “His hand around her throat,” you explain, placing your hands on your thighs and moving them up until you reach the top of your shorts and tug them down along with your underwear. “It made me miss your fingers pushing into my neck, Steve. Squeezing so hard I’d soak the sheets when you make me cum.” Kicking the material to the side, you spread your legs wide for him, head pushed into the plush pillows behind you.

You watch his eyes as your hands trail along the soft skin of the inside of your thighs, anticipating his next move. It’s hard for you to tell what he’s thinking, his facial expression neutral and the lack of light in the room has you at a disadvantage. 

“Steve, please.” 

In a flash, Steve grabs hold of your ankle and yanks you down the bed as you yelp in surprise, your legs hanging off the side as his hand comes around your throat. “Still want to be a tease?” He growls, thumb pressing into the skin so hard you’ll be surprised if there isn’t a bruise there in the morning. 

The pressure is electrifying. Your whole body is lit up, every nerve at attention as he holds his hand there. You crave this feeling from time to time, the clear show of authority that Steve has over your body the biggest turn on. Managing to shake your head, he loosens his grip around you and you try to catch your breath before he’s on you, turning your body around and pressing your face into the mattress. 

“You know all you have to do is ask for what you want, honey. I know I haven’t been the most attentive husband lately but I’ll always make time for you,” Steve promises, words sweet and contrasting with the way he’s man-handled you on the mattress; your ass up high and cheek squished into the comforter below you. 

You don’t dare move as you hear the rustling of fabric, assuming Steve’s undressing behind you. It’s torture as you wait for him to do something, anything, your hands curling into the blanket beneath you so they don’t stray.  

Steve’s hands are rough against your ass as he palms the flesh, pulling apart your cheeks only to slide one of his hands away to slap it, jolting you forward at the contact. You whimper as he touches you, both of his hands back on your bottom and fingers inching closer towards where you need him most. The inside of your thighs are sticky with arousal and you push your ass out for more, a silent plea for Steve to do something. 

“So god damn needy, aren’t you?” Steve runs a dry finger across your exposed asshole and you let out a shaky breath, the feeling unexpected but pleasant. It’d been too long since you both had time for something like that but you don’t hold out too much hope as the finger then drops lower to slide between the lips of your soaked pussy. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart. It’s all down your thighs. Pussy actin’ like I haven’t touched it in days.” You whine as he pulls his finger away but it quickly turns into a moan as his hand hits your ass again, the flesh stinging from where his palm hit you.

“Steve, please. Please, please, please,” you beg him, your voice desperate and needy as your hips sway in a taunt for him to give you more. 

His hands grip your hips tightly as he turns you over and presses you higher up on the bed, your body trying to orient itself as he crawls up the mattress towards you. It’s like a hunter stalking its prey, the way his eyes follow your every movement and you whimper, holding your body still as you wait for his next step.

Steve parts your thighs wide for him as he settles between your legs, the warmth of his mouth instantaneous on your skin when he drops his lips to kiss along the sensitive inner part of your thighs. The hairs of his mustache scratch along your body and you sigh into the feeling, your hand reaching out to card through his blonde hair. 

“Tell me what you want,” Steve murmurs quietly against your thigh, his mouth close to your throbbing cunt and you can feel the heat radiating from his breath as he speaks.

“Want your mouth on my pussy, want you to make me cum so hard I cry.” Your words are quick and almost sound like they’re meshed together, your tongue heavy in your mouth. 

You can feel the vibrations as Steve hums against your thigh, sounding like he’s considering your request. His fingers part the lips of your pussy, exposing your heat to the cool air of your bedroom. Your fists clench into the comforter beneath you, trying to ground yourself as you anticipate his next move and once his tongue laps at your clit in broad strokes, you cry out in relief. 

The feeling is like a match to gasoline, your body arching into his mouth in search of more. It’s hot and wet, the sounds of him lapping at your sex filling the room and you wail once a finger slips into you. Steve is relentless in the way his long, thick finger fucks into you and he easily slips in another two, stuffing you full. The pressure is too much, his hands working you like an instrument he’s played his whole life, plucking at your body like strings. “You gonna soak me baby? I can feel the way you’re tightening around my fingers.” Steve moves to sit up and you gasp as his fingers find the angle that you’d been desperate for him to touch. 

There’s a pressure building in your lower stomach, the feeling familiar. It swells, threatening to crash over you. You will your body to let go, to welcome the tidal wave begging to consume you.

It’s too much and not enough all at once as his pace picks up, your body all but forcing his fingers out as you gush over his hand, on the sheets, and across his chest. Your body shakes as you come down and you blink quickly, trying to clear your vision. There’s a dull throbbing between your thighs that are now coated in a light wetness and you sigh in satisfaction.

If you had the energy to reach up and smack Steve, you would’ve. The smug smirk on his face was infuriating but your orgasm had left you boneless and it was clear he knew that. 

“You’re not tapping out already, are ya?” He teases, fingers lightly trailing across the inside of your still trembling thighs. “Cause I was thinkin’ of how much I wanna slide inside your pussy and fuck you until I fill you up and just stay there, plugging you up with my cum until it takes hold. Do you want that, pretty girl?”

His words render you still. It wasn’t something you both had talked about recently- going bareback. You weren’t on birth control, something with your insurance getting mixed up on the move down to Colombia. And if condoms weren’t used, or Steve didn’t pull out, there was a high probability of you falling pregnant. The last time it’d been discussed was right before your move and how you two wanted to wait until you were back in the States before you started trying to start a family, not wanting to add a child into what was an already high stress environment.  

Tilting your head in question at Steve, you wonder what he’s thinking. He seems so nonchalant about what he’s said, his hand stroking along the hard length of his cock while he waits for your answer- almost like he’s thought about it before now. God, do you want it. There’s nothing better than the feeling of Steve’s cum dripping down your thighs, him stuffing you full of his seed and marking you as his. 

You nod slowly in answer, a breathy sigh passing your lips at the thought of him filling you up after months of shitty condoms. “I want that. I want you to fill me up, Steve. Please.”

The sound of him stroking his slick cock fills the room and you watch as he shuffles on his knees until he’s close enough to rub the wet head against your clit, your body instinctively scooting down in search of more. You’re still sensitive, chest shuddering as he continues to torture you. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked baby. Could just slide right in,” Steve teases, the head of his cock catching on your entrance only to slide back up to your clit.

“I want it. I want your cock. Fuck,” you groan, fisting the sheets in your hands. “Want your cum so bad, Steve. Come on.” 

The hand that was resting on your hip comes up to press against your throat again, your head tilting back to give him more room. Your body arches into his touch and Steve slowly puts more pressure against your neck as he finally slides his cock into the soaked walls of your pussy, the feeling nothing but euphoric. 

Steve’s cock fits inside of you like a glove. Long and thick, stretching you in the most delicious way. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of him buried deep inside of you and you relish in the feeling until he starts to move.

His thrusts are slow at first, the long drag of his dick making you shudder beneath him. The palm of his hand is still pressed to your throat and you push down on the back of his hand a little, silently asking for more. 

A dark chuckle escapes Steve’s lips and he hunches forward, pressing down against your neck. “My dirty little baby, aren’t you? Just wanted a dick inside of ya and my hand pressed to your throat, that’s all.” 

It’s difficult to nod but you manage, sucking in a breath as he lets off a bit and starts thrusting in earnest. Steve’s movements are languid, meticulous. He’s hitting every spot that makes your body feel electric, like a live wire ready to explode at the right touch. 

“Steve, touch me. Fuck,” you draw out, his hips pulling out just enough to leave the tip of his cock inside of you before thrusting back in to start a more brutal, rough pace. 

“You like that honey?” He asks, the hand not around your throat coming down between your thighs to rub at your clit in slow strokes. “You wanna cum? Want me to fill you up and put a baby in ya? Stuff you so full of me you’ll be dripping all night?”

Nodding, you cry out in need. It’s too much, the push and pull of his cock coupled with his hand around your throat and the rough pad of his thumb on your clit. Your body locks up and you start pulsing around him, your orgasm crashing around you like a wave, drowning you. There’s a ringing in your ears and you’re vaguely aware of Steve’s rough grunting as he plows into you in search of his own release. 

“Fuck, gonna fuck you so full of my cum that you’re leaking. You feel so good, baby. Pussy so tight,” Steve rasps out, his hips stuttering as he falls apart above you. Mouth open, eyes clenched shut, your husband is a sight as he cums deep and hot inside of you, shuddering through his release.

Your hands run up and down his back in a soothing motion as he comes down, his own hands falling to the sides to catch himself above you, head dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck that was good,” he laughs, lips kissing along your collarbone and up to your cheek where he rests the tip of his nose.

Turning your head slightly, you brush your nose against his. “So. A baby huh?” The question is teasing, light, but deep down you really want to know what was going through his head to bring that up in the middle of some long overdue sex.

“Just been on my mind a lot,” he sighs, sliding a hand underneath your back to pull your body with his as he rolls over, his cock still nestled inside of you. “With everything goin’ on it just makes me realize that shit isn’t guaranteed and I want that with you. Always have. A family; little ones with your hair and my nose.”

You listen, running a hand across his face- up the slope of his nose, smoothing out the furrow between his brow and then up into his hair where you scratch gingerly at his scalp. 

“I should’ve said something before instead of springing that up in the middle of sex but it was like something snapped in me. ‘M sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, baby. Was just a bit of a shock is all,” you promise, hand sliding behind his neck and rubbing under the base of his skull to further relax him. “You know I’ve always wanted that with you too.”

Steve nods, pushing his head into your touch. “I know.”

Shifting your hips, you grimace at the sticky feeling between your legs but make no effort to move beyond trying to get more comfortable as you sprawl across your husband’s broad chest and glance up at him, a fond look written across his face as he looks back at you.

“You know, if we sleep now I might wake up in time for another round before I have to go in for work,” Steve grins, wiggling his eyebrows. 

You don’t even reply, just lay your head against his chest where his heart lies beneath your ear and start to snore over exaggeratedly, giggling to yourself.

“I love you, baby,” he reminds you quietly, arms wrapping tightly to your middle. 

Yawning, you close your eyes. “I love you too.”

[nat-20s]

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days.  I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and  serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

[lavishedinjimin]

something pushes hard dom jk to suddenly start fucking y/n inhumanly fast and she is forced to sit there and take it, making barely any noise anymore cuz the wind was knocked tf out of her. its such an image to think of y/ns pusee being fkn abused and she cant even process it to do anything about it. its kind of agressive so u dont have to of course, just a thought i had about 3 mins ago💀but ily👉🏻👈🏻🥺

reqs are currently closed.

'inhumanely fast' makes me giggle eheh

warning: jungkook calls you bitch 😬

you feel like your breath got knocked off when Jungkook's rough, calloused hand grabs the back of your neck. he grunts, forcing you to look up at him.

he lifts his brows up, watching your lips slowly grow into a smirk.

"you think it's funny, bitch?" he tightens the grip, making you gasp. "think it's funny making me hard under the table like that? in front of my fucking parents?"

within a flash, he throws you onto the couch, not even having the patience to lead you into your shared room. "huh, y/n?"

he bends you over, your knees on the plush cushions as your hands tightly grab onto the backrest. jungkook pulls your shorts down, slapping your ass harshly. you groan, shutting your eyes.

"you want my dick so bad?" he runs his hand through your hair, fingers brushing your scalp until he abruptly tugs on your strands.

"ohh, shit," you moan, eyes rolling back from the sharp stinging sensation.

"hm, baby? you want my cock drilling your cunt? that's what you've been begging for all night, yeah?"

you whimper, wiggling your butt against his boner to tease him ever more. you know how riled up he is, and even though you're slightly scared of what he'll do to you, you want him to fuck you so roughly until you see stars.

and that's what he did.

withing a flash, he had your panties pulled to the side, his cock springing free from the confines how his boxers, prodding the tip against your throbbing hole.

"mhm, so wet," he spanks you again, harder, "fuckin' slut. teasing me like a fucking brat cause you're just needy for some big cock?"

"OHH FUUUCK!" you yell, eyes expanding as your jaw drops to the floor when he unexpectedly shoves his whole length in, full force, not caring if you weren't prepped enough. "jungkook!" you squeal, toes curling.

he pulls your hair harder, making you arch your back painfully as he moves his hips so deliciously fast. his cock was hitting your sweet spot so good, making your legs quiver and shake around him.

he was fucking you balls-deep your pussy dripping out juices as it coats his thick length. you can hear the clapping sounds of both of your thighs hitting together, his cock twitching inside your walls.

"ohhh myyy godddd, k-kook!"

jungkook smirks darkly, loving to watch your body crumble. his other hand holds your waist tightly, surely leaving a red bruise right after.

"you like it baby? huh?" he says with a husky voice. "ah shit, pussy so fucking warm. you finally got what you wanted right?"

"y-yeah," you mewl weakly.

suddenly, he pulls his dick all the way out. you whine from the loss of contact, but he just slaps your ass to shut you up.

he grabs his dick and he slaps it against your pussy. "ahhh j-jungkook," your body shivers in pleasure, his cock hitting your clit.

he chuckles, firmly groping your reddened ass cheek with his other hand, "does my little bitch like that?" he slaps it against your soaked cunt harder, the slapping sound making you drip even more.

your mouth opens when he pushes his cock back inside, stretching your tight walls out for him. he continues to obliterate your pussy, your back arching even more when he uses your shoulders for leverage. your whole body seems to want to collapse, losing all of the strength in your upper body. hanging your head low, your eyebrows furrow as you let him do whatever he wants to you.

"you wanted this, bitch," he grins cockily, "don't play with me if you can't handle it rough."

[hes-writer]

Behind the Curtain

Summary: harry and y/n go on a date

Warnings: smut, semi-public sex, oral, male receiving (so far)

Word Count: 5163 words

A/N: this is essentially a part two to 'under the table'. currently experiencing pre-upload jitters. i’m so nervous to post this. 😬

___

“Y’didn’t have to do this, love,” Harry whispered in Y/N’s ear, his green eyes admiring the golden tassels wrapped around the deep red curtains of the waiting area. His left arm encompassing around her waist, loosely playing with the fabric of her dress as they waited in line to speak to the person at the front desk. Soft sounds blared through the hidden speakers, caressing his ears with classical music that he surprisingly enjoyed. 

Y/N rested her freshly manicured hand on his chest. Her fingertips grazed his skin through the unbuttoned material of his dress shirt. The antennas of the black butterfly resting on his tummy coming alive as Harry’s stomach fluttered. Painted lips tickled his ear with a subtle touch and lowly-whispered words, “How else am I supposed to get your cock in my mouth?” Y/N stared at him innocently, purposefully pouting her mouth as she fluttered her long eyelashes at him. 

His eyes bulged from their sockets, snapping his head around their vicinity to see if anybody heard her suggestive purr. Sweet Y/N talking so dirtily to him was rare, and so Harry couldn’t help sharp breath of air he sucked in. He willed his cock to stay soft but it still gave a slight twitch in his trousers. The taut hinge of his jaw hardened as Harry pictured how such a pristine looking woman could be so naughty. God, he was so lucky to have her. “No fuckin’ way,” Harry’s voice grated against his throat. The deepness of it sends thrilling tremors up Y/N’s spine. She quickly faced the front, letting the corner of her mouth quirk up at his tortured murmur of her name. “Y/N…”

Harry sighed in frustration as his girl ignored him in favour of expectantly waiting for their turn. 

“Hi, réservation pour Styles,” Y/N spoke to the waitress, eyeing him like a vulture to a prey. Harry’s mouth parted open at her accent. It seemed as though her mouth shaped itself perfectly to enunciate the words. “Oui, pour deux,” (Yes, for two)

Fuck. Did she always speak French? Why didn’t he know about this? Harry’s neurons fired rapidly, brows pinching in curiosity and throat shriveling with a rash tightness. 

Her hair was slicked back into a ponytail, edges gelled to her forehead in hypnotizing swirls that he often traced with the crown of his finger. The rash juxtaposition of her body lying beside his in their shared bed, virtuously enjoying each other’s company flushing down the drain the moment her gentle hand tugged his behind the curtain of the waiting area. “Allez, Harry!” (Come on, Harry!) She said, commanding him to follow her closely. 

Harry didn’t know what to expect from her tonight-- only that she planned to have him writhing in his seat as she let him enjoy the company of her warm mouth.  He certainly didn’t expect the semi-private booths so close to each other, separated from prying eyes with thick duvets of velvet maroon fabric. Empty booths showcased a rectangular table with plush seats and portieres tied on the edge of the posts. While on their way to their reserved cubicle, Harry couldn’t help but notice a couple giggling amongst themselves as they exited their table. Y/N gave him a nudge, jutting her chin towards said couple with a glint in her starry eyes.

“Here’s your table,” The waitress greeted with a smile. “The curtains will be drawn closed for privacy if you please. When you’re ready to order, just press the button over here,” She acted her words, pressing her pointer to the golden button merged at the edge of the table. The button flickered twice before suspending in a light glow. “Je serai ici dès que possible,” (I’ll be here as soon as I can)

“Merci,” (Thank you) Y/N nodded in understanding, arms slipping from the confines of her coat. Harry smiled in response, helping the waitress untie the tassels from the post. As soon as the curtains fell, their booth darkened. The luminosity from the general restaurant setting being blocked out. Yellow-hued light from the fixture above their heads spread enough warmth to see each other. The electronic candle in the middle of the dark table flickering as if it was real.

“I didn’t know you could speak French,” Harry’s voice was tight as a knot, lips barely parting to let the words escape. His decorated fingers flickered through the menu distractedly, keeping an open ear to her response. 

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, I took classes,” She reached over to soothe her palm over his knuckles. They were bruised and purpling from the raucous punches he threw even with the cushion of the boxing gloves. “Pourquoi? Aimes-tu?” (Why? Do you like it?) Her forehead wiggled with humour, earning a chuckle from Harry at her silliness. He didn’t know much of the language but he knew enough. He could say that he liked coffee and, “Oui, je suis allé au cinema avec mes copains et ma famille,” (I went to the cinema with my friends and family)

She threw her head back laughing, starry eyes glinting like a little kid. “You always say that,” Recalling the numerous times the sentence fluidly spilled from his mouth.

He agreed, “Mhm and you never said anything! Thought I was smart until my girlfriend surprised me,” Y/N explained why she never ought to say anything to him--said that there really was no previous circumstance where she felt the need to use it. “I have no idea what you’re saying but you sound hot as fuck,”

“Il y a beaucoup de surprises ce soir,” (There are a lot of surprises tonight) The light atmosphere shifted on a more serious note. Y/N’s tongue peeked from behind her plush, painted lips like a snake slithering its body. Wetting her mouth and smearing it with an irresistible sheen that had Harry feeling dizzy. He bit his own lip, letting the plump flesh whiten with the force. Her accent is killing him. The slow drawl between syllables, the cohesiveness between words as if she considered each appellation with deliberate thought. 

“So,” Harry spoke anxiously, unable to keep his body from fidgeting. Y/N hummed in response, thinning her lips inwards. “What are you thinking of getting?” He forced himself to read the options on the laminated paper. 

“Something delectable,” She uttered, “savoury,” Fingers flipped to the next page, “maybe something juicy and thick,” Y/N skimmed her eyes over the edge of the log, catching a fleeting glance of Harry’s flushed cheeks. “The braised lamb shank, I think,”

His popped collar tickled the skin of his throat which bobbed with a hefty swallow. Y/N closed the menu, putting it aside so that she could rest her elbows on the table. One palm cradled her chin as she watched him practically sweat in his fancy Gucci suit.

“That sounds. . .great,” Harry felt his eyes droop away, opting to blatantly stare at his girlfriends’ cleavage. Despite the shadow from her forearms, he could still see the crest of breasts, kissing the fabric of her tight dress. 

“Yeah? En veux-tu?” (You want some?) Y/N’s heady sigh wisping through the air. Harry salivated at the various images flickering through his head. He breathed out a “yes,” to whatever she just said. 

“Really?”

Harry snapped out of his thought, shaking his skull, “I mean no--, wait maybe?”

Y/N chuckled at his keening behaviour, “Calm down, Har. I asked if you wanted some,"

He blew his reddening cheeks, an enlightened hum stemming from his throat, “Nuh uh, I can’t do that. Not when you’re practically teasing me like that,”

“Like what?”

He raised a neatly trimmed brow with the most incredulous expression on his face, “You’re kidding me,” His fingers stretched to play with his rings. Twisting the golden ‘H’ from his digit, back and forth. Y/N caught his actions, briefly letting her walls down in a moment of weakness at the sight of his long fingers doing the most mundane thing ever. “Speaking French? It does things to me, you know,”

Small, thumping noises echoed off of the hollow wood. Fingertips dancing across the surface as Y/N watched him with hooded eyes. 

“Stop lookin’ at me like that!” Harry retorted, playfully raising a barrier to his sight. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,”

“ Nothing? Don’t ya’ remember what your naughty lil’ mouth said on our last date?” 

Her body perked up in interest, “Hmm, the one where I go on my knees when anyone can walk in?” She bit her lips as he paused. The ring resting on his second metacarpal as he breathed in sharply, a curl flopping over his forehead. “Or having your huge cock so far down my throat that you can’t help but moan?”

“Might’ve said somethin’ about that,” 

Y/N shook her head back and forth in mock disappointment, “You shouldn’t think about that stuff, Harry. Anyone can hear you over these curtains and you know very well that you can’t keep those noises in,” She rolled her eyes for effect, reaching for the complimentary glass of water. 

His large hand gripped her wrist abruptly, forcing her to look up at him, “I can be quiet if I want to,” Harry gritted his teeth. His ego rubbing against rough edges at her attitude. 

“Oh please, don’t make me laugh, H,” Y/N scoffed in response, “mais j'aime les sons que tu fais,” (But I love the sounds you make)

There it was again; the dip in her tone. Harry might not exactly understand what she was saying but there was no doubt in his mind that it was meant to provoke him; to turn him on. He growled deep in his throat that she barely heard it through Tchaikovsky’s movement. “So fuckin’ stubborn,”

She leaned back on the booth, crossing her arms over her chest. “Listen closely. I’m in control tonight, alright?” Y/N stared him down, watching the contemplation washing over his face. “C’est ma nuit,” (It’s my night)

“Cut the attitude, Y/N,” His breath hitched in his throat as Y/N smirked gleefully. Her leg raised to rub the bulge in his pants from under the table which Harry obviously did not expect. Y/N’s heel pressed lightly where she assumed his crotch would be, experimentally dipping the curvatures of his upper thighs. Harry gripped the edge of the table at a spark of pleasure flashing through his whole body when Y/N inconspicuously leaned over to press the button the waitress had indicated. “S-stop that,”

“I really don’t want to, daddy,” She gave him a quick smile. His bleary eyes blinking from being closed so tight--an effort to control himself.

“Y/N, I swear to--,” Harry began to murmur when the curtain slipped open. His large palm roughly grabbing her ankle at the surprise of an outsider’s presence.

“What can I get for you?” The waitresses’ pulled her notepad. The tip of the pen patiently resting on the paper.

Y/N opened her menu, sending a wink in Harry’s direction, “I’ll have the braised lamb shank please,” 

The waitress nodded, moving to face her body towards Harry, simultaneously jotting down the order. Harry could feel his heart palpitating in his rib cage. Y/N’s ankle twisting every which way to get out of his vice grip. 

“Et toi, sir?” (And you?)

Harry stuttered a response, suddenly forgetting what he chose to eat tonight. Did he even choose anything? Regardless, the closed menu scorned him to open it. But that would mean having to let go of his girl’s ankle. Hesitantly, he raised his hands from beneath the table, flinching the slightest bit as Y/N stretched her ankle subtly. 

“I’ll have the uh--,” He pursed his lip at a sudden pressure, “The uh, same,”

“Alright, anything else I can get for you?” A questionable frown was plastered on the stranger’s face at Harry’s strange actions and stuttered speech. 

“Une bouteille de rouge, s'il vous plaît” (A bottle of red, please) Y/N beamed sweetly as if she wasn’t doing anything unspoken right below the waitress’s nose.

The waitress disappeared behind the cloth, clicking her pen. Once again, Harry and Y/N were left in the semi-private booth to do as they please. Well, for Y/N to do as she pleased. She established that he wasn’t really the one in control here and he could rest his pride for the night to let his girl have her night of dominance. 

____

The night went on easier than Harry thought.  Aside from the little fiasco in the beginning, Y/N didn’t try to surprise him with any more affectionate touches after that. He wasn’t quite sure if he was grateful or not because anything Y/N wanted to give him; he would take it. 

“No! It ‘juh’ ‘m’appelle Harry’,” (My name is Harry)

He plopped a piece of seasoned meat in his mouth, creasing his forehead, “That’s what I said, innit? ‘Jeh’ m’appelle Harry, yeah?” He quirked a brow, cheek puffing as he chewed his food.

“You need to work on your accent, monsieur,” (Mister)

He hummed, “mm say that again,” What was meant to be a subtle joke incited the beginning of Y/N’s plans. She dabbed the edge of her napkin on the corners of her mouth. The glass of bubbly water simmered against the rim of the flute. Y/N stood up to sit next to him, pulling her dress down to her thighs, scooching her body against the velvet cushion seats. 

“Hi there,” Harry greeted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “What are you up to?” He whispered so quietly that he was sure--even with Y/N’s close proximity-- that she did not hear it. 

“Je te veux, Harry,” (I want you) Her pointer tapped her cupid’s bow twice. Harry could feel his heartbeat quicken when her tongue appeared, resting a fingertip right in the middle. She made a show of slathering her digit with her saliva, excessively wetting it as if it were his dick. Heat rose under his clothes. There was a burning desire to run as far away from her as possible but he also wanted to melt in a puddle under her feet. “Ici,” (Here)

That he knew. The word came out muffled due to her lips puckering, cheeks hollowing with an effort from the suction of her mouth. His thumb reached up to graze her bottom lip, now loose from releasing her finger, opting to trace teasing touches on his crotch. “You want me in here?” The pad of his thumb slipped between her lips, resting the digit on her wet tongue just as she had only moments prior. “Will I let you?” 

Y/N dipped her head forward, pushing his thumb deeper in her mouth, Sparks of pain lingered on his nerves as she sucked with determination. She rolled her eyes at his question, obviously forgetting who was in charge here, “I’ll take what’s mine,”

“Tu es à moi,” (You are mine) Harry’s hand dropped between their bodies, slumping bonelessly as she gripped his hardening length through his pants, “C'est à moi,” (This is mine) His head fell back on the padded wall, nose wheezing with a vehement sigh.

From the corners of his eye, he could see a slither between the curtains. Workers walking every which way to serve customers, guests walking to their booths. There was no way they could get out of here without being caught. As much as he hated it, Y/N was right. He was vocal in his pleasure. He wanted his partner to know how good he was feeling; always praising encouraging words and releasing quiet whimpers when it felt particularly nice. 

A tug on his lower half snapped him out of his worrisome thoughts. His previously half-massed length plumping to its full potential. Blood surged through his dick, deeming his brain useless and lightheaded with excitement. “Fuck, who are you?”

Harry didn’t actually think she would go through with this. Y/N has never done anything as risque before. Except for last date’s escapade under the table where he made her cum with his tongue and fingers, forcing her to stay quiet as he got his cheeks wet. 

He breathed in a sigh of relief when the button on his trousers popped open. The zipper followed soon enough. The underside of his dick pushed the metal hinge down. The fabric of his boxers stained with blurts of pre-cum, darkening the grey material with a sticky liquid that Y/N couldn’t wait to have on her tongue. Y/N stared at it with awe while Harry merely panted in disbelief. “Tu es si dur,” (You are so hard)

Harry lifted his hips to allow Y/N to slide his trousers and underwear past his bum. “Huh?” He mumbled, scooting to make room for Y/N as she bent at the hip, still sitting on the seat. Y/N looked into his hazy eyes, too delirious to connect like-sounding words together and translating it; not when her warm palm touched his hard, velvet skin. 

“You’re so hard,” She dotted her thumb on the leaking slit, swirling the pad in circles to collect more moisture before swiping her digit towards the crown where the head met the shaft. He was most sensitive in that area and it clearly showed when the slightest graze caused him to shiver and garble out a relieved groan. “Soyez silencieux,” (Be quiet)

Harry glared at her, trying to shake the spots in his vision, “I can be quiet,”

His words fell on deaf ears as Y/N proceeded to wrap the rest of her fingers, one by one, around his girth. Each touch was like a shot of electricity frying his nerves. A moan rumbled deep in his chest, barely able to stop it with a clamp of his mouth. 

Y/N chuckled, sticking her tongue to saturate her taste buds with his musky flavour, “Sure, you ca--,” Her words were cut off with an appreciative hum. The vibrations rattled his senses. Paired with the noises she was making, the visual of her kitten licking the pool of pre-cum on his tip, her fingers massaging his engorged dick, and God forbid she stared up at him with hooded eyes like she was the one receiving immense amounts of pleasure. 

“Are ya’ comfortable, bunny?” Harry asked, noting the way she looked awkwardly bending to reach his middle. She shook her head just as the heat of her mouth encompassed the head, almost distracting him from his initial question. “Up ya’ go, c’mon,” He muttered. His dick pointed straight to the dim ceiling, jolting every which way as he made more room for her to sit and lay down. She shifted her body, ducking her head nearly under the edge of the table. Her cheek rested on his ferns while he palmed her ass with the way she laid. “How’s that?”

“Meilleur,” (Better)

“Good,” Harry replied. Y/N’s heart fluttered at his sweetness. She nearly had his cock tucked inside the confines of her mouth yet he put her first. He definitely deserves something special for that. 

She maneuvered his dick to level with her hungry mouth. Like she did with her finger, Y/N lathed her tongue over the prominent veins decorating his length, insistently pressing her wet muscle against it. Every time she did something she absolutely knew would result in a groan on his end, Harry’s clenched fists gripped her ponytail tighter and dug his fingers on the soft flesh of her bum. 

At least he wasn’t making any noise. 

Slurping noises filled the booth as Y/N relaxed her mouth, head bobbing back and forth. It irritated her cheek to have his course pubic hair scratching her skin but it was the least of her worries. Harry tried to keep an open gaze shifting between Y/N mouthing at his dick to the gap in the curtain. His heart skipped a beat every time someone appeared to be walking in their direction but then turned away at the last minute. Except a familiar waitress seemed to be walking directly over to them. She was only metres away and Harry wondered if it was worth the embarrassment to feel Y/N’s heavenly mouth for a few more seconds. 

“Baby, get up. Someone’s coming,” Harry reached over to grab Y/N’s discarded coat, placing it over his exposed dick and hissing when the fabric touched his sensitive tip. Y/N sat up from her half-sitting position, using her thumb to wipe the rims of her mouth, catching the suspicious stickiness, suckling at the skin and appearing too calm for almost getting caught. 

“Here are the desserts you ordered earlier,” The waitress began, curtains waving open a second late. A tray of delectable sweets lay on the cart. Pink and pistachio green French macarons plated delicately on a small plate for them to share. Both Y/N and Harry craved merveilleux (marvellous); a light meringue cake with whipped cream and dusted chocolate shavings. It wasn’t too sweet and it was immensely creamy. 

Harry blew out his blushy cheeks, stray curls falling over his forehead as his large hand palmed over his centre; the other hand pinched his lips. His dimples deepened with a slight smile as he tried to act normal. 

Y/N started to thank her but stopped to clear her throat, finding that Harry’s thick length was more work than she thought, “Thank you. Merci,”

__

“Je te veux plus profond,” (I want you deeper) Y/N stated, eyeing Harry’s fist crumpling her coat to cover his length. He was about to ask what the fuck she just said  but he found out exactly what she meant a moment later. Y/N tucked her calves beneath her thighs, resting her body weight on her knees under the table. She removed the coat from his lap, revealing his drippy cock. 

The flat of her tongue lapped at the underside of his dick, beginning from the base where his tights balls rested snuggly--filled with cum that she wanted shooting down her throat--to the hooked skin of his frenulum, tracing the curved shape before swirling the entire head like a hurricane, ending the focus on the slick surface of his blurting, red tip before pulling off. She bowed her fingers to haul his clothing down further, bunching the fabric on his calves. 

Like he did to her, Y/N used the end of her palm to force his thick thighs open, sensually rubbing the muscle. “Ow,” She looked up in concern, finding him smiling down at her, “‘M kidding it didn’t hurt,” 

Y/N scoffed, cradling his balls and giving it a harsher squeeze to reprimand him. “Se comporter,”  (Behave) He appeared to understand the message.

She left her hand to handle his balls, gently rolling each of them in his sack. Y/N gripped his dick in a way that allowed her to sink lower to press a lingering kiss to the middle of his sack. The unusual spot sent alarming signals to Harry. However, at this point, everything felt like heaven on earth. All he wanted was to release his usual appreciative groan when Y/N took it upon herself to suck on each ball, releasing sparks of pleasure up the length of his dick. Her hand moved to the thick base to hold him steady, alternating the pressure of her fingers around him. 

“Bon garçon,” (Good boy) Y/N praised, noticing the way the flesh of his bottom lip was stained white from his baring teeth. She engulfed him in her mouth, shearing half of his length from sight. He breathed harshly, feeling the smooth walls of her mouth caressing his hot skin. Her tongue added stimulation on the underside with dipping, upward licks while the other side rubbed against the ridges of the roof of her mouth. The varying degrees of pressure sent Harry into overdrive. 

What did she say? Good boy, wasn’t it? Harry cursed his curious mind from focusing on something aside from the feeling between his legs. 

“Yes, I’m a good boy,” He whimpered through a pursed mouth, heavy pants escaping his heaving chest as he slumped lower in his seat. The tip of his dick prodded her throat, producing a choking sound from Y/N and had Harry thumping his fist on the table, clattering the contents. 

Throughout his relationship, Y/N had never let his cock past where she was comfortable taking him. The absolute rush he felt from his neurotic tip dipping in what he can describe as the wettest, tightest and warmest place he had ever felt was almost enough to let his ego go and ruin his vocal cords. 

“Good boys deserve a reward, right?” Y/N mumbled through his tumescent head, letting the fold of her lips rub his pink tip. She looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, resting her cheek on his quivering knee. “Pass me my glass, please,”

Harry chuckled at her request, sitting up a little so that he could reach across the table for her glass of water. Y/N waited for the inevitable jutting of Harry’s hips as he moved forward, widening her mouth to accommodate his thick length down her throat. She gagged from the intrusion, feeling the head of his cock hitting her pharynx. 

“God, fuck!” Harry groaned, hand swiftly gripping her tied hair, holding her position. His elbow rested on the table, resting his forehead on his forearm. The fabric of his dress shirt bunched when his abdominal muscles clenched. She has never taken him all the way before. He clutched the edge of the booth when she pulled off. The cool air hitting his wet cock. 

“Droit?” (Right?) 

Harry nodded desperately, willing his hips to stick to the chair. “Can you do it again? Please, Y/N. I’m so close,” 

Y/N observed his body as much as she could. The lulled lids draping over his hazy eyes; most likely blinking out the white spots from his vision. His coloured lips were glossy with arousal. The apples of his cheeks were stamped a blush red. Sometimes his cheek bulged with the pressing of his tongue in quiet desperation, gazing down at her with admiration planted in his eyes. Other times she looked up; his cheeks were hollowed as he sucked in a deep breath, head tilted backwards with eyes stamped shut. 

“Tu es proche?” (You’re close?) Y/N didn’t need an answer. She could tell from the tensing muscles of his thigh. Harry’s knees trying to knock together and the quivering of his hipbones underneath her thumbs, holding him down. 

“Oui, proche,” (Yes, close) He mumbled repeatedly, hoping that what he said and what he wished for was the same thing. 

Y/N hummed in response, choosing not to answer verbally. Instead, she relaxed her mouth, widening her lips to wrap around his head, massaging the girth until she reached the base. She breathed deeply through her nose, loosening her throat to ease his cock further. Spit dribbled from the corners of her mouth, slick saliva leaving his length wet and warm. She came up with a gasp before engulfing him back inside. 

Muted moans were released in the air. Harry’s worries of getting caught were placed at the back burner of his mind. Not when his girl had a mouthful of his cock down her throat; granting him with so much pleasure that only she could give. His eyes rounded when her soft hand-rolled his balls a couple of times. She moaned at the sole feeling of Harry’s fingers digging in her scalp to keep her close while simultaneously lifting his hips the slightest bit to force his cock deeper. Silent constrictions of her throat against his dick filled his ears, choking noises echoed in the booth as Y/N bobbed her head up and down. 

It had only been a few minutes when Harry’s low drawl of “I’m coming, baby,”. His voice was tight, tone dropping a few octaves as his tip prodded her throat a few more times. The burning in his lower stomach grew bigger as the pleasure mounted on top of each other, leading him to his inevitable release. Y/N could feel his length swell in her mouth, her palm felt his balls pulsating as it prepared to shoot white streaks in her mouth. She briskly pulled away, emitting a tortured whine from Harry, making grabby hands at every part of her. 

Harry’s tip weighted on her tongue, making a show of swirling her organ on his frenulum. His lulled eyes pinched together, mouthing a ‘fuck me’ before repeating his hushed chants of “I’m coming”. 

And he did! He could barely keep his head stable on his shoulders, opting to thud against the wall as streaks of white shot the expanse of his dick, painting her tongue with his huge load. Y/N continued to squeeze his balls lightly while the other pumped his base. Harry’s stomach caved in, tensing every part of his body until relaxation took over. Harry watched as Y/N tugged his pants upwards, gently asking him to lift his hips up so that he could pull it over his bum. She carefully slipped his softening length back in his boxers, zipping his trousers carefully and popping his button. 

His breathing was calm when she came up from underneath with the brightest smile plastered on her face. She kissed him with passion. And he retaliated with the same fervour despite the lethargic feeling in his limbs, his hands cupping her face tenderly as they both smiled into the kiss. Y/N pulled away first, lifting a hand to stroke his clammy forehead, brushing away the stubborn curls. 

“Est-tu bon?”(Are you good?)  She asked, staring him with so much love in her eyes. She rested the rim of her glass against her lips. 

“Are you kidding me? I’m more than good,” Harry praised, sighing nostalgically at what occurred a few minutes ago. He shivered at the thought of her throat stuffed with his cock which gave a twitch in his pants. “I reckon I could go again in a bit,”

Y/N fixed her hair, looking at her reflection through the shiny silverware to make sure that she appeared presentable, “Just wait till’ we get home,” She reached over to press the golden button with the intention of acquiring the bill, settling it and leaving in the comfort of their vehicle. 

“Wha’ d’ya mean?” Harry drew his brows together in interest. Her nonchalant statement leading him to conclude that she had more tricks up her sleeve. She reached over his lap to grab her coat, purposefully brushing her wrist against the newly formed bulge in his pants. 

She winked in return, “Patience, mon amour,”

____

longer than i thought because of my dire need to describe every single fricking thing D:<

sorry for any errors! feel free to correct me :)

let me know what you thought!

____

 Permanent Taglist: @fangirl-moment-x @kissme-hs @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @harrysstyleseyes @calums-sugarbaby @queenbeestuffs @ashkuuuu @kettxo @send-me-styles @littledreamybeth @trustfulhaz @harrysfeastedflower @harrystxleslx @befourep @moonandstars-xo @babebenhardy @particularnarry @mendesromano @harrystylinsince1994 @juliassgem @miscll-fangirl @little-dragon-ate-my-heart @myfangirlworld @haroldssfedora @winchesterwife27 @w0wfxck @arypesanchez @harriemelonsugar @someinsanefangirl @derangedcupcake @bobo-bush @peachesaquari @shawnsnovel @ivegotparticulartaste @adore-you-hs2 @combativehood @simonsbluee @hockeyschmockey​ @belovedcherry​ @harrysahottie @adore-you-hs2 @splendidsunsetsx @turtoix @la-cey @harrys-watermelons @softkidinlove

[mnictasbcl]

Don’t Think

Here is my next story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife’s #dbhghostsinthemachine challenge, prompt OCT 6: Data Missing. 

Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson

Tags: Memory Loss, Partial amnesia, Swearing, Fainting, Blood and injury, self injury, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Amanda was gone, destroyed. But the Zen Garden was a vital part of his mind. Connor couldn’t expect for things to be normal once it was gone, not when the garden had been intricately linked with his core memories.

Read it on AO3! Or, read below.

Connor felt normal as he blinked back to awareness on the stage, staring out at the sea of androids. Markus was making his speech, the Jericho members standing on the other corners of the stage. The androids were free.

Yes, and he’d helped them. Had helped by deviating, helping them out of the sinking freighter, proposed the plan to go to the Cyberlife Tower—

He jolted, as if a current had been sparked in his brain, shocking him. Cyberlife Tower—

It happened again. Oh, it was unpleasant, and he didn’t feel like facing it again. Maybe it was a glitch, after all he had just destroyed a big part of his program. He’d had to avoid thinking about those words, for now.

Meanwhile there was celebrating to do. Not with the others, no, he couldn’t stand with them and act like he hadn’t almost shot their leader in the back of the head. Instead, he celebrated his newfound deviancy, freedom, by walking into the cold Detroit streets and going nowhere in particular.

Because he was free. They all were now. Free to do whatever he pleased. Free from orders, free from Amanda, free from…

What did he do before? Work, right. At the DPD—

Connor opened his eyes and found he’d fallen to his knees, clutching his head. Huh, it had happened again. His LED spun, processing the facts. Certain words caused blinding pain.

Pain. Well, he guessed that solved that question: androids didn’t feel pain, but deviants sure did. He pinched his arm and yelped.

“Fuck.” He swore, and the pain in his head tripled.

   …………………………………………………………………………………………………

 Connor awoke lying on the cold pavement of a street in Detroit. Cold snow was beginning to seep into his trousers, uncomfortable and wet, biting at his artificial skin. He pushed himself to his knees, hand ghosting over the side of his head. His hand came away wet and slick with fresh blue thirium.

He must have fallen, then. It was the day of the Revolution- maybe he’d partied too hard?

Yeah, right. He was on his own in the middle of a street, no one in sight, the only signs of life the distant cries and cheers of the celebrating androids far, far away.

He’d probably just passed out, for no reason. Maybe he was malfunctioning.

Connor blinked, stared at his hands for a moment longer before wiping them over his suit jacket. It was a shitty jacket anyway, and goddamn waterproof.

He groaned, pain sparking back up with every swear he internalised. Why was swearing causing him so much pain? Or thinking about the DPD—

He railed his fists against the snow, over and over and over, until his hands were numb, and dents caved in his thumb. Well, that hurt. That hurt a lot.

But at least the ache in his head had subsided. He concluded that it was down to thinking. About specific things, but he didn’t know what these things were until it was too late.

Mission: Don’t think.

So, he continued again to mindlessly walk, hands hanging limp and useless at his sides, blue blood trickling down the side of his face. What a sight to see, to behold, an android in his own ruin, eyes dead ahead, the prospect of merely existing a struggle.

Evening became night. Night became early morning. At some point, the cheers died down.

The first time someone called him, he muted the ringtone of any incoming calls, before eventually blocking them all. He didn’t need to think. Couldn’t. Just had to walk and hope the glitch would fix itself.

When he stumbled over a curb, he decided it was time to take a break. An unthinking break, mind you. Simply sitting on the curb by a closed-up shop which, upon inspection, looked a whole lot—

What was it now? The place with its chicken-y name, its rusted metal door, looking at the table beside it sent him tearing out handfuls of his hair, screaming and screaming until—

      …………………………………………………………………………………………………

 He awoke in a different place, with different clothes and aching hands.

Connor stared up and saw a ceiling. Felt the soft plush mattress beneath him, the covers draped over his shivering body.

The sight of the room caused no pain, so he dared to sit up. He was in a house; someone had bandaged his hands and his head had stopped leaking thirium. It was mostly empty, save for the chair in the corner, some artwork, and a closed closet at the other end of the room.

Peace would not last long. Someone knocked on the door, and before long it was pushed open roughly. A dog ran into the room, big and panting and—

Errorerrrorerror

DATA MISSING

Connor clasped his hands over his head again, turning away from the dog, who whimpered sadly at his apparent rejection.

But soon the stimuli was gone, door closed shut, dog far away. He dared to peek out between his fingers, and saw—

Shaggy grey hair, stripy shirt, concerned blue eyes—

A hoarse static sound tore from his throat, error messages beginning to pile up in his vision in their dozens. Something was wrong, something upon seeing the things outside, then the dog, and then this man—this man was the culmination of all his problems. Error, error, error, data missing, data missing.

He tried to close the errors, but they multiplied infinitely over his software. So he tried to push away the missing data.

Warning.

Delete damaged data file?

Connor flicked through the file. Images of the man with the grey hair, the DPD, his dog, Chicken Feed—but they were all broken, parts of each image, each file, each dialogue received, torn apart. All clustering together in one big mess, causing any recollection to make him suffer.

Delete Hank.exe?

He paused. That… that was the man’s name? Hank. Hank. Despite the pain it caused him, he kept thinking of the word. Over and over and over until the errors were gone and, in their place, just as red and blinding read:

HANK

This file seemed at the forefront of his memory, no wonder it had been damaged if something had happened to his mind. It seemed important.

If he deleted it, he would forget this man forever.

…but if he didn’t, would it cause him to feel these horrible things every time he even thought about the man?

Connor closed his eyes. There had to be a way. When Amanda tried to control him, take over his body, he’d found an emergency exit and clawed his way out.

So that meant he didn’t have to delete this file, but he didn’t have to live with it either. If it was damaged, maybe he could fix it. The error was missing data: so he had to get back that data.

He reached out blindly, grabbing a hold of the man’s arm, who stumbled forwards at the rough contact. His skin peeled back, white chassis revealed but he couldn’t interface, couldn’t—

It was a human. Well, he supposed this human couldn’t be bad, then. He added ‘good’ to the list, hoping to repair some missing data.

Being good meant that he hadn’t tried to stop the revolution. Helped with the Revolution.

Helped with the Revolution meant friend.

Hank. Good. Helped with revolution. Friend. Friend. Friend.

Of course, he was his friend. He’d got over his hatred of androids, helped him with cases, even went so far as to risking his job so he wouldn’t lose his life. He helped him disguise to blend into Jericho, despite not agreeing with his cause, and they’d—

Connor groaned, eyes snapping open. Forcing himself to look the man in the face and take in his features one by one.

“Who are you?” He finally grit out.

The man, despite his initial shock, sat down beside Connor on the bed and patted his knee. “I’m Hank, Connor. Your, uh, partner at the DPD?”

“You don’t work at the DPD anymore, and I helped Markus with the android revolution.”

Hank laughed. “Yeah, I got suspended for a while. And I don’t know about you. But… that’s where we met.”

Connor closed his eyes, opened the memory file on their meeting. Jimmy’s bar.

“You swore at me and not long after threw me against a wall when we first met. I do not understand. If we are friends, we must have met somewhere else.”

“Nah, that’s just my dashing first impression, Con—”

“Con. What is that?”

“That’s what I call you, sometimes, when you’re not being an asshole.”

“Am I usually an asshole?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Huh. It appears my files see you as an asshole sometimes, too.”

Hank snorted. “Whatever. So… what’s exactly… uh, happening? I found you outside Chicken Feed trying to tear yourself a new haircut and…”

“My memory files about you are damaged. I am trying to piece them back together.”

“Oh. So you don’t, uh, fuckin’ remember me, then?”

“No, I have memories of you. They’re just damaged and need repair.”

“That’s what the cryptic questions are for.”

“Exactly. So… you are my friend. We are both assholes sometimes.”

“Yeah, basically. Anything else you need to know?”

He thought long and hard for a moment. “Yes. I seem to have everything apart from one vital thing… something in the middle, it is missing,” he gestured, “and until I fix it, looking at you causes great pain.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“It is… I do not understand what it is to do with. I have every memory of you now, but—it is your logistics. Who you are. To me.” Connor cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at the bedcovers. “Who are you? I thought classifying as a friend was enough. But this seems inconclusive, not complex enough for these human emotions I seem to be feeling. Relationships are not meant to be so linear, so…”

“Defined? What are you getting at, Con?”

“It’s that. Con. What you call me, this… affection. How you seemed to care, to bring me off the street when I was causing damage to myself…”

“Well, uh, yeah, I care. And we were meant to be meeting up there after you finished partying with your friends.”

“What were we going to do, exactly?”

“Uh… catch up? Maybe work out what the fuck you’re going to do now. And…” Hank looked away. “Nevermind.”

“No, there’s something else.”

He shook his head. “Asshole. Fine. It was… it was… Fuck, just let me show you, okay?”

When Connor nodded, Hank leant forwards and wrapped him into a warm embrace. He froze at the contact, words flashing across his vision, Hank, Hank, Hank, friend, friend—

Data Restored

And breathed a sigh of relief before hugging him back. Hank wasn’t friend, Hank was… Hank was warmth and comfort, bluntness with kindness tucked underneath, he was the gentle giant of his large dog, caring actions covered up with a ‘fuck you’.

He was Hank. And that was enough.

[maybe-your-left]

Kylo doesn't like wearing the skirt? Imagine if he does wear one, you could see his third leg just swinging around.

kylo does NOT like the skirt.

———

“Hey,” you cooed. Running your finger across Kylos broad back from behind the couch. You leaned over the lip, giving him your best puppy eyes, “What if we did something new?”

“What do you mean,” he mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. Kylo didn’t even turn to look at you, staring directly at the screen. History channel was on, its more important than you. You traced your finger up to his ear, brushing his long hair back to expose it. Kylo shuddered as you traced it, giving you a sideways glare before taking another bite of his precious meal.

“I just wanna try some stuff with you...”

“What kind of stuff? We already do enough.”

“Like in the bedroom,” you leaned further, almost flopping into the couch in the process. “I wanna try something new.”

Kylo snorted, “I’ve already fucked all your holes, unless you want me to try and burst your eardrum there’s nothing new to work in.”

“Okay gross,” you sighed, “I was thinking some roleplay.”

“Oh.”

You had his attention now, you climbed over the lip. Perching next to him on your heels and puffing your bottom lip out. Being sure to press your breasts together so he was nice and buttered up. “I wanted to do like a school girl role play.”

“School girl?”

You nodded.

“Angel, we haven’t been in school in like 7 years. I’m almost 30.”

You groaned, slumping into his lap dramatically. Smushing your face into the cushion on the other side of his thigh, “That’s why it’s a role playyyyy.”

Kylo smacked the back of your thigh, “Dont fuckin’ whine. What would it even be? You getting a fucked for an A?”

“Not exactly...”

“You didn’t even get As in college.”

———

Three nights later you executed your plan, laying out a school girl uniform on the bed. Along with various toys, you were wearing a black lingerie set. Looking extra tantalizing for his royal jackass to come see you.

“I’m home,” you heard him holler from the kitchen, you perked up right away. Vibrating from excitement as you waited. Soon he strode through the door, dead in his tracks when he saw you.

“What’s this?” He asked, his eyes dancing across your skin and finally settling on the outfit. He scrunched his forehead, “Arent you supposed to have that on?”

You shook your head, your smile wide across your face.

“Well,” Kylo kept staring at it, “Whose it for then? This isn’t like a threeway thing again, right? Because last time you picked the girl and she didn’t stop calling me for a month.”

“It’s for you.”

Just when you thought he was froze before, he somehow became even stiffer. His smirk falling into a deep frown as he back away from the bed. “Why would I wear that,” he stuttered.

You crawled to the edge of the bed, grasping his collar before he could run away. Bringing him close to your face as you whispered, “Because I’m going to fuck your pretty little ass.”

Kylo visibly gulped, “Are you serious?”

You nodded your head, placing a plush kiss before you whispered again, “Since you’ve been such a slut, needing to get your grades up by fucking your teacher.”

“Oh my god, your fucking serious right now.”

“Get your outfit on,” you pushed him away, “Dont keep me waiting.”

———

“This thing is uncomfortable,” Kylo whined from the bathroom, he had been in there for 10 minutes. You weren’t sure if he spent it cleaning himself or trying to break out through the window, but you were done waiting.

“Come out here or I’m giving you an F!”

“I thought you were giving me a D!”

“Just for that,” you sneered through the door, “I’m not going gentle!”

Kylo finally emerged, face beet red and scrunched in embarrassment. You were so excited, it was so snug on him. Caressing his muscles, every dip and bulge of his skin, right down to his cock. Which was harder than you expected, peaking out from under the pleating.

You placed your palms on his cheeks, sloppy kisses against his mouth. Kylo hummed into you, the tension from before melting away as he wrapped his large hands around your waist. His fingers digging into your skin as your tongues danced. You grinded into him, causing him to hiss as you squeezed his cock between the two of you. “This better be worth it,” he growled into your mouth. Lifting you from the floor and walking the two of you to the bed.

Kylo slotted between your legs, pushing your open with a palm behind each knee. He stared down at your pussy, glistening and bare. Lips parting as he spread your legs more. Kylo gathered some spit, letting it fall on your clit before he rocked his cock against you. The skirt pulled back enough for him to coat him in your juices.

“Baby,” you whined, “I’m supposed to be fucking you.”

Kylo shook his head, “Not yet, professor, I need to be sure your good enough to fuck my ass.”

His hand dropped your leg, popping the tip inside you. You moaned at the stretch, even after all these years together. He still split you, stretching and pushing you apart to make room for his monster cock. Kylo grunted as he sunk inside you, a loud squelch when he was flush with your hips.

“Am I good enough?”

He nodded silently, sucking in a breathe through his teeth before pounding into you. Anchoring himself over you, his stupid skirt covering the image of his cock ripping you.

“You like getting fucked by me?” he growled, “In this stupid outfit?”

You dug your nails into his shoulders, pulling him down to your face. “It’s a mandatory uniform you filthy slut.”

Kylo growled again, slamming harder and harder into you. He latched his mouth to your neck, sucking a deep purple welt. “Everyone’s gonna know you let one of your students fuck you, you’re going to get fired.”

You grabbed his face between your thumb and forefinger, just the way he does to you, “Do you want the whole class to know I fucked you?” Kylo froze, trying to work his jaw close from your steel grip. You brought his real close, “Get on your fucking hands and knees, you need to earn your grade.”

Shockingly enough, Kylo obeyed without a word. The slight whine from his throat was all you heard when he pulled out. Centering himself on the bed and bending over, you smiled when you saw him. His firm, pale ass up in the air for you.

And nestled inside in was a plug, just for you to take out.

You brought a finger to it, taping the base experimentally. “Look at you,” you mused, giving a light tug to it, Kylo shuddered underneath you. Nuzzling his face into the duvet, he let out a lewd moan. “Fuck Angel,” he whimpered, spreading his legs a little wider for you. Even arching his back so you would reward him with more touches.

“Are you eager to get fucked?”

Kylo nodded, “I’m eager to get this skirt off, now fuck me.”

You scowled at it him.

“Please,” he whimpered.

You reached to your side, grabbing the strap to nestle inside you. Being sure to place the base right over your aching clit, you then squirted copious amounts of lube on the length. Fucking yourself with a fist while you tugged at the plug. Kylo groaned beneath you as the largest part pulled out. Exhaling hotly once it was free, you wasted no time bringing the tip to him. Thrusting your hips slowly, you scratched your nails up his thighs. Digging them into his skin just the way he likes.

“Okay Ky?”

He nodded into the blankets, “Mhm, please move. I’m going to fucking cum if you don’t do something.”

You smiled, snapping your hips into him. Both of you groaning out from the double sided toy. You saw one of Kylos arms fold under his chest, tugging at his weeping cock. Still slick from your pussy, you canted into him. A symphony of smacks, moans, and cries as you fucked him.

Kylo cried out, “Fucking fuck! Cumming... I’m fucking cumming!” His body seized below you, followed by more choking sobs as he sat up on his hands and sank back into you. His cock spurting cum all over the covers, pooling between his legs as he trembled.

You softly pushed into him, trying to move him off so you could get out. Kylo took the hint, wincing as you pulled away. Quickly standing from the bed to grab towels and water for him.

When you came back he was still panting, laying in a u-shape around his mess. A weak had stretched out to grab the bottle, chugging the entirety in one move.

“I’m never wearing the skirt again.”

———

i’m hot and HARD.

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @caillea @roanniom @contesa-lui-alucard @historyandfandoms50 @relationshipwithmybed @emeraldsiren20 @shesakillerkween @jynz-andtonic

[strawberrybouvine]

Okay so Rockstar!BJ getting his piercings,,, I feel like he would be terrified and be the kinda person who has to hold the stuffed animal when getting pierced? (I say this as someone who’s been pierced about 15-17 times, and still terrified of needles)~🏳️‍🌈

This ask hit me in the fluff feels and I may have written a drabble for it 😳

I just love the rockstar boy so much !!

"Don't go anywhere alright?" 

You couldn't help the sympathetic hum that escaped you as you grabbed Beetlejuice's hand tightly. Your rockstar boyfriend was currently lounging back in a rather comfy looking leather chair wearing the most worried expression you had ever seen on him. 

He had convinced you to come with you to his regular tattoo shop. You thought he'd be getting a new tattoo - one he had been rather excited while designing - but you were surprised to find that Beej had instead decided to get a new piercing. 

Beetlejuice hadn't told you exactly what he was getting but he did say he wanted you to be there with him. 

It turned out the rockstar was particularly squeamish when it came to getting piercings. 

"Don't worry, Bug, I'll stay right here," you reassured, smiling gently and patting his hand. Beej smiled back shakily, and closed his eyes to prepare. 

His hand flexed around yours nervously every few seconds. You played with the rings on his fingers and stroked the top of his hand lightly with your thumb. 

"What gets you so nervous about this, Beej?" You asked, curious. Beetlejuice opened his eyes to look at you and stroked your hand back. 

"No clue really," he muttered,"just something about it…" 

His shoulders hunched to his ears and he hivered. You nodded, gripping his hand tighter. 

"You do have a lot of piercings though," you pointed out. Beej was always proud to show them off, his eyebrow and ears were the most noticeable. He had two hoops and a bar in each ear, and you knew those were pretty painful ones, "how'd you get those ones done?" 

"Oh those," he chuckled,"I got them when I was first starting out. I got my ears done first, thought they looked badass." 

Beetlejuice fiddled with one of the hoops,"I was petrified cause I got it done by myself, I used to carry around this old worm plush and i practically busted its seams gripping it while I got my ears done." 

You giggled, letting go of his hand to cover your mouth a bit. You saw Beej flush, his hair streaking light pink with embarrassment. 

"Yea, it was pretty fuckin' dorky of me," he mutter, chuckling slightly. You shook your head, grabbing his hand again and leaning to kiss his cheek. His hair flushed a deeper pink in response. 

"I'm not laughing at you, babe" you assured with a smile,"I'm laughing cause the image of a younger you holding a plush for comfort is just too adorable!" 

Beetlejuice looked at you shocked and grinned lopsided, curling his fingers around yours tightly. 

"Your idea of adorable is really weird, doll." 

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, cupping your unoccupied hand against your cheek and leaning against it ,"I can't help but think everything about you is cute, Bug." 

The rockstar raised the hand he had gripped in his and planted a kiss on it. Beetlejuice gave you another of his signature grins. 

"I can say this though, Babes," you raised an eyebrow at his flirtatious tone, a blush dusting your cheeks. He noticed your blush and smirked, leaning closer to you so that you two were almost nose to nose. 

"You're much better than any stuff animal to me." 

[someone-always-cares]

chapter 4, page 1

first - previous - next

[image description: an sac webcomic page. rami jolts awake in panic, suddenly sitting up in a bed and room that is not his own. the room, at least the small corner of it shown with a bed and cuboard, in in mostly pink tones, with a small shelf next to the bed. rami is wearing different clothes since seen last, a white sweater with pastel rainbow stripes is covering the pale hospital gown.

beside him is a white and grey borzoi with a starry collar which he turns to, fear gone and looking half asleep too. the dog has sat up to face him and he stares at it in dazed confusion, before it reaches over and licks his cheeck, to which he makes a slightly disgusted face at it.

he reaches up a d gently pushes the dogs face away with a hand that, if one were too look rather closely, would notice the brand new scars across his fingers. he furrows his eyebrows slightly at the dog, which is now wagging its tail. behind him, the shot has zoomed out to show the rest of the bed, where another dog, a wagging corgi with a red collar, which is looking up at him. behind them is another smaller figure next to a large doberman pincher with a pink heart collar. while rami is tangled up in a hot pink duvet that matches the pillows, the blond figure is burritoed in a black blanket, and facing away from rami with the dobermans head resting on top of them.

half of the bed is shadowed by a transgender pride flag pinned up like an awning, between the shelf and the wall ove rthe bed, making a cosy little shelter. on the walls are a couple worksheets and several posters for tips on mental health, including tips for sleep, panic attacks, and handling stress. end id]

happy trans day of visibility!

fun fact!most of this room is based on my own. or at least, it was. i did this page well before the cover, over 3 weeks ago and the room was based on my corner of my dorm but then all this shit happened and now i no longer live there. more on that under the cut

also! the dogs names are anubis, zuel, and ceberus! i cant remember which is which. i tried to check my fucking. files. but i guess i never wrote it down. if it matters my files do say zuel is a 9 year old girl, anubis is a 5 year old boy, and ceberus is a 3 year old girl. and yet my files dont say which dog is which

[image description: a photo of a fairly chaotic corner of my old dorm. on one wide is a wide wooden shelf with a few pieces of art, on the other side is a wall covered in pin boards filled with various artworks. between is a bed with a stickered bedpost, and behind it is a aromantic pride flag covered in badges next to a few mind posters on mental health, and another artwork. above, pinned between the shelf and wall, is a trans pride flag, covering the chaos nook and alos serving as a hammock to a mothman plush. end id]

my old dorm. pretty much all that art and badges and shit is from various comic cons. apart from redbubble stickers and some things i got at pride. i have more but its in storage even before this, sadly. also not pictured but i made my pride hole bigger by adding a nonbinary flag later to extend the roof

so i used my room as a basis even if the room in comic- which is xandras- is an proper room and not a shared dorm. took the basic setup of a pride hidey hole, as well as the shelf being the same design. and i also had the mental health tips heavily based of the tip posters i got from mind, a uk based organization for mental health. the unamed worksheets were also based off some of mine that are now in storage so i could use them as referances and had to google them but theyre worksheets for cognetive behavior therapy. also the clock on the shelf is based on one i had? have? idk where it is it might be in my suitcase for all i fuckin know

[alitheamateur]

A Taste of Home-Chapter 5

Warnings: Language. 

(I do not own any of the images used in this piece)

You stood back from him, dancing anxiously and shamefully on your feet, mulling over the pitiful train wreck he must think you are. He was chatting on his phone, you were too preoccupied to care about to whom, or what the call consisted of.

“Ok, so. I’ve got a car on the way since I was totally counting on you to be my ride back to ma’s house. But, in the meantime, gimme your phone.” He opened his hand, and gave you eager brows of demand.

You obeyed his obviously impatient ask, and handed over the nearly dead device, watching him swipe a thumb over the screen. He held yours in one massive hand, and his in the other, nodding back and forth between the two.

“Thank you very much.” He matter-of-factly thanked you, still never looking up but handing back your cellular.

His screen was hidden, and he was tapping rigorously at it, and suddenly you heard the robotic beeps of an outgoing Facetime call. Chris turned his hat backwards, maybe to take away its casting shadow over his face, and his eyes turned dark when the beeps stopped.

“What in the fu-“ You knew that voice on the other end. This would be so pleasantly bad….

“No, no. I talk, you get to shut that ugly fucking mouth.” Chris sarcastically closed his eyes and held up a wagging finger to the person on the receiving end of his call. “Now, I don’t know your name, nor do I give a shit. So, we’ll just call you the very appropriately given name in Millie’s contacts as shithead. Okay, shithead?”

You were horrified, and mortified, and hot, and confused like no drug could ever make you.

The man you once called your spouse made no peeps, undoubtably nearly drunk with confusion and questioning his current grip on reality.

“See, that bullshit, ya’ know, with Amelia’s car, that just doesn’t work for me. So, I thought I’d ask, no demand, as politely as my saint of a mother taught me how, that you reverse whatever little stunt you orchestrated. She was MY ride home this afternoon, and I don’t take too kindly to being left stranded in the middle of Boston. NOR, do I take kindly to any piece of worthless shit like yourself treating someone I care about as such.”

“Woah, woah. Let’s just wait a minute here. What in the hell do you have to do with Amelia?”

Chris’ teeth crunched together like gravel under an 18-wheeler, and like a mood ring, you could see his face illuminate the same red of his boiling internal anger.

“Chris, it’s fine, okay? Let’s just let it go.” You sought out his arm to fiddle with the phone, hoping you could disconnect the interaction with the ‘end’ button.

“Wait, is she… is she there? Amelia?”

“Yes, she’s here, you imbecile. We were having a perfectly nice afternoon, and your smug little fuckin’ face had to crash it all the way from Texas. Millie never mentioned she and I were old friends, huh? Well, how’s that for a surprise, you smug shit.”

“Now, I see what this is all about. Mill had to run to her rich friend and beg for a little money, did she? If only her precious little blog hadn’t tanked, maybe she’d be standing on her own two feet. Do yourself a favor, Mr. Evans. Leave her right where you found her, and keep moving. A man like you doesn’t need a girl like Millie, we both know that.” Your ex drawing at straws attempted very foolishly to buddy up with Chris, playing the ‘we’re men, and we think alike all the time’ card. You certainly agreed with him though. Chris didn’t belong anywhere near you, and for the life of you, none of his kindness made any sense.

Your chin dropped like a beaten, timid dog whose owner mistreated him when no one was looking. Chris cleared his throat, and raised your eyes to his. He spoke at Ben, looking directly into your tear-rimmed eyes.

“This woman is so beyond your fuckin’ league, you rotting piece of trash. She’s talented, witty, fun as hell, and lightyears too beautiful for any to disregard.” He turned a cheek towards the phone, and you heard Ben audibly gulp. “And if…. This is your last warning, you fucker. If you don’t turn that tow truck around and have her car back here in one piece within the hour, you’ll answer to me. I’m not usually one of those assholes to play the celebrity bit. But ohhhhhhh, Benny Boy. We both know that I can absolutely ruin you within minutes.” He hung up as a punctuation to the very real threat, Ben’s hands tangled in his hair.

Hearing the loyal, threatening, protective way he had so thoughtlessly jumped to your defense without hesitation erupted your pupils with need to thank him. But not in the way that a friend would thank another friend. Or, the way that would be appropriate for the middle of the street in broad daylight. Never. Not even your once husband who had made a fucking career out of coming to an individual’s defense, had ever swept in to preserve your honor as such. You couldn’t capture his tongue, or jump his bones out of appreciation, but you needed to touch him. You needed to convey with action what words just couldn’t justify. So, you settled for a smothering, waist clenching bear hug. Connecting your cheek to his stone chest, you squeezed him. Squeezed him and smelled him, but hopefully he didn’t catch on to the sniff you gave his t-shirt.

“Thank you. You meathead asshole, you.”

His chuckle rumbled into your ear as he reciprocated your embrace, rubbing calm hands up and down your back. “Take note, Mills. I expect you speak up for yourself like that the next time that worthless shitbag pulls something like this. I know you’ve got quite the mouth on you, Calvert. Tell that fucker where to shove it. You hear me?”

Your chin perched just below his perfect peck as you looked upward to him smiling down at you. He ‘booped’ your nose curtly, then playfully knuckled a noogie atop your already matted hair.

“Ay, Ay, Captain…” Your cheeks puffed with the withholding of a hearty laugh.

“You’ve had that one on cue, haven’t you…”  Chris rolled his eyes with knowing sarcasm.

A dark sedan with impossibly black windows suddenly wheeled next to a parking meter just down the way from the pair of you, and his phone buzzed in unison.

“That’s our car, you asshole.” He lovingly shoved you away. “Get in before I make you walk home in those shoes.”

“How very un-captain of you, Evans. I’ll be speaking with your agents about such lack of chivalry.” You playfully punched his arm, and smiled when his feet bumbled beneath him.

“There’s that smile, Calvert. I’m telling you….”

…

Your business meeting with Chris’ connection had came and went without a hitch, and now, only 3 days later, you were stepping off your flight towards baggage claim at LAX.

The shoot would be held somewhere in the Malibu hills, and you’d been informed your styling would be for both male, and female models. It was a collection announcing a breakthrough designer from London, so once you learned his identity, you delved into the world wide web for exploration.

A car was waiting just as expected to pack yourself and your suitcase to a suite at some swanky beach spot near the water where you’d be sleeping the next 3 days. There would be the shoot this afternoon, the edits tomorrow, and the editor of the magazine had simply gifted your third day as a gesture to her friendship with Chris. You were certainly not in Kansas, or Boston anymore, and this was truly your first taste of real success in the world of fashion. All thanks to the mysterious kindness of your generous friend.

When you unloaded your wheeled suitcase from the trunk of the car service at the gates of your hotel, you could’ve drooled with envy. It was bright, and airy, and tastefully large, and you were now more so eager to investigate the extravagance of your suite.

Checking in, a bellboy carefully took the bags from your hand, ushering you into the elevator destined for the 25th floor where another member of staff waited beside your room door with a fizzling mimosa. Tipping the both of them, you latched the door behind you and turned into the window-front view of your home-away-from-home. It was perfectly decorated with whites, and sandy creams, and flowing drapes. The king mattress crisp with plush sheets, and a balcony fit for royalty called your name.

Upon your quizzical assessing around the room, you became pleasingly distracted but a healthy bouquet of creamy alabaster orchids on your counter next to a folded piece of cardstock.

Hope your flight wasn’t unbearable.

Enjoy yourself. You’ll be amazing, I know it.

There may be another surprise later in your day….

Oh, and check your phone when you arrive.

X

Chris

Following his vague direction, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your purse, clicking the button to reveal a text from the very man in question. It was a playlist titled ‘Malibu Barbie’ with a message attached:

C: Wear sunscreen when you go to the beach. Blast this playlist marvelously put together by mwah, and always, always drink before 10 a.m. Only in Malibu, baby.

Scrolling over the array of music, you smiled at the presence of songs such as ‘Hot Child in the City, Malibu by Miley, of course, Soak up the Sun, and a welcomed repetition of Ellie Goulding, your favorite. But, how would he know? You banked it as another of the slightly creepy, but always flattering ways of one Chris Evans.

After finishing the perfectly portioned morning cocktail, topping a wicker hat obviously appropriate for the beachy climate, you checked your watch and called for the return of your car. You’d gotten to appreciate the balcony view for a brief moment of downtime, but planned to wind down with a good read later tonight and hopefully catch the sunset.

The studio where you were scheduled to shoot was quaint, and very minimally adorned with props so the focus would only be on the undoubtably beautiful designs you were to highlight. The same woman, Tess, who you had met with days ago welcomed you as you climbed the stairs to the dressing area.

“There’s our girl. How was your flight, Amelia? You look rather rested.” She kissed each of your cheeks.

“I think it’s only the glow of adrenaline you see, but thank you anyway!” You surveyed the room of cameras, and makeup chairs, and light bars. “Again, thank you so much for the opportunity!”

“No need, love. Your work speaks for itself. Now, let’s get up to the dressing room and meet your models, shall we?”

Tess tucked her arm into yours, making you feel strangely… in place, in this world of fashion and editorials, as you had longed to.

She pulled you into a brightly lit room, unpainted brick walls lined with racks, upon racks of lavish fabrics. There were shoes in every color, belts of any length, and hats for every occasion.

“Now, you’ll be working with a male, and female model today, as the designer is trying his hand at menswear this season. So, wait here, mosey around a bit, and I’ll bring them in.”

You walked the hangers, brushing a hand over the variety of velvets, and suedes, and leathers, and tulle. You let yourself have a bit of a giddy fit knowing Tess had briefly left you to yourself, impulsively squealing and bouncing reservedly from one foot to the next.

“I won’t tell anyone about that little dance for a price…”

Surely. No, surely not.

Propped in the door, all casual and handsome like nobody’s business with his hands smashed into the pocket of his acceptably tight jeans, one sneaker crossed over the other. His eyes seemed a bit puffy with the early hour, and his dirty yellow shaded hair climbing in all directions.

“You followin’ me, Evans?” You narrowed your eyes in skepticism, dropping your purse on the floor by a chair before slowly drawing nearer to him.

“If I say yes, would you be flattered of afraid?”

He pulled your hand to swipe you into a hug, uncharacteristically kissing your hand.

“A friendly helping of both, of course.” You meekly let yourself blush. “Seriously though. What’s going on?”

“Well,” he found his way to sit on the sofa beneath the window. “I thought you might be all nervous, and clumsy, and well… predictably Millie about today, so I figured I could be your model. It will be good for Tess and the magazine, plus, I thought having a friendly face around would make you feel a little more at ease. I had a couple days so I thought, “why the hell not, Chris’”.

It made sense in its own way, but you still couldn’t fathom what made him fly all the way out here with his schedule the way it is. He only had a week or so left in Boston before he leaves for filming, why did he mess with the hassle of a two-day trip across the country?

“And I mean, come on? You know I’m a damn good muse, Mil.” Chris winked.

“I’m just concerned how any of these clothes are gonna cover you, beefcake. You’ll rip through every shirt I put on you.” You retorted, winding up and down, back and forth around the racks.

“I could always just do the whole thing in the nude. Wear a pair of the guys shoes, or something.” He cocked his head nonchalantly in that smug, but mind-blowingly sexy way.

The shoot went almost entirely without a hiccup, and the only little snag you did hit was your female model getting a little too handsy with Chris all afternoon. You weren’t at all going for anything risqué, or romantic in any manner of the word, and although every piece of fabric you put on her looked annoyingly flawless, it took way too long to get her to settle her hormones.

The designers every creation was constructed like the perfect masterpiece, making your job for the day a cinch, and you hoped when he flew in tomorrow to approve the final photos that you’d done him justice with your styling.

“I think that might be a wrap, guys and girls.” Tess clapped, tucking her water bottle in the crook of her armpit to free her hands.

The room followed suit, and clapped and hooted, murmurs of ‘thank you’s’ and other flattering filled your ears.

“Tess, wait. Hold up a second, everybody. I have one little suggestion, if I may.” Chris weaved through the crowd towards his editor friend.

“Let’s hear it then.”

He looked to you, shit eating grin already capturing his face.

“Amelia, our amazing stylist, is too peculiarly beautiful to not get in front of that camera for at least one shot. Am I right?”

Every member of the crew immediately followed Chris’s eyes as his smile fell in your direction.

“Oh no, no, no. I’m definitely a behind the camera girl, Chris. Kourtney did an amazing job, we got more than enough shots for today.” You protested, trying to inconspicuously locate the nearest exit.

“I think he may be right about this one, Amelia. As much it pains me to give this fool any credit at all.” Tess marched towards you. “Let’s head into the dressing you. I think I may have a suggestion as to what you should try on…”

You staggered an uneasy line re-entering the bustling set of photographers, styled at the very capable hand of the publication’s editor-in-chief. You couldn’t break apart the spellbinding crush your eyes suddenly had on your bare feet as the chatters about the room decreased to murmurs.

“You are a vison, gorgeous! Mr. Evans knew what he was talking about, clearly!”

The photographer boasted as Tess escorted you in front of the bleached plainness of white backdrop. His praises were able to miraculously capture your attention, and your pupils to his, finding an observing Chris standing at his side.

His blue-flamed stares were categorically forceful, and accidentally intrusive. His face read blank on one hand, but you could almost see the penetrating waves oozing from him if you tilted your head just right, and squinted hard enough. He was deep in thought with either captivated admiration, or robust disgust at you in your state of very foreign glamour compared to how he’d seen you as of recent. Your throat contracted in a gag analyzing his batting eyes, and arching brows.  

You kept your theatrics and posing to an appropriate minimal, careful not to take away from the calm beauty of your ensemble, and you were able to somehow, with bold effort, let yourself do your job acceptably despite your most handsome audience member.

“Fuck.”

Chris covered the laughing lines of his mouth as Paul turned the camera toward him, seeking a second opinion on one of your shots.

“It’s stunning, Mil. I swear to you. You look absolutely phenomenal.”

Paul motioned you over, in clear agreement with Chris, to reveal the already selected shot for the spread. The captured view of your marvelously bold, sharp-turned jaw elicited a baffling gasp from you.

“I think that’s really a wrap, folks. A beautiful one, might I add.” Tess announced.

Chris swooped in to crush you into embracing arms, gifting a prolonged kiss to the crown of your unusually tamed head. He seemed almost more contented than you were with todays turn of events, and never had anyone ever made you feel so, so accomplished.

“As fucking gorgeous as you look right now, how about you go get changed, yeah? I’m taking you to dinner tonight. Seems we’ve got some celebrating to do, superstar.” His muffled, wet whispers demanded the attention of every hair on your body as goosebumps began spreading like wildfire. A kiss behind the curve of your ear to the typically untouched spot made you want to sing out like the tabernacle choir.

TAGS: @eap1935 @miidailyinspiration @mollybegger-blog