#man to pull them in for a kiss and a fade to black because they about to BANG
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
mifunebooty · 4 months ago
Text
Sorry to anon talking to me asking for a mitchum year instead of a mitchum summer, I'm going without him see if I make it 3 days
2 notes · View notes
incognit0slut · 2 months ago
Text
Permanent attachment
Tumblr media
in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around
content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best
Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.
Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.
Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"
You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.
"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”
You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."
A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”
“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.
“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”
“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”
Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”
“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."
“That definitely sounds less creepy.”
“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"
“You’re definitely making a case for it.”
“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”
His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”
“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”
His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.
When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”
His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.
"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”
You pout immediately. “Why?“
“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”
“Water is overrated. Stay.”
“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”
“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”
“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”
“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”
You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”
“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”
You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.
And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.
“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"
“I thought you wanted to come along."
“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”
You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”
The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”
He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”
You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”
“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”
“I thought you liked doing all the work.”
His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”
“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”
With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”
“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”
“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.
You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.
If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.
“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.
You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.
He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.
“What?”
“You are so sexy.”
He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”
Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”
The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.
“You just love me?”
“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”
His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”
“That’s it?”
You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."
"I think you can do better than that."
He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."
You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”
The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.
“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”
The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.
A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.
You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.
3K notes · View notes
withwritersblock · 5 months ago
Text
Feelslikeimfallinginlove
~feelslikeimfallinginlove by Coldplay~
Author's Note: Requested! this isn't my proudest work but it has been a minute since I've written anything. It's more about the beginning part of falling in love with someone, maybe infatuation Summary: Quinn finally meets the beautiful girl in the lobby. Warnings: a bit of a cliffhanger I guess? Word Count: 3,125 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader
Tumblr media
Quinn usually kept to himself, especially when he was in season. Being captain came with a collection of team bonding and leadership he had to do during the season. But outside of the team and his family, he usually was alone. 
He never wanted to cross the boundary of getting to know the people in his building, he usually tried to avoid any interaction at all. Until the girl in the lobby. He hasn’t spoken to her yet, but they’ve smiled towards one another a handful of times. 
Quinn couldn’t figure out if she lived in the building, worked in the building, or knew someone who lived there. And he hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend. Today was the first game of the season and he was nervous. The team had a tough playoff exit and they had even higher expectations this season.
He took a deep breath as he adjusted the collar on his brand new black undershirt. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. He usually wore the same three suit styles over and over again. This was new. He took a deep breath as he reached for his keys and his water bottle and began jogging towards the door. He pulled the door open quickly stepping out. He shut his door, quickly locking it. He lifted his gaze to see the same girl walking out of an apartment. 
Quinn paused for a moment when he saw a guy several inches taller than himself walk out behind her. Quinn’s small smile on his lips faded as he saw the pair, which quickly turned into a trio as another girl steps out of the apartment. He watched the other girl lean up towards the tall guy and kiss him on the lips. 
Quinn would be lying if he didn’t take a sigh of relief. He finished locking his door, keeping his gaze on the floor. He began reluctantly walking towards the three of them. He needed to pass them to reach the elevator. 
“No way! You’re Quinn Hughes!” the tall guy said as Quinn stared walking. Quinn lifted his gaze, looking towards the three of them. He forced a smile on his lips. 
“Yup, that’s me,” he said awkwardly, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. 
“Y/N, you should’ve told me you live next to the Captain of the Canucks?!” he continued.
“I didn’t want to tell you because of this, Corey,” she motioned towards the guy, a giggle leaving her lips. “We’re sorry. Good luck tonight!” Y/N said excitedly, the same kind smile on her lips. Quinn met her gaze, his lips curled up softly.
“Not a big deal at all,” Quinn said, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. 
“See, sis, not a big deal at all, can we get a photo?” he asked. Quinn nodded, “Here,” he shoved his phone towards Y/N. She laughed. Quinn felt his heartbeat quicken, it was a beautiful sound. He didn’t want to hear anything else ever again. All he ever wanted was to hear her laughter. 
She gladly took the phone and began to take a few steps back. Quinn cleared his throat as he gladly stood beside the man, putting on a forced smile. Corey pointed towards Quinn, his jaw dropped excitedly. 
Y/N slowly pulled the phone down away from her face, a wide grin on her lips. Quinn’s forced smile became more genuine. Quinn cleared his throat as he pulled away from her brother. 
“Thanks man, good luck tonight!” he said. Quinn nodded before he looked towards Y/N. Their eyes remained connected for a moment, perhaps too long, before Quinn began to walk towards the elevator.
“Thanks, enjoy the game,” he muttered as he walked towards the staircase near the elevator. He began walking down the steps alone, trying to hide the grin forming to his lips.
“How could you not tell me you lived next to Quinn motherfucking Hughes?” he overheard Corey say. Quinn laughed as he walked down the steps while shaking his head. 
~~~
The game was close but the Canucks ended up winning and Quinn got three assisted on the night. He couldn’t stop smiling the whole drive back towards his apartment. He parked in his usual parking spot to see Y/N climbing out of her car. He pressed his lips together to try and stop the smile forming to his lips.
He slowly climbed out of his car, keeping his gaze towards the ground. “Great game!” she called out towards him, standing in front of her car. He lifted his gaze as he smiled towards her. 
“Hey!” he expressed as he walked towards her, she met him as they stood together in the center of the parking garage, “Thanks, it was a bit close for comfort,” he mumbled as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. 
“I’m Y/N, I don’t think I said that earlier,” she offered, “And you guys were in control the whole time,” she said confidently crossing her arms over her chest. He chuckled nervously.
“Y/N, nice to meet you finally,” he said. He wanted to punch himself in the jaw. Why did he say that. Finally. As if he was waiting for them to meet. His eyes widened slightly and her smiled widened as she tilted her head to the side. 
“Nice to meet you too,” she said while adjusting the bag on her arm. He cleared his throat as he pointed behind him. She nodded as she began walking side by side with him. “Thank you for earlier, by the way, you made my little brother’s week,” she explained.
“No problem at all,” Quinn offered as he pulled the door open towards the lobby. Y/N smiled towards the front desk night host as the pair walked towards the elevator. “Does he live with you?” he asked, glancing behind him.
“He’s a freshman at UBC and lives at the dorms. He wanted me to take him and his girlfriend to a game. Obviously keeping the knowledge that we lived in the same building to myself,”
The elevator doors open quickly, allowing the pair to step inside. Shoulders bumping slightly as they stepped into the small space. “This is going to sound like I have a huge ego or whatever-purely just curious,” he began rambling as he pressed the button to reach the floor they shared. “If you knew who I was, why didn’t like ask for a photo or something?” he said a small laugh leaving his lips.
“I didn’t want to make it awkward,” she said while laughing.
“It wouldn’t be awkward at all,” he mumbled, turning his head towards her. She turned her head to meet his gaze, a grin on her lips as her eyes scanned his features.
“Well, now it would be be awkward,” she offered as the elevator doors opened to their apartment floor. She stepped out of the elevator first, spinning around to meet his gaze as he stepped out. 
“Why’s that?” he asked teasingly.
“You’re a completely normal person to me now,” she teased. 
He rolled his eyes playfully, “Oh really?” he asked as his gaze scanned her frame. She was beautiful. 
“Uh huh, you are simply Quinn Hughes, my neighbor, who happens to play for the Canucks,” she explained as she stopped beside her door. Quinn bit his bottom lip as he fought the grin forming to his lips. 
“Well, uh, Y/N last name I don’t know, my brothers also played tonight. I have yet to know how the game went. Would you like to come over and watch the game with me?” he asked, taking a small step towards her, his hands still in his hoodie pocket. She squinted her eyes slightly as she scanned his features. She nodded.
“Y/L/N,” she said.
His face scrunched together, a grin still evident to his lips, “A simple no would’ve sufficed,” he said while laughing.
She grinned as she rolled her eyes playfully, “It’s my last name, you ass,” she delicately pushed his arm back. “Is it okay if I take a quick shower before I come by?” she questioned.
He nodded, “Of course, I’ll see you in a bit?” he asked as he began walking backwards towards his apartment. She nodded before she spun around and began unlocking her apartment. He watched her walk inside. “Yes,” he whispered excitedly as he hopped slightly back towards his apartment door. He quickly unlocked it.
Stepping inside, he took a deep breath as he jogged towards his bathroom to quickly take another shower. He took one at the arena but he always takes a quick one when he gets home from games. He looked into the bathroom mirror as he giggled nervously. He glanced down towards his phone to see Luke was calling him. It was probably a good sign that they won.
He quickly brough the phone to his ear. “Lukey boy, did you guys win? Haven’t seen the score,” he asked as he clenched his jaw slightly as he tilted his head back.
“We won, it was close, also what the hell was that text you sent me earlier? No context nothing,” Luke said, a small chuckle leaving his throat. Quinn let out a sudden chuckle as he shook his head.
“Remember the cute girl in the lobby of my apartment?”
“Uh yes, sure, why?” Luke mumbled out. 
“She’s coming over in like twenty minutes,” he let out excitedly.
“How’d you manage that? I thought you were terrified to speak to any girl since your breakup,” he said jokingly. Quinn rolled his eyes.
“When’s the last time you spoke to any girl who weren’t dating one of your friends?” Quinn countered.
Luke laughed, “Alright, hot shot, enjoy your night. Tell me in the morning in as little details as possible please,” Luke mumbled before he hung up the phone. Quinn smirked as he quickly threw off his clothes as he jumped into the shower. 
After twenty minutes, Quinn shot up from the couch at the sound of a knock on his door. He smiled as he walked towards his apartment door. He peeked through the peep hole to see her standing outside of it with a bottle of wine in her hand. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. He felt his chest ache at the sight of her. His entire body felt hot as he examined her features in a short moment. 
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he offered as he stepped to the side allowing her to step inside. 
“I wanted to,” she mumbled as she nervously stepped inside, “Are you allowed to drink during the season? I should’ve thought about that before I brought this over,” she rambled as she tightened her grip on the wine bottle. 
“We can drink,” he let out as he held out his hand for the bottle. She nodded as she gave it to him gladly. “I only do it every once in a while though,” he mumbled as he set the bottle on the counter. She nodded as she nervously twisted the small necklace pendant between her thumb and index finger. 
“What kind of glass would you like? A big glass or a bigger glass?” he asked. She chuckled.
“A bigger glass would be great,” she mumbled as she looked towards the tv, it showed the game about to start in a few minutes. Despite it being a recording. 
“Coming right up,” he expressed as he popped open the bottle. 
“Do you watch every game your brother’s play?” she questioned as she watched the camera pan towards the starting players on the ice. She didn’t recognize any of them. 
“I try, it’s always hard when we play on the same day, but I try,” Quinn explained as he poured the glasses. Making sure the glasses were a bit on the fuller side. “If I don’t get a chance to watch the full thing, I’ll watch the highlights or something,” he explained as he walked towards her, handing her a glass.
“Thank you,” she mumbled as she followed him towards the couch. “That’s really awesome,” she said as she sat beside him. He nodded.
“It also helps watching the other team play against my brothers because I know how they play so I get to figure out how to work against the other team by watching them with my brothers. It’s kinda fun,” he explained. Her gaze was on him the entire time, admiring the way his face light up as he spoke. He shifted his gaze, meeting her eye for a moment. “Sorry,” he mumbled dropping his gaze.
“Don’t apologize, I wanna hear more,” she said tapping his knee excitedly. He chuckled nervously as he glanced towards the screen. 
“Hear more about what?” he asked as he met her gaze. She felt her lips curl up slightly as she tilted her head to the side.
“You,” she mumbled. He nodded as he brought the glass of wine towards his lips.
~The next morning~
She left around one in the morning. Despite, being together for several hours, nothing romantic transpired. They chatted as they watched the game. Learning everything and anything they could during their evening together. 
Quinn stood in his kitchen, propping his phone up as he answered the FaceTime from Jack. “Quinny!” Jack shouted into the phone. He had already been up for a handful of hours while Quinn just woke up. The time difference was something they were still getting used to, despite both being in the league for years.
“Damn, lower your voice,” Quinn mumbled as he poured some olive oil into his pan. 
“Lukey said you had a girl over last night, you putting yourself out there again?” Jack asked excitedly. 
“I-uh I guess, I don’t know,” he mumbled as he lifted the pan up and watched the oil spread around. “All we did was talk,”
“About what?” he asked teasingly. 
“I don’t know, just anything. It was nice to just talk to a girl without feeling any pressure to hook up or whatever,”
“So you don’t want to hook up with her?” he asked, a small chuckle leaving his lips.
“I didn’t say that,” he chuckled, “I just want to get to know her,”
“God, you’re such a romantic,” Luke shouted into the phone from somewhere in their apartment. Quinn rolled his eyes as he looked towards the phone to see Jack laughing up a storm. 
“Just because I want to get to know a girl before I think about hooking up with her doesn’t make me a romantic,” Quinn let out, “It makes me a decent guy, which apparently you two are not,” 
“Oh whatever, Quinny,” Jack said while laughing. “Are you going to light candles and have rose petals on the bed for your first time together?” Jack teased. Quinn rolled his eyes as he fought off the smirk forming to his lips.
“Alright, bye Jack, bye Luke,” he let out in a sing-song way while he ended the FaceTime call while shaking his head. He cracked an egg as he let it fell into the pan before he tossed out the egg shell. He stared at the egg beginning to cook as he heard someone knocking on his door. He quickly turned his stove off as he jogged towards the door. He looked through the peep hole to see Y/N standing outside his door. 
He smiled to himself as he pulled it open, “Good morning, Y/N,” he said as he stepped to the side letting her walk inside.
“I can’t stay long, I have to get to work but-” she paused as she met his gaze, smiled towards his sleepy expression. “I never got your number last night,” she mumbled. He tilted his head back as he grinned. “And I figured if we are going to keep hanging out, I am going to need your number,” 
“Why are you going to need it?” he asked crossing his arms over his chest.
“Didn’t I just say?” she asked teasingly, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “I don’t want to keep appearing out of nowhere at your door, you know it’s weird,” she explained, fighting the grin on her lips. 
“Oh I see,” he let out as he held out his hand for her phone. She gladly handed him her phone. “You’re just going to miss me when I go on roadies so you want some way to contact me,” he said as he typed his name in her phone and his number. 
“I met your yesterday, like I could miss you already. That would be crazy,” she let out.
“Right right, so crazy that you decided to do this bright and early in the morning, instead of our planned hang out later tonight, right,” he teased as he slowly handed her phone back. She rolled her eyes playfully. 
“Oh whatever,” she said dramatically, “I’ve gotta go,” she said as she began walking towards the door.
“You don’t want to stay? Maybe kiss a little?” he teased. She rolled her eyes as she let out a sudden laugh. 
“I’m running late,” she said as she pulled open the door and began to walk out of the apartment. The door was slow to shut. He quickly jumped into the opening, propping open the door a little as he peeked his head out.
“That wasn’t a no!” he shouted towards her. She spun around and began to walk backwards. She had a huge grin on her lips as she shook her head. 
He returned the smile before he slipped back into his apartment. He shut the door behind him and laughed nervously as he walked back towards his kitchen.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket while he walked in front of the stove. He pulled it out to see an unknown number calling him. He smiled as he brought it towards his ear. “Hello,” he dragged out. 
“Did I hear you right, Quinn Hughes?” Y/N said on her end of the phone. 
“What’d I say?” he asked with a smirk toying to his lips. He hasn’t felt giddy like this in months, maybe even years. He missed the feeling. 
“Hmmm, that you wanted to kiss me,” she offered, a smile evident in her tone. 
“Did I say that? I don’t know if I said that,” he teased, “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”
“No, no I definitely heard you say it,” 
“Maybe you imagined me saying that because you wanted to kiss me too,” 
She let out a sudden laugh, “You just admitted you said you wanted to kiss me,”
“I don’t think I did. I guess you’re just gonna have to come over and find out,”
442 notes · View notes
kingofbodyrolls · 24 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Sprouting Love (m) | knj
As snowflakes dance in the crisp winter air, you and Namjoon find yourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company. The holiday season brings the aroma of freshly baked cookies, the magic of twinkling lights strung through the house, and laughter echoing in your greenhouse where you tend to flourishing plants, lovingly nurtured together. Amid the glow of Christmas cheer and shared moments filled with wonder, perhaps this season will sprinkle a touch of courage and clarity to finally define the blossoming connection between you. Will the magic of Christmas help turn what’s unspoken into something beautifully real?
→ Pairing: namjoon x reader (female) → AUs: non-idol!au, gardening!au, neighbors!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: (enemies to lovers) / neighbors to lovers / friends with benefits to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy (+ a little angst) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 13.7k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex (please be safe), degrading name calling, hair pulling, sexual tension, oral (male receiving), rough but also tender, a lot of kissing, a lot of tension, dirty talk, stupid innuendos, multiple orgasms, praise kink, begging, exhibitionism (unintentionally), impregnation kink, begging, big dick Joonie 👀 + glasses and turtlenecks.  → Author’s note: ahhhh. I know a lot of you love this couple (and I do too!). So here’s another part to it, that’s almost as long as the whole mini series 😂 I hope you like it and happy holidays! 🎄 → Read the spoiler? [text messages]  ��� Read on AO3? [link] 
Tumblr media
← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | 
Tumblr media
You make the short walk to Namjoon’s house, each step tingling with the thrill of anticipation that never quite fades, no matter how many times you’ve walked to his house. The winter air whispers secrets against your skin, and when you reach his door, your knuckles barely touch the wood before it swings open as if he had been waiting on the other side, sensing your arrival like some instinctual force. 
“Hi, Joonie—” you start, but your words catch in your throat, swept away by the vision standing before you. Namjoon leans casually in the doorway, barefoot on the cool floor, his loose gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. A black wooly turtleneck, soft and perfectly snug, accentuates his lean big frame, the sleeves gathered around his strong forearms. He shifts slightly, and you spot caramel-brown suede patches on the elbows, details that shouldn’t be alluring but are, somehow, because they are his. 
Dear god, send help, you think, as you try to steady the wild flutter in your chest. How does a man make something so simple look so impossibly captivating? His hair is still that soft silver shade, a gentle stormcloud you’ve come to love, its unruly strands tempting you to reach out and run your fingers through them. Over the past few months, he has become more than just a fleeting presence in your life, even if you both refuse to define what you are to each other. You still remember the moment that changed everything—when you gathered the courage to apologize for your reckless behavior, and he, with the ease of someone who understood you more than he should, forgave you. That night at his housewarming party had led to your lips on his, your inhibitions crumbling, and his laughter echoing in your ears long after you both lost yourselves in each other’s warmth.
Namjoon has always had this uncanny ability to stir chaos within you, then anchor you with just a look or a word. No one has ever made you feel this way—unpredictable yet somehow perfectly at peace, like a storm that finally finds its calm. Yet, despite the countless nights tangled in his sheets and countless moments where his presence felt like home, neither of you has dared to put a name to what you share. It’s undefined, beautifully so, even if it gnaws at the corners of your heart sometimes. But for now, this is enough. It has to be.
His voice pulls you back to the present, warm and teasing, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Hi, Y/N. Do you need help with something? Or,” he adds, a smirk tugging at his lips, “do you have an itch that needs scratching?” His eyebrows lift, suggestive and playful.
Your cheeks warm at his flirtation, but you recover quickly, slipping into the playful defiance that has always been your defense. “Well,” you say with a smirk and a giggle, leaning in just a touch, “I am ovulating.” The words hang between you, bold and taunting.
Namjoon’s mouth falls open, and he stares at you, wide-eyed, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in that adorably nervous way of his. “You know I’m not ready for kids, and we’re not even… together,” he stammers, his voice faltering. His statement is like a tiny fissure in the moment, and it stings, the reminder of what you are—or aren’t—but you cover the hurt with a laugh.
“Relax,” you reply, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know I’m on birth control, and it was just a joke.” 
You step closer, so close now that his breath mingles with yours, warm and sweet, the space between you charged and electric. “But,” you whisper, your voice low and wicked, “we could roleplay. I know how much the idea of impregnation turns you on, Joonie.” Your smile is devilish, delighting in the way his cheeks flush a deep crimson, the way you’ve come to know his secrets and use them to unravel him.
“It does not,” he protests, crossing his arms with a mock pout, the hint of a stammer betraying his feigned offense. You can’t help but smile at the way his brows knit together, his sulky act so endearing that it almost pulls a real laugh from your lips.
“Relax, that’s not why I dropped by,” you tease, a playful shrug rolling off your shoulders as your hand reaches out to rest against his chest. Beneath your fingers, you feel the familiar contradiction of his body: the softness of his black wooly turtleneck giving way to the solid, unyielding muscle beneath. God, you think, so soft, yet so perfectly taut, those sculpted pecs.
“It isn’t?” he questions, his eyes narrowing with a glint of something unsaid, a spark of curiosity mingled with heat. But this time, you’ve got more to offer than just teasing banter.
“No,” you say with a warm smile, the sexual tension melting away and leaving something more tender in its place. “I actually wanted to see if you’d come over and help me bake cookies for the local orphanage.” Your voice softens, sincerity peeking through, and a touch of vulnerability brightens your eyes.
You watch how his expression shifts, his features melting from playful disbelief into something far more gentle. First, his eyes narrow knowingly, but then his entire face softens, the warmth in his gaze like sunlight breaking through a heavy cloud. “Yeah, sure,” he says, his voice steady, sincere. “I’d love to.”
A rush of relief blooms in your chest, and you exhale with a beaming smile. “Thank you! Usually, Kookie helps me, but he’s busy today,” you add, lips pursing into an exaggerated pout. “It’s kind of a tradition for me to make cookies and bring them to the orphanage every Christmas,” you explain, your smile growing at the thought.
“Nice,” he replies, his eyes lighting up with a touch of amusement as he gestures at the festive Christmas apron tied snugly around your waist. “Are you going to make them now?”
You nod, your breath leaving in a small cloud in the cold air. “Yeah.”
“I can help now,” he offers, and with that, he steps back into his house, slipping on some cozy slippers before joining you. The snow crunches underfoot as you both walk the short, chilly distance to your house, where warmth and holiday spirit await. The driveways have been cleared, the path to your front door inviting, and when Namjoon closes the door behind him, the cold is immediately banished.
Inside, your kitchen looks like a Christmas explosion. Mixing bowls of various sizes clutter the counter, flour dusted liberally across every surface, with rogue sprinkles even trailing onto the floor. Bars of chocolate lie waiting to be chopped, and the oven hums contentedly, filling the space with soothing warmth. The chaos makes it clear: you’ve already begun the festivities.
“Wow,” Namjoon murmurs, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “I can see why you needed help.” His voice is a mix of awe and playful judgment, and you can’t help but let out a small, sheepish laugh.
You scratch your head, an embarrassed giggle escaping. “Yeah, I always bite off more than I can chew,” you admit, your laughter brightening the room even more. You step toward the counter, already thinking of ways to channel Namjoon’s energy into something useful. “Do you want to chop the chocolate?” you offer.
He freezes, his eyes widening with mock terror, and his deep laugh rumbles through the kitchen. “I better not,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “You know how clumsy I am.” You think back to his infamous accidents: the greenhouse he demolished, the garden beds he obliterated—all unfortunate mishaps that had somehow led to these shared moments, bringing you closer.
“True,” you chuckle, the memory making you squeeze his bicep as you pass behind him. The muscle beneath your touch is solid, reassuring. “Okay, then,” you say, gently guiding him toward the mixing bowls. “If you mix the batter, I’ll handle the chocolate,” you suggest, and he nods, his laughter still dancing in the air between you.
You find your rhythm with Namjoon: a steady, unspoken dance of movements. He mixes the batter with those powerful biceps of his, muscles flexing beneath his sweater as he works the spoon through the thick dough. You try not to stare, but god, how can you not? The sight is distracting, dangerously so, and you have to remind yourself to keep your focus on chopping chocolate, the sharp knife clinking rhythmically against the cutting board. Your hands work swiftly, but your gaze can’t help but drift, lingering over the way his arms tense and move. Damn, you think, heat blooming in your cheeks. You shouldn’t be ogling him like this… but resisting feels impossible.
The kitchen grows warm and sweet, scented with chocolate and flour, the air heavy with anticipation. Namjoon finishes mixing the dough, and together you shape it into perfect, palm-sized portions, setting them onto baking trays. He’s meticulous, and you can’t help but feel a small swell of pride as you watch him carefully pat each ball of dough into place. You slide the first tray into the oven, only one at a time—your old, temperamental oven too unpredictable for more. Patience will have to pay off if it means the cookies will be perfectly golden.
The two of you stand side by side, the silence suddenly thick, almost suffocating. The tension wraps around you like a taut string, ready to snap at the smallest movement. To break it, you grab a couple of glasses, filling them with cold water, hoping the simple action might soothe whatever current crackles between you. But even as you drink, neither of you speaks, the electricity palpable.
Before you can find something to say, a new presence cuts through the tension as Jungkook stumbles into the kitchen, descending from the staircase with the heavy-lidded look of someone freshly woken. His hair is a tousled, endearing mess, dark strands sticking out at odd angles as he drags a hand through them, yawning wide. “Hey, what are you guys doing?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, still rubbing the remnants of his dreams from his eyes.
“Baking cookies,” you reply, smiling at the sight of him, though you can’t help but wonder why he’s only just now waking up when it’s the middle of the day. He looks entirely too soft and adorable, making you feel a small pang of fondness.
Jungkook’s nose twitches, catching the scent of baking chocolate. “Smells good,” he says, eyes lighting up as he takes a few sleepy steps closer to the kitchen counter where you and Namjoon stand—close, but not touching. “Can I have some in my room?” he asks, hopeful, his voice still gravelly with sleep. He looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, a pout forming on his lips.
“No,” you say firmly, fixing him with a stern look. “These are for the orphanage.”
“Just one?” he tries again, his expression a perfect picture of adorable desperation. But you hold your ground, shaking your head.
“No,” you repeat, more resolutely this time. Yet Jungkook, mischievous as ever, slides over to the bowls of dough, his eyes gleaming with determination. He reaches out, fingers poised to swipe a handful of unbaked cookie dough. 
Before he can steal his prize, Namjoon’s reflexes kick in. With a swift, almost effortless movement, he intercepts Jungkook’s hand, swatting it away before it can come anywhere near contaminating your carefully prepared batter. You’re grateful for Namjoon’s intervention, and for a moment, the amusement makes the tension between you dissolve just a little.
Jungkook rubs his hand, feigning injury with a dramatic pout, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Namjoon. Something flashes in his gaze—curiosity, awareness—an unspoken question lingering in the air as he watches the two of you. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if he’s caught on to something unsaid, something charged. The look he gives you is knowing, but he doesn’t say a word.
“What are you doing, anyway?” Jungkook asks, his lips curling into a smirk that suggests mischief brewing beneath his sleepy demeanor. His eyes glint with a teasing challenge, the kind only someone who knows how to poke at your soft spots can deliver.
You tilt your head, brows knitting together, confusion settling over you like a mist. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice curious but cautious, already sensing that whatever he’s about to say will unsettle the fragile balance you’ve created here.
Jungkook’s smirk deepens, the troublemaker’s spark lighting up his gaze. He takes his time, savoring the pause, drawing it out like a slow intake of breath before the storm. “I mean,” he drawls, letting the anticipation build before delivering his question, “are you two official now, or what?” His voice cuts through the air, as sharp and casual as a knife slipped between armor.
The question pierces through you, freezing you for a heartbeat. You scramble for words, but they don’t come. Your chest tightens, because the truth is you don’t know. You’re not official with Namjoon, and the ambiguity gnaws at you in quiet moments, whispering doubts you try so hard to ignore. All you’ve shared is laughter, nights tangled together, and moments that feel like home—but nothing labeled, nothing secure. 
Namjoon clears his throat, breaking the tension. “We’re just having a good time,” he says, his voice even, calm, as if those words don’t twist at something vulnerable inside you. “Why should we need to label things?” His question hangs in the air, breezy yet barbed, and it stings more than you care to admit.
Your heart gives a small, involuntary ache, but you swallow it down, as you’ve done so many times before. You’d love nothing more than to put a name to what this is, to solidify the feelings that swim in the spaces between you. But Namjoon’s words remind you where you stand, and you try to tuck those fragile hopes away, out of sight.
Instead, you plaster on a smirk, masking the sting, and turn to Jungkook. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on Jimin instead of meddling in our business, huh?” you tease, your voice light but with an edge of deflection.
Jungkook flinches, his face draining of color for a moment before flushing with a bright, mortified blush. He looks at you like you’ve unearthed a well-guarded secret, and his eyes widen in a way that makes you feel a small triumph.
“Yeah, we know,” you muse, the corners of your mouth lifting with satisfaction. Before the tension can thicken further, the oven timer beeps, and Namjoon turns to carefully pull the tray of cookies from the heat, the warm aroma of melted chocolate spilling into the air. He sets the tray aside to let the cookies cool, and you slide a new batch into the oven, trying to ground yourself in the familiar rhythm.
You grab a warm cookie and wrap it in a paper towel, turning back to Jungkook, who’s still blushing furiously. “Just because I like Jimin,” you quip, “I’ll give you a cookie for him—none for you.” You press the cookie into his hand, a grin curling at your lips. “Make sure to say hi from us. We know he’s up there in your bedroom.”
Jungkook’s blush deepens, his face blooming beet-red as he takes the cookie with reluctant, embarrassed hands. He mumbles something incoherent, then spins on his heel, hurrying back toward the stairs, too flustered to form a coherent protest. You watch him go, his retreat filling the room with a burst of humor that almost—but not quite—eases the ache still lingering in your heart.
You spend the rest of the afternoon in a flurry of flour and laughter, baking batch after batch of cookies. You try to push thoughts of your undefined relationship with Namjoon into the recesses of your mind, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of your work. The cookies cool on wire racks, their chocolate-sweet aroma filling the kitchen and settling over you like a comforting blanket. Carefully, you pack them into glass jars adorned with festive ribbons, each one sparkling with the warm, nostalgic spirit of Christmas.
“Do you want to come with me to the orphanage to deliver the cookies?” you ask, your voice soft yet hopeful. Namjoon glances at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He agrees, and together you load the jars into your car. The scent of freshly baked cookies lingers, weaving itself through the crisp, frosty air as you drive down snow-dusted roads. The landscape is a winter wonderland with treetops crowned with snow, branches shimmering with icy lace, and the streets lined with drifts that sparkle under the pale afternoon light.
When you arrive at the orphanage, the children’s laughter and wide-eyed smiles fill you with a deep, quiet joy. Their faces light up as they receive the cookies, little hands clutching the sweet gifts, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell. Namjoon stands beside you, watching you interact with the kids. There’s something tender in his gaze, something he doesn’t put into words, but it wraps around you all the same.
On the drive back, the silence between you feels serene, softened by the shared experience. Snowflakes begin to drift lazily from the sky, catching in the beams of the headlights. Namjoon turns to you, his voice curious yet gentle. “So you do this every Christmas?” he asks, breaking the comfortable quiet.
You smile, your hands steady on the wheel as you flick the blinker to signal a turn. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice tinged with the sweet ache of memory. “Always. It’s something my mom used to do. When she passed, I wanted to carry on her tradition, to keep her spirit alive in this small way.” The words come out soft, but they hold the weight of years, love, and loss.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” Namjoon says, his tone low and sincere. You glance over at him, offering a gentle smile, the kind that carries acceptance and peace. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice a quiet reassurance. “It happened a long time ago.”
He exhales, the breath almost visible in the chill of the car, and he clears his throat, nervous but determined. “Do you want to help me decorate my place?” he asks, his words a gentle offering. “And I’ll help get yours ready for Christmas too.”
A genuine smile breaks across your face, a warmth sparking in your chest. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” you reply. “I’ll need to pick up some new ornaments, though. I know just the place we can go.” The idea of shopping for holiday decorations together, of filling both your spaces with light and laughter, feels like a small but significant promise.
Namjoon’s hand drifts down to rest on your thigh, a quiet gesture of connection that makes your heart flutter. His touch stays there for the rest of the ride, grounding you, warming you, as snowflakes twirl and dance outside the windows.
Tumblr media
“Hi, babe,” Namjoon says, and just with that one simple word, he manages to unravel you. The casual endearment sends a shiver of longing through your heart, a tiny thrill that sparks questions you never quite manage to silence—the ones about what you really mean to each other. Your heart flutters like the wings of a restless bird, and even though a part of you wishes he didn’t have this power over you, there’s no denying it. Deep down, you love that he does. You crave the comfort and warmth he brings, even if you sometimes wish it came with the certainty of a label.
“Hi, Joonie,” you reply, your voice soft but bright, as if it alone can welcome him out of the winter cold. A rush of freezing air follows him inside, nipping at your cheeks, and you gesture hurriedly for him to come in and shut the chill away. 
He steps across the threshold, the scent of fresh snow clinging to his coat, and a smile unfurls on his lips, dimples deepening. “I was wondering if you’d show me your greenhouse again,” he says, and there’s a childlike wonder in his eyes, a curiosity that never fails to enchant you. “I’m curious to see what plants you have out there braving the winter. And maybe we could start some seeds for next season?”
His voice is filled with genuine interest, and the way he looks at you—wide-eyed and eager—melts something inside your chest. You can’t help but smile back. Those damn dimples of his, so disarming, so inexplicably endearing. “Oh, definitely,” you say, your eyes lighting up. “I’ve been meaning to sow some new seeds, actually. Peas, chilies, Asian greens—they thrive even in this frozen weather.”
“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice soft and sincere, a gentle offering that wraps around you like a warm scarf. The idea of working side by side with him, hands deep in the soil, fills you with quiet joy.
“Do you have time now?” he asks, his words tender, like he’s afraid of shattering the moment.
“Yeah,” you respond, feeling a surge of anticipation as you reach for something warm to wear. You pull on an extra-thick pair of wool socks, a cozy sweater, and then layer yourself in a heavy parka and boots. Namjoon is already dressed for the bitter cold, bundled up but still managing to look effortlessly handsome. Even though you’ll be spending time in the greenhouse, the air there is only a degree or two warmer than outside—it’s a space that holds more promise than heat during the winter.
Together, you make your way outside, your footsteps crunching in the snow. You lead the way, the cold biting at your cheeks, but the warmth of his presence close behind keeps you from feeling the chill too deeply. Sliding the glass door of the greenhouse open, you step inside and usher him in, closing the door behind you. The stillness of the space wraps around you both, the smell of damp earth mingling with the crisp scent of winter.
“Have you thought about getting a greenhouse of your own?” you ask, a playful lilt in your voice. It’s a conversation you’ve shared before, a running joke ever since he accidentally wrecked yours with that wild ball throw months ago. You watch his face for a reaction, and he laughs, a deep, rich sound that seems to warm the chilly air around you.
“Yeah, I think I’d like to get one for the summer season,” Namjoon muses, his voice thoughtful, warm as a patch of sunlight breaking through clouds. “But I’m still not sure. That’s part of why I’m so curious about what you’ve managed to grow in the dead of winter. If I’m going to invest in one, I want to make the most of it, you know?” He pauses, a playful grin curving his lips as he glances at you. “But honestly, maybe I should just keep helping you with yours. It’s more fun together, don’t you think?” 
He tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, wandering deeper into the greenhouse, his gaze sweeping over the lush, vibrant greens defying the frost outside. Even in the shelter of the greenhouse, the air is tinged with the crispness of winter, but Namjoon’s presence feels like a hearth fire—steady, comforting, and a little too warm when you think of how easily he fits into these shared moments.
“I understand,” you say, your voice as tender as the soft leaves unfurling in your garden beds. “And you’re always welcome in my greenhouse, you know that.” You follow close behind him, pointing out the resilient Asian salads thriving in their earthy homes: delicate mibuna, sturdy bok choy, crisp cabbage, and even the spicy thrill of wasabi salad. There’s purple kale, vibrant and defiant against the cold, and winter carrots, their secrets buried until it’s time to harvest.
Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief. “Oh, so you did manage to grow something after I, uh, accidentally destroyed your greenhouse?” He gestures toward the patch of winter carrots, a sheepish look stealing across his face.
You chuckle, the memory of his well-meaning chaos warming you. “Yeah, I did,” you reply, a smile dancing on your lips. “You can even try one if you want.”
With that, Namjoon kneels gracefully by the garden bed. Even through the bulky layers of his coat, the contours of his body are undeniable, and your traitorous mind takes note of the way his dark jeans hug him in all the right places. He reaches for a carrot, pulling at the green stem with gentle strength until a large, brilliantly orange carrot emerges from the soil. As he brushes the dirt away, he raises it to his lips, and there’s something distractingly captivating about the way he bites into it. The crisp snap of the carrot echoes in the stillness, a sound that somehow makes your breath hitch.
“It’s good,” he says, his voice reverent, like he’s savoring more than just a vegetable. “Crisp and sweet.” His words are innocent enough, but heat blooms on your cheeks as your mind wanders to other things that are, admittedly, very sweet.
“So, what are we going to sow?” he asks, watching as you gather trays and soil. There’s an excitement in his gaze, an eagerness that makes your own heart quicken.
“Like I said earlier,” you reply, grinning as you lay out the seedling trays in a neat row on the workbench. “Peas first. They’re hardy, even in this cold, and planting them early means we’ll have a head start on the harvest. We can sow extra so you’ll have some to take home and plant in your garden. They’re amazing because they climb and flourish wherever they’re given even a little support.” 
“And then, chilies,” you continue, your eyes sparkling. “We’ll start them here, but they’ll need to come inside to sprout, where it’s warmer. It’s always good to start them early so they can be transferred outside when spring rolls in. Later in the new year, we can put them in the greenhouse or straight into the garden beds.” You take a breath and continue, “And of course, more greens and salads. They’re slower to sprout in this cold, but they’ll make it, strong and resilient, like little winter warriors.”
Namjoon listens intently, his gaze never leaving you. There’s a peacefulness in the moment, as if the greenhouse holds its breath, cocooning you both in a world of shared ambitions and quiet dreams.
You suddenly realize you’ve forgotten the seeds. “Ah, I left the seeds inside,” you say, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Wait here while I grab them.” Namjoon nods, his eyes following you as you hurry back to the house, the cold nipping at your heels, urgency making you quick on your feet. 
Inside, you snatch up the old tin where you keep your seeds—its surface worn and familiar, full of whispered promises of new life waiting to burst forth from the soil. When you return to the greenhouse, you pause for a moment, caught by the sight of Namjoon. He’s crouched low, his focus completely absorbed by a small bok choy plant, tracing the way its tender, jade-hued leaves meld into deep shadows where the veins run dark. There’s a quiet reverence in his expression, as though he’s marveling at the tiny miracle of survival in the cold. 
“We can get started,” you say, a soft smile warming your face. Namjoon rises, his dimples peeking out as he grins back, and joins you in front of the workbench. You pour soil into a wide basin, mixing in perlite and vermiculite, the earthy aroma mingling with the crisp air. Your hands work with practiced grace, kneading the soil to loosen its texture, giving it life and breath.
“I’ve never added perlite or vermiculite to soil before,” Namjoon admits, wonder flickering in his voice as he watches the small white and gold specks sift through your fingers. You giggle, a sound as light and unburdened as petals drifting on a breeze. Most people don’t bother, but you’ve always been particular about these things.
“Try it sometime,” you encourage. “It makes for the best potting mix—less dense, better drainage, and the roots love it. And always use seed-starting soil. It has less fertilizer, so it’s gentler on seedlings.” Your hands press through the soil, feeling every grain and clump, savoring the dirt wedging beneath your nails. You’ve never cared for gloves; the raw, honest texture of the earth grounds you, as if reminding you that growth is always a little messy.
Namjoon tilts his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “I thought fertilizer was good?” he asks, and for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if his passion for plants runs as deep as he claims. But then again, you know that not everyone shares your level of obsession.
“It is—once the plant has grown a bit,” you explain, meeting his gaze with a patient smile. “Too much, too soon, and it can harm the seedling. Gentle care first, then nourishment.” You gesture for him to step closer, feeling the way the greenhouse seems to shrink around you, warm and cocooned.
He reaches for a packet of seeds—peas, full of promise—and you prepare the seedling tray, filling each cell with your custom soil mix. Using your dibber, you create neat holes for planting. Namjoon leans closer, and together you work in quiet tandem, dropping each tiny seed into its place, the rhythm of it comforting, like a shared heartbeat.
When you finish the tray, you dust your dirt-stained hands together. “Great. Now onto the next seeds,” you declare, and Namjoon dives in to help. His hands move alongside yours, scooping soil, pressing it down gently, but not too tight, and it feels strangely intimate, this act of creating life together.
Namjoon watches you, a hint of mischief curling at the edges of his thoughts. You’re skilled at this, at working with your hands—deliberate, sure, and endlessly fascinating. His mind drifts, unbidden, to the times your hands have moved over him, how your touch has lit up his world in ways that make him blush now, here among tender greens and the scent of new soil. Damn it, he chides himself, this isn’t the time to be thinking such thoughts.
But it’s hard not to, with the memory of your touch and the taste of your laughter tangled together in his mind, like vines climbing toward the light.
He flashes a mischievous grin. “You know, I love getting a little dirty with you in the garden,” he teases, his voice playful and warm as he gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder. You laugh, the sound bright and ringing through the greenhouse, and a rosy blush colors your cheeks as the double meaning sinks in. It’s a shared, private joke, laced with an intimacy that makes your heart skip.
Together, you keep working, your hands growing numb from the cold, yet neither of you want to stop. The chill is creeping into your bones, but the way you work side by side, sowing seeds and exchanging glances, brings a certain kind of warmth all on its own. When the final seed is nestled in the soil and the last tray prepared, you finally shiver. “We should take the chili seedlings inside,” you say, your breath visible in the icy air. “And… do you want to come in for a bit? I could bake a cake and make some hot cocoa.”
Namjoon’s eyes light up, and he smiles wide, the kind that shows his dimples. “I couldn’t say no to that,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice. He grabs the glass door, holding it open for you as you step out, and he follows, closing it behind with a satisfying click.
Inside the house, warmth greets you like an embrace. You shed your heavy parka and boots, and Namjoon mirrors your actions, his movements unhurried, as if savoring this transition from the cold to the cozy. You carry the seedling tray over to the kitchen window, where a grow light waits to nurture the tiny plants. The sun has set, painting the world outside in hues of blue and shadow, but the light inside feels like hope.
Gathering ingredients, you set to work making hot cocoa, the rich scent of chocolate already beginning to fill the air. Namjoon pulls a stool from the dining area and drags it closer, settling down to watch you. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze is intent, as though he’s entranced by the rhythm of your hands as they move. Your fingers skim over a packet of flour, measure brown sugar with precision, and whisk together the batter for a carrot cake with the greenhouse carrots you stored in the fridge. 
Namjoon is captivated. He always is during moments like this—when you’re fully in your element, focused and graceful, your movements as fluid and sure as a melody. His eyes trace your hands, trailing from the way your fingers curl around a spoon to how you tilt your head slightly, concentrating. There’s something magnetic about it, the way you pour yourself into the simplest tasks, as if even the act of baking holds an unspoken promise of care.
But as he watches, the heat in his gaze deepens, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. His body betrays him, a familiar stirring between his thighs. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore—how easily you have this effect on him, even when you’re not trying. But he can’t help it, can’t control how the sight of your hands moving so deftly, so sensuously over everyday things, ignites thoughts he knows he shouldn’t entertain right now. 
He shifts subtly on the stool, grateful for the kitchen counter that hides the evidence of his arousal, while you remain blissfully unaware, pouring the batter into a baking mold with a contented hum. Namjoon bites his lip and takes a steadying breath, trying to refocus on the warmth of this moment, even as temptation tugs at the edges of his mind.
When you slide the cake batter into the oven, the warm scent of spices already beginning to fill the air, you turn your attention back to Namjoon. Something in his expression seems off—or perhaps, not quite off, but different. There’s a tension in the way he sits, his body radiating heat, his eyes darkened with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. 
Curious, you move past the kitchen counter, your footsteps soft against the wooden floor. As soon as you round the corner and see him clearly, you stop in your tracks, your breath catching in a startled, husky “oh.” Your voice wavers, that simple exclamation filled with an undeniable hunger.
Namjoon lets out a low, teasing chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Realizing there’s no use in hiding his desire, he shifts, spreading his legs wider in the chair. The movement makes the strain in his jeans even more obvious, the hard outline pressing against the denim, leaving nothing to the imagination. Heat rushes through your veins, your gaze flickering between his smoldering brown eyes and the undeniable evidence of his arousal.
“You’re so good with your hands, babe,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a sultry, resonant purr that drips with need. “Why don’t you put them to good use and help me with this problem?” His words are thick with desire, and he gestures toward the bulge, which seems to pulse with a life of its own, the denim stretched taut and unforgiving. You can’t help but wonder if the fabric is torturously tight, if he’s even comfortable in those form-fitting jeans.
You step closer, your movements slow, languid, like a feline circling her prey. Your eyes glitter with a mix of playful defiance and unrestrained want. A knowing smile tugs at your lips as you draw nearer, deliberately dragging out each moment to make him squirm. “Hmm,” you hum, batting your lashes provocatively, savoring the power in your hands. You trail your fingers lightly across his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle through his gray turtleneck, and he shudders under your touch.
Circling him, you let your gaze wander over his flushed face, loving how he stares at you like you’re the only thing he needs in this moment. “Jungkook isn’t home,” you muse, your voice a low, teasing whisper, “and the cake won’t be done for a while…” Your finger traces down his torso, each touch featherlight, leaving a trail of anticipation in its wake. “Which gives us plenty of time to deal with this very big problem.”
You finish with a suggestive wink, your hand curling into the soft collar of his turtleneck, drawing him forward. His eyes burn with the kind of desire that makes your knees weak, and you can’t help but marvel at how turtlenecks have never looked so delicious until now. His lips part, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him, your bratty side flaring up, eager to take control of the moment.
“Take off those offending skinny jeans, and maybe I’ll help you out,” you purr, your voice a delicious blend of tease and command. You lean in to press a swift, hungry kiss to his lips, the taste of him lingering as you pull back, and in a fluid motion, you’re down on the cool floor. Namjoon’s fingers are fumbling with urgency, unbuttoning and dragging his jeans and boxers down, setting himself free. His cock springs out, flushed a deep, angry red, heavy and aching for your touch. The sight of him makes your mouth water, anticipation crackling in the air between you.
He lets out a mock pout, breathless yet endearing. “But I thought you liked me in skinny jeans,” he mumbles, a half-smile curving his lips.
You can’t help but laugh, your voice warm and laced with desire. “I do,” you reply, your eyes dancing with mischief, “but they look so damn tight. Besides, I’d much rather see you in loose sweatpants—so shameless, the way they cling to you, showing off that big cock of yours.”
His cheeks flush a deeper pink, but the blush is short-lived. The moment your hand wraps around his thick length, he’s groaning, a low, unrestrained sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His head tips back, and you pull your hand away for a moment to spit in your palm, the motion slow and tantalizing. His breath catches, and then your hand is back on him, gliding over his cock with a slick, practiced rhythm.
You start slow, your touch light, your strokes deep and deliberate, savoring the way he shudders under your hands. Namjoon stumbles backward, his back meeting the counter for support, his knuckles whitening as he grips the edges. You follow him, still on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes, loving the way his brows knit together, his jaw slack with pleasure.
“So good with your hands,” he praises, his voice raw and wrecked, and you preen under the compliment, your lips curving into a wicked smile. His words fuel you, and you tighten your grip, picking up speed, letting your hand work over him with a skill that has his hips stuttering.
“Yeah, I know,” you muse, a playful lilt to your tone, eyes wide and feigning innocence though your actions are anything but. “You’ve told me before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.”
He lets out a breathless chuckle, his chest heaving. “Ah, yeah,” he pants, his voice a beautiful, strained melody. “I know how much you love praise.”
You shrug, your expression one of nonchalance, though your heart is racing. “Guilty as charged,” you admit, your voice softer, but no less mischievous. His praise drives you, makes you work harder to draw out every bit of pleasure, reveling in the way his body reacts, knowing that your hands—and your lust—are the only things holding him together.
He begins to make those sounds—oh, those sweet, broken sounds that send a thrill dancing down your spine and make you preen with pride. The husky groans slipping from his lips are like music, raw and intoxicating, and you drink them in, feeling the power in every shudder of his body.
“Shit, if you keep that up, I’m going to come soon,” he pants, his voice strained and desperate.
A playful smile curves your lips as you chuckle, the sound dripping with mischief. “That was my plan all along,” you tease, your strokes never faltering. “But maybe,” you whisper, your voice honeyed and inviting, “you’d like to fuck my throat a little. My hands are good, sure, but my mouth…” You let the words trail off, your intentions clear in the way your eyes glint with lust.
He groans again, and he swears his heart must be doing wild backflips as he watches you kneel between his legs, looking up at him with those wicked, innocent eyes. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his breath hitching, and you know you’ve got him. 
“Is that a yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes, the very picture of innocence that you most certainly are not.
He nods, his voice nearly a whisper, “Yes, yes it is, babe.”
That’s all the invitation you need. Your mouth opens, and you slowly ease his cock past your lips, wet heat enveloping him inch by inch. He shivers at the sensation, and you relish the tiny, desperate noise that escapes him when you take him all the way to the back of your throat. You hum, sending vibrations along his length, and saliva spills from the corners of your mouth, glistening as it drips down your chin.
Namjoon looks down at you, eyes blown wide, and you can feel the way his cock pulses at the sight—how the vision of you, mouth full of him, drives him wild and hurtles him closer to the edge. His hands clutch at the countertop behind him, knuckles white, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
You work him with a fervor, sucking like you’re drawing the very life from him, your hands pressing into his thighs for balance. Your nails dig into his skin, and the sharp pleasure-pain makes him hiss, a shudder rippling through his frame.
“Oh, babe,” he groans, the sound rumbling deep and sinful, making your core clench around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly. His words are rough, a plea and a praise all at once, and you moan in response, the vibrations making him jolt.
Saliva spills from your lips, pooling beneath you, and you feel the way his cock twitches and throbs against your tongue. Namjoon’s breathing is ragged, each pant a testament to how close he is, how you’ve unraveled him. He’s hanging on by a thread, and you revel in knowing you’ve brought him to this point, trembling and undone.
“Babe,” he gasps, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure, like he’s unravelling from the inside out. His whole body is taut with need, and you feel a thrill course through you, knowing how deeply you affect him.
You pull away, your lips leaving his cock with a wet, teasing pop, and you look up at him, eyes glittering with mischief. “Come on my face,” you whisper, the invitation dripping from your lips like honey, sultry and certain.
He bites down hard on his lower lip, a deep, guttural groan escaping him. One of his hands releases its white-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter, and he wraps his long fingers around his cock, stroking himself to his climax. You watch, utterly mesmerized, as he comes undone. His release is spectacular—thick ropes of hot, pearlescent white paint your skin, catching on your cheeks, lips, and eyelashes. You gasp, tongue darting out in a futile attempt to catch some of his warmth on your lips. The rest splatters messily across your face, dripping down your chin and streaking across your closed eyelids. The whole moment feels heady, unrestrained, and you can’t help but savor it.
Namjoon’s chest rises and falls heavily, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, like he’s run a marathon just to reach this peak. A satisfied chuckle spills from his mouth, and he drags a trembling hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “You,” he says, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lingering desire, “are a dangerous woman.”
A wicked grin blooms on your lips as you giggle, sticking your tongue out to lick the semen you can reach. Your fingers swipe up the rest, and you suck them clean, savoring him like sticky, decadent BBQ sauce on tender ribs. Delicious. The sight makes Namjoon shiver, another groan rumbling from his chest, his eyes never leaving your face.
Just then, the oven chimes, the sound almost absurdly cheerful, signaling that the cake is ready. You rise to your feet, wiping your face with a towel, and make your way over to the oven to retrieve it. Namjoon watches, dazed, as he tugs his jeans back into place, still trying to catch his breath.
Once the cake has cooled, you sit together at the kitchen table, sharing warm slices of carrot cake and steaming mugs of rich hot cocoa. The two of you laugh and talk, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the moment, reminiscing about your favorite Christmas traditions, as the world outside shivers in a cold winter’s embrace.
Tumblr media
Namjoon doesn’t often find himself behind the wheel, but today, you’ve let him take charge of his SUV, navigating snowy roads en route to the superstore for Christmas ornaments. It’s not your usual go-to place for holiday decorations, but he’d been so eager, so insistent, that you couldn’t resist. Now here you are, braving the cold with an unusual sense of adventure.
Though Namjoon handles the SUV with a tentative grip, you can’t help but question, as you have many times before, why he even bothered to get a driver’s license in the first place. He never seems fully at ease, and his response—“Everyone has one, and I need it”—always strikes you as a half-hearted excuse. But still, you get it. Out here, where the stores sprawl far and wide, the independence a car brings is a necessity, not a luxury.
He finally pulls into the parking lot, choosing a spot absurdly far from the store’s entrance, the car a lonely island surrounded by an ocean of untouched snow. You laugh, breath misting into the winter air. It’s such a Namjoon thing to do: a cautious maneuver, the kind either born from nervousness about navigating tight parking spaces or, perhaps, the desire to protect his vehicle from rogue shopping carts and careless door dings. But you know him too well—he’s not someone obsessed with material possessions.
Bundled up in your thick coat and scarf, you trudge across the frigid parking lot, boots crunching on the ice-slicked pavement, silently cursing Namjoon’s overcautious choice. The cold gnaws at your cheeks, and you can’t hide the frown forming on your face.
Namjoon notices, and his expression softens with apology. “I’m sorry,” he says, his breath forming tiny clouds in the frosty air.
“It’s fine,” you grumble, though there’s no real heat behind your words. “But I’m driving back.” Your voice holds a note of mock seriousness, and he breaks into a chuckle, the sound light and airy, dissipating into the wintry sky like a whispered secret.
Inside the superstore, the air feels warm and festive, the smell of pine and cinnamon drifting faintly from somewhere. A dazzling aisle dedicated entirely to Christmas ornaments stretches before you, shimmering with glitter and tinsel. You watch in mild disbelief as Namjoon gleefully fills his cart with gingerbread house kits, plush stockings, strings of tinsel, garlands, and ornaments that glitter like captured starlight.
“Don’t you have decorations from last year?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as the cart reaches a borderline ridiculous state, nearly overflowing with festive cheer.
He scratches the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well,” he starts, laughter bubbling up, “I did.”
You cross your arms and turn to him, your eyes narrowing with mock suspicion, silently demanding the story behind this sudden lack of decorations. Namjoon’s laughter grows, filling the space around you, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself, bracing for whatever endearingly clumsy tale he’s about to share.
“I dropped all the boxes with the Christmas decorations while moving,” Namjoon mumbles, his voice soft as a snowfall, almost swallowed by the warm air. His embarrassment paints his cheeks with a blush that’s sweeter than mulled wine, and you can’t help but burst into laughter. Without a second thought, you wrap your arm around his broad frame, a warm, playful gesture that feels as natural as breathing.
“Thought so,” you tease, laughter spilling from your lips, echoing like bells ringing through the icy parking lot.
Namjoon’s blush deepens, a rosy warmth that makes him look endearingly boyish. Still, he continues with his mission, selecting ornaments with the earnest focus of someone determined to reclaim lost holiday cheer. Once the cart is brimming with festive treasures, he pushes it outside, the wheels wobbling and skidding over the snow-dappled asphalt.
“I can’t believe they haven’t cleared the snow yet,” you scoff, tugging open the hatch and helping to load up his haul. Each ornament feels like a little promise of magic, waiting to light up the winter nights.
“Yeah, not the easiest thing to push through,” he chuckles, his laughter a quiet rumble, like distant thunder softened by clouds.
He returns the cart, clumsily navigating the slippery ground, and then hands you the keys with a smile. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you take the wheel and guide the SUV back to his place, where the real magic begins.
Inside his warm home, Namjoon hauls the bags and boxes indoors, and you peel off your thick coat, the heat wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. His house feels almost like your own now, a second heart beating in rhythm with your own. You move easily into his kitchen, making tea with the practiced comfort of someone who belongs there. The kettle sings as you pour hot amber liquid into cups, steam curling like ghostly ribbons.
Namjoon, meanwhile, sifts through his purchases, creating little piles of tinsel, baubles, and gingerbread house kits, organizing the chaos with a delighted gleam in his eye. You join him in the living room, stringing up fairy lights that twinkle like fallen stars, draping garlands of tinsel over every surface. He paints his windows with swirling snow scenes and delicate winter landscapes, and you marvel at his handiwork, secretly wishing he’d come and transform your windows, too.
Christmas music fills the room, and the two of you sing along, voices blending together in a harmony of laughter and half-remembered lyrics. You dance around the room, giggling until your cheeks ache, joy blooming warm and bright against the winter outside. When the final ornament is hung on the tree and the garlands rest perfectly in place, you both collapse onto the couch, still breathless with laughter. Your playful energy lingers, bubbling over into gentle touches and mischievous smiles, and you find yourselves tangled together on the sofa, the festive glow softening every shadow. Time slips away until it’s late, the kind of late that feels heavy with dreams, and you realize it’s time to go home. But even as you leave, Namjoon’s warmth and the laughter you’ve shared linger, lighting up the cold night like the twinkling stars outside.
You take a step back, your eyes wide and brimming with a sense of wonder, marveling at the world you’ve created within the cozy walls of your home. The decorations glow softly, string lights shimmering like constellations, and every garland and ornament seems to dance in the warm embrace of the holiday spirit. Namjoon’s snowy landscapes even grace your windows, delicate swirls of frosted white transforming your view into a winter fairy tale. It feels so perfectly Christmas—Hygge, as the Danish call it, a word that holds all the warmth and comfort of shared moments and quiet joy.
In the corner stands your plastic tree, tall and proud, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments and lights. Its colors catch the twinkle of the lights strung around the room, a joyful echo of Namjoon’s more organic tree. You think back to the way he had explained, with that earnest passion of his, why he chooses to get a real tree each year—to support local farmers and give back to the environment in his own way. You remember laughing and teasing him about the effort, happy with your fuss-free tree, but secretly admiring the way he cares so deeply for the world around him.
“Do you want to come with me to the plant store today?” you ask, your voice soft, floating like the steam curling up from your cup of hot cocoa. Namjoon smiles wide, his dimples deepening, and the warmth of that grin feels like a little burst of sunlight on a winter day. He’s wearing glasses today—big, bold black frames, because he lost his contacts—and with his cozy wool turtleneck, he looks every bit the sexy professor you’ve always daydreamed about. You have to stop yourself from staring, but God, the man is a vision, and he’s right here beside you, yours. Well, hopefully he’s yours—there’s always that tiny flicker of uncertainty, but for now, it feels enough.
“Yeah, let’s go,” he says, his voice rich with warmth.
You drain the last of your cocoa, savoring the sweetness, and soon the two of you are bundled up, making your way across the icy path to his SUV. You take the driver’s seat without hesitation, your hands confident on the wheel. The snow-laden roads have always felt thrilling to navigate, and the car hums softly with the gentle croon of Christmas music drifting from the radio.
The silence between you is comfortable, wrapped in the magic of the season, until Namjoon turns to you, breaking the quiet with a question. “What are you doing this Christmas?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
You flick the windshield wipers on, watching the snow melt away in streaks. “Just spending it with Kookie,” you say, your smile bittersweet. “Without my mom, and with my dad’s Alzheimer’s… well, I just stay home now.” Your voice carries the weight of old memories, the ones that sting a little but still feel precious. You can’t help but think of past Christmases, filled with laughter and warmth, and the ache of their absence lingers, but so does the gratitude for what you still have.
Namjoon shifts, his concern evident. “You’re not going to visit your dad?” he asks, his curiosity mingling with worry, and he quickly realizes it might be a painful subject.
“I do visit him,” you explain softly, your voice gentle, like a snowflake drifting down. “But… he doesn’t remember me as his daughter anymore. It’s hard, sitting there and watching him struggle to place me. But I still go, even if he doesn’t know who I am. Because, well, it matters.” The sorrow is there, but it’s wrapped in acceptance, a quiet strength you’ve carried for years. You catch the sadness in Namjoon’s eyes and smile, a small reassurance. “It’s alright. Really. I’ve made peace with it. And Kookie makes Christmas feel like family again.”
Namjoon’s frown lingers, but there’s something tender in his expression, an unspoken promise that he understands, or at least wants to. And in that shared moment, with snow whispering against the windows and the world cocooned in winter’s embrace, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
“What about you?” you ask, your voice warm with curiosity as you guide the car onto the road leading to your favorite sanctuary—the plant store, a haven of greenery and seasonal enchantment, where Christmas decor shimmers among leafy life.
Namjoon’s eyes light up, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m spending Christmas with my sister, nephew, and my parents. They’re all coming to my place because, you know, I’ve got that big house now,” he says with a laugh that dances in the air. You recall the image of him from months ago, holding that little boy’s hand. You’d once mistaken the child for his own, only to learn he was the devoted uncle, always stepping in to help his sister.
“That sounds really lovely,” you muse, your voice softening with a wistful undertone, like the ghost of a melody from a long-lost song. The ache is familiar: a yearning for the warmth and chaotic joy of Christmases past, for the easy laughter and the irreplaceable comfort of family. A tear slips, unbidden, down your cheek, and you quickly brush it away with the back of your hand, hoping he won’t notice. But Namjoon’s gaze, gentle and perceptive, catches everything.
He reaches out, his hand warm on your thigh, a grounding touch. “Maybe… we could have a Christmas dinner?” he suggests, his voice hopeful. “Just for our friends. Maybe the day before Christmas Eve, since that’s when my family arrives.”
You sniffle, pulling the car into the bustling parking lot, where cars glisten under a light dusting of snow. Unlike Namjoon, who prefers the solitude of the far-off spaces, you park right up front, as close as you can get. “That sounds really nice,” you admit, though your words carry a hint of guardedness. “But, please, don’t turn it into a pity party for me.”
Namjoon nods, understanding shining in his dark eyes. “That wasn’t my intention,” he promises. “I just think it’d be nice for all of us. No pity, just good company and holiday cheer.” His smile is genuine, disarming, and he unbuckles his seatbelt as you cut the engine, the car falling silent save for the occasional thud of snow hitting the windshield.
Stepping out, the cold air nips at your skin, each breath a puff of white mist. The snow falls steadily, blanketing the world in a quiet, crystalline beauty. You hurry to grab a cart, already anticipating the treasures you’ll load into it.
Inside, the store is an odd middle ground between brisk and balmy, chilled enough to keep the plants thriving but not as bone-numbing as the winter outside. The first thing to catch your eye is the dazzling array of string lights, tinsel, and an extravagant display featuring Santa’s sleigh, his reindeer poised mid-flight over faux snow, glistening like diamond dust. Namjoon’s eyes widen with childlike wonder as he drifts toward the scene, marveling out loud at every intricate detail. His awe is contagious, and you find yourself grinning as he disappears into a life-sized gingerbread house, its candy-cane pillars twinkling.
Together, you weave through aisles of holiday magic. You pick up a snow globe with a penguin bundled in a sky-blue scarf, the world inside it swirling with glittering snow. It makes you smile, so into the cart it goes. Purple ornaments catch your eye—rare and radiant, the perfect find for your collection. You toss them in with a feeling of quiet triumph. Your hand lingers on a wooden reindeer, beautifully carved and rich with detail, a rustic piece that seems to carry the very spirit of the forest. You trace its elegant antlers with your fingertips, then place it carefully in the cart.
Namjoon catches your eye, his glasses slightly fogged from the store’s temperature shift, and your heart does a little flip. 
Namjoon stands in the store, eyes wide with wonder, looking at everything like a child waking up to magic on Christmas morning. His excitement radiates, pure and joyful, igniting the air around you with an energy that is impossible to resist. Yes, the store might resemble a festive explosion—every aisle drenched in holiday cheer as though Santa himself had painted the place with his overflowing bag of marvels—but watching Namjoon, awe-struck and glowing, is everything. A smile blooms on your face, gentle yet irrepressible, as your heart picks up speed. It flutters wildly, as if it holds a kaleidoscope of butterflies desperate to take flight. Warmth rises to your cheeks, a blush deepening and spreading, while your mind surrenders to thoughts of him and only him.
A quiet realization unfolds, maybe you should finally have that “where is this going?” talk with Namjoon. Because, damn, you know you’ve fallen hard, hopelessly and beautifully.
Your eyes catch sight of an aisle bursting with rolls of gift wrap, and you drift over, searching for the minimalist designs that you love. Just as you reach out for a roll in understated gold, Namjoon clears his throat, drawing your gaze back to him. There’s that smile, the one that makes your heart skip and your knees feel like jelly. He points upward, and you follow his gesture to the ceiling. String lights twinkle in every hue, casting a soft, whimsical glow. Hanging there, nestled amidst the colorful illumination, is a sprig of mistletoe; vivid green with playful red berries, promising a bit of holiday mischief.
A laugh escapes you, light and melodic. “Oh, so you want a kiss?” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth.
Namjoon chuckles, and the sound feels like a spark lighting up something inside you. “You know,” you murmur, leaning in just a touch, “you don’t need mistletoe to kiss me. I always want to kiss you.”
He doesn’t need any more prompting. Both of you move at once, lips meeting in a rush that’s tender yet hungry. The world falls away as your mouths meld together, and his hands find their way around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You melt into him, a soft moan slipping from your lips, echoing the need that simmers between you. When you finally break apart, a breathless laugh leaves your mouth, the air between you charged and electric. Namjoon’s gaze is dark and glassy, his desire plain to see, and you know yours must mirror the same intensity.
“Are you done with your shopping?” he asks, his voice husky and threaded with want. His words make you bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly as you nod, barely able to think straight.
“Great,” he replies, his tone velvet and commanding. He takes the cart from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours with a touch that leaves you reeling, and he pushes it toward the checkout. His assertiveness makes your pulse race, a delicious thrill running through you. Somehow, you manage to pay for the Christmas treasures and help load everything into his car, though your mind spins with anticipation. Namjoon returns the cart, his long strides carrying him back to you as snow continues to fall, whispering secrets to the earth.
You climb into the car, turning it on. The heat slowly creeps in, but the temperature between you and Namjoon is already scorching. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken desires, the kind of tension that crackles and leaves you breathless. He hums along to the Christmas song playing softly on the radio, but your thoughts wander, fixating on his voice, his lips, the memory of the way he kisses you, the way his mouth explores your pussy. You shift uncomfortably, desire making you restless, and you catch yourself before you lose focus on the snow-laden road.
Namjoon chuckles, a low, knowing sound, but he doesn’t move to touch you, though his presence is intoxicating. A part of you craves his hands, his warmth, his everything, but you’re grateful for his restraint. Not while you’re driving, you think, exhaling in a blend of frustration and exhilaration. It would be dangerous, especially on these slick, icy streets. Yet even without his touch, the tension coils tightly, promising a night that will be anything but cold.
You pull into your driveway, snowflakes swirling and dissolving in the twilight air, and as soon as the car engine cuts off, anticipation buzzes through your veins. With a swift click of your seatbelt, you’re out of your restraints and leaning over. You grab the thick collar of Namjoon’s jacket, tugging him closer, your mouths colliding in a heated, desperate kiss. Your lips part, breaths mingling, and a low growl escapes you, primal and hungry, as if you’ve been starving for this moment. You don’t know how long you devour each other like that, your hands fisting his jacket, your heart racing as he groans into your kiss.
When you finally break apart, Namjoon’s chuckle rumbles between you, warm and infectious. “Shouldn’t we… maybe… take this inside?” he teases, his voice husky, eyes glittering with barely restrained desire.
You bite your lip, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah, we should.” Without a second thought, you scramble out of the car, forgetting the mound of Christmas decorations packed in the back. You only have one thing on your mind. Grabbing Namjoon’s hand, you lead him through the cold afternoon, hurrying to escape the winter air and into the sanctuary of warmth inside.
Once you’re in, both of you shed your coats and kick off your boots in a frenzy, laughter echoing in the foyer. His eyes are dark, stormy with arousal, and your pulse quickens, a delicious anticipation settling in your core. “I don’t think Jungkook’s home,” you say, your voice breathy as you nibble your lip, taking his hand again. He lets you drag him up the stairs, his grip firm, electrifying.
Inside your room, you don’t waste a second. You pull him close, your hands cradling his face as you kiss him with a ferocity that makes your knees weak. His hands slide to your waist, guiding you back until your legs hit the bed, and you can’t suppress the shudder that rolls through you.
“Namjoon,” you pant, lips brushing his, “I want you. I need you.”
His eyes burn with intensity as he rasps, “I know. I need you too, baby.” The low, gravelly timbre of his voice sends a wave of heat coursing through you, but frustration boils over. 
“I want your cock,” you admit, desire raw in your voice, making no room for subtlety.
He pauses, then breaks into a chuckle that’s rich and rough, slicing through the tension with ease. “My cock, huh?” he teases, eyebrows arching. “Is that all I’m good for?”
You pull back slightly, heart lurching at the implication, and your eyes widen in disbelief. “What? No,” you insist, voice softening, sincerity bleeding through. You turn your gaze to him, your expression fierce but tender. “Your cock is nice and very good, but it’s you that I love,” you confess, the words tumbling out, bare and vulnerable.
For a beat, there’s a silence that seems to suspend the universe. Your heart stops, bracing for his reaction, hoping you haven’t ruined this, that you haven’t scared him off. But then his lips curve into a smirk, one so full of warmth it melts your doubts.
“Good thing I love you too,” he murmurs, pulling you close again.
You don’t get the chance to respond; his mouth is on yours, urgent and consuming. He presses you down onto the bed, his lips trailing from your cheek to your ear, where his breath ghosts over your skin, sending shivers of delight racing down your spine. You moan, your eyes fluttering shut, breath hitching as he whispers in your ear, voice low and dangerous.
“I’m going to fuck you so good, babe,” he promises, his words sending a molten thrill straight through you. “So good that no one else will ever compare.”
The sheer need in his voice makes you pant, heat pooling between your thighs. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whisper, your hands splaying over his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.
“Me neither,” he murmurs, before dipping down to suck a mark into the curve of your neck. The sensation makes you moan, your pussy clenching with anticipation. God, you’re already soaked, desire pulsing through every nerve, and as he lays claim to your skin, you know you’ll never want anyone but him.
He pauses, lips still flushed from the kiss, and pulls back with a soft, playful sigh. “These glasses are in the way,” he mutters, sliding them off and setting them aside. Your immediate frown makes him laugh, a deep, resonant sound that you feel in your chest. 
“What?” he asks, eyes dancing with amusement. “Do you actually like my glasses?”
You bite your lip and nod, a smirk curving your mouth. “Yeah. You look stupidly hot with them on—like some impossibly sexy professor,” you giggle, the words spilling out like a secret you’ve been holding in.
His eyebrows lift, a teasing smile spreading across his face. “Oh?” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again, lips brushing yours with renewed heat.
You giggle, the lightness of the moment threading through your desire. “But can you even see me?” you tease, your voice lilting.
He chuckles, a warm rumble against your skin. “Not very well. You’re just a blurry outline.”
“A sexy blur,” you correct with a laugh, playfulness and arousal weaving together.
He hums in agreement, nuzzling your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire. “My sexy blur,” he whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. But you gently push him back, your eyes gleaming with mischief.
“I want you to really see me,” you say, your fingers searching the bed until they find his glasses. You carefully slip them back onto his face, adjusting them so they sit just right. “There,” you whisper. “Now you can see me again. My sexy Joon.”
Namjoon grins, the lenses framing his eyes in a way that makes your pulse race, and he slowly straightens, standing at the edge of your bed. His hands move with purpose as he undresses, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal hard planes of muscle and soft, warm skin. When he’s down to his black boxers, his arousal straining visibly against the fabric, you can’t help but draw in a sharp breath, desire crackling in the air between you.
He watches as you sit up, your gaze locked on him, and you lift your shirt over your head, casting it aside. Your bra follows as does your pants and panties, and the sound Namjoon makes—a low, guttural moan—sends a flush spreading over your skin. His gaze drinks you in, dark and reverent.
He leans toward your pussy, his intentions clear, but you stop him with a playful chuckle, pushing lightly at his chest. “Please,” you say, your voice husky, “just fuck me already. I’m ready, and I want you so bad.”
Namjoon’s eyes widen, and he lets out a choked, breathless laugh, shedding his boxers in one swift motion. He wraps a hand around his cock, giving himself a few firm strokes to steady himself, and you lie back, spreading your legs in invitation. Your body trembles with anticipation, your need palpable.
“Hm,” you tease, wiggling your hips with a grin. “I’m ready to open my petals wide for you. Come and claim me.”
He laughs, a delighted sound, his hands warm as they grasp your thighs. “Cute,” he says, but his smile is laced with desire as he lines himself up with your entrance. Just as he begins to push into you, a wicked gleam sparks in his eyes. “I’ve got a pun too,” he pants, his voice thick as he stretches you open, inch by inch. 
“I think it’s time to fertilize this relationship.”
You hold your breath, feeling him fill you, your body arching in response to the exquisite pressure. His words finally register as he settles fully inside, and you gasp, a laugh bubbling up through the haze of pleasure. “Wait—did you just say you want to fertilize me?” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows, your voice breathless and amused.
Namjoon groans, his laugh turning into a deep grunt as he moves, your bodies pressed together, the playful intimacy of the moment making everything feel impossibly right. “Maybe I did,” he whispers, his breath hot on your skin, his hips beginning to move in a rhythm that leaves you breathless.
His breath catches in his throat, a strangled groan spilling out, thick with pleasure. “God, you’re so tight, babe,” he murmurs, voice rough, a velvet rasp that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers grip you with a fervent need, and his hips meet yours in a dance of primal rhythm. His lips brush your ear, whispering sin into the dark. “Yes,” he growls, each word laced with yearning, “I want you to take all my cum.”
A heat unfurls within you, wild and untamed, and a fevered cry breaks from your lips, back arching, body yearning for more. “Fuck yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling, a symphony of need and desire, “fill me, stretch me, make me yours.” He pulls back, a tease of agony, before plunging in again, deeper this time, and a wave of sensation washes over you, stealing your breath, making your world fracture into shards of pleasure. Toes curl, your heartbeat roaring in your ears, and you claw at his biceps, desperate to hold onto something solid.
“Please,” you beg, voice cracking with urgency, “Fill me up. I want to feel you everywhere, for you to watch your cum drip from my pussy—” A shudder courses through you, and you add, breathless and trembling, “And then fuck it back inside, and give me more.”
A groan rumbles in his chest, and you feel his body tense, the delicious twitch inside you betraying how your words unravel him. “Fuck,” he gasps, the curse a melody wrapped in desperation, his thrusts becoming brutal and consuming. His eyes darken, a storm threatening to drown you both. “My perfect little cockslut,” he grits out, voice threaded with awe and possession, “always so needy for my big cock.”
You wrap your legs around him, pressing your heels into his lower back, desperate to pull him deeper. His thrusts find that secret spot inside you, and the world around you shatters. Your cries echo in the room, a crescendo of ecstasy. “Joon-ah!” you cry, voice a broken plea, and he responds, hips driving harder, chasing your unraveling.
“My beautiful little slut,” he pants, voice cracked and shattered, “made to take me. Made to come for me.” His rhythm is relentless, and the coil in your belly winds tight, snapping like a bolt of lightning. Pleasure blooms through you, so vivid it turns your vision to a white, a brilliant blur. Breathless, undone, you tremble, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
He catches your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans, and he drives into you, each thrust deeper, leaving you raw and oversensitive. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, clutching as your body convulses, waves of bliss surging through you. You feel yourself unravel completely, and he moves with you, relentless, sending you spiraling further into the pleasure you never want to escape. 
“So good, my love,” he murmurs, a reverent hymn of praise, and your body responds instantly, your core clenching, a desperate, needy flutter. His eyes darken, desire a tangible force between you. “You ready for me to fill you up?” he asks, his voice a teasing growl, and before you can answer, his strong hands grip your thighs, pulling you open wider, pinning you beneath him as he begins to thrust harder, deeper.
“Yes!” you cry, your voice raw, your need laid bare in that single, breathless scream. His hips snap against yours, each movement carrying a delicious, reckless abandon. One hand drifts between your bodies, and his fingers find your clit, drawing tight, wicked circles that send electricity racing through you. The buildup is sudden, overwhelming—a storm surging through you with a force that steals your breath. You’re undone, surprised by your own body’s eager surrender.
“Oh, shit,” you gasp, every nerve alight, toes curling from the rush of pleasure. “I’m going to come again,” you moan, and your head falls back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat, every inch of you arched, straining, craving.
“That’s it, babe,” he coaxes, voice raw and full of awe as he watches you come undone. His gaze never leaves you, and he drives into you with relentless precision, chasing his own high as he feels you pulse around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps, his voice cracking with the strain, his own pleasure just out of reach. He’s relentless, a man driven by your shared ecstasy.
“Such a good girl,” he praises, and the words unravel you further. Your head tosses back and forth on the sheets, body a trembling, heaving wreck of sensation. His eyes meet yours, a connection sparking between you, and your breath comes in frantic pants. “Namjoon,” you plead, and his mouth softens, the intensity in his eyes tempered by tenderness.
“I know,” he breathes, his voice a soothing whisper, “I’ve got you.” His thrusts quicken, become erratic, and his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in as he hovers at the precipice. “I’m almost there, babe,” he promises, and with a few more deep, punishing thrusts, you feel him shudder, a guttural groan escaping his lips. His release pulses into you, warmth spilling inside as he cries your name, his face twisting in a perfect symphony of pleasure.
You watch him, utterly captivated—his glasses slipping slightly, his jaw slack with bliss—and the sight alone threatens to push you to the brink again. His movements slow, hips stuttering, his body collapsing gently into yours as the high fades. Still trembling, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s as soft as it is reverent, and you can’t help but giggle, delight spilling over.
He slips out of you, eyes darkening once more as he watches his release trickle from you, and your pussy clench around the emptiness, a final echo of your desire. With a satisfied groan, he flops down beside you, laughter bubbling up between you both. His hand rakes through his tousled hair, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 
You turn your head toward him, the world around you spinning with a dizzying, intoxicating mix of something sweet and wild. Your heart pounds in your chest, a cocktail of longing and reckless abandon. You know you have to ask him, and you have to ask now. The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, raw and urgent. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you breathe out in a rush, like you’ve been holding your breath for far too long. 
His eyes catch yours, a grin spreading across his face like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Of course,” he replies, his voice warm and steady, like he’s known all along. 
You smile back at him, and in that instant, the weight you’ve been carrying seems to lift from your shoulders. Your heart feels lighter, like it’s fluttering in your chest, freed from the gravity of uncertainty. He leans in, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His voice is soft, but there’s a sincerity to it that makes your heart ache in the best way. “You��ve got me blooming in ways I’ve never felt before.” 
A laugh bursts from your lips, spontaneous and full of joy. “You’re corny,” you tease, the warmth between you igniting the spark of something real, something tender. 
He chuckles, a low, rich sound that makes your pulse race. “Good thing I love you, you nerd,” you add, his eyes gleaming with affection, the kind of love that feels both easy and electric. 
You bite your lip, feeling a rush of warmth crawl up your neck. “Ouch. Just be happy that I love your bitchy and bratty mouth,” he smirks playfully, his hands moving to pull you closer. 
The air shifts as he sits up on the bed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Speaking of,” he says, voice dropping low with a teasing edge. “Should I clean you off, or give it some time to let my seed settle inside you?” 
Heat rises in your cheeks, the words hanging heavy between you, and you nearly choke on the air. “Please fuck me again, Joonie,” you whisper, the rawness of your need almost too much to take. 
His lips curl into a slow smile as he lowers his mouth to your stomach, kissing you with a reverence that steals your breath away. His lips trail upward, brushing across your breasts, your neck, and finally landing on your mouth in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Then give me a moment,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I’ll be ready to go again.” 
But before you can lose yourself completely in the heat of the moment, your phone vibrates multiple times on the nightstand, the interruption sharp and unwelcome. You glance at the screen, curiosity piquing in your chest, and your stomach sinks when you see the flood of messages. They’re all from Jungkook.
You groan in embarrassment, cringing at the thought of what might be waiting for you in those texts. 
“What is it, babe?” Namjoon asks, his voice laced with concern as he notices the change in your expression. 
“I guess Jungkook was home all along…” you mumble, heat spreading across your face like wildfire. The realization hangs heavy in the air between you, and both of you understand what it means. Namjoon bursts out laughing, the sound full of warmth and affection. He pulls you into his embrace, his lips trailing soft kisses along your neck, inhaling your scent as if he can’t get enough. 
Your laughter bubbles up, the embarrassment melting away in the comfort of his arms, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in your own world of joy and tenderness. 
Tumblr media
→ Requested taglist: @callmenoona25 @svnbangtansworld @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @kamilamb @joonlover1207
→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex
→ Author’s endnote: I hope enjoyed this one, and please let me know what you liked; you’re always welcome to leave me a comment, a reblog or an ask 🥰 Thank you so much for reading, love you 💜 © @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰
271 notes · View notes
sjyuns · 7 months ago
Text
🗒️ 、HOW SWEET
downbad!sunghoon x fem reader 500 words warnings kissing genre fluff mikaela’s note back to my roots of simping over men w glasses
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Sunghoon wonders if you know how sweet you taste.
It lingers on, the taste of you — a hint of cherry pomegranate under the tint of mauve that glazed over your lips. The cold air sends chills down his spine yet his glasses fog up at the tickle of your warm breath caressing him in winter midnight.
And it feels like summer, the way you make him feel so alive. His cheeks a shade pink as he brushes it off, blaming it on winter when it’s really you that’s to blame.
The existing fatigue from his arduous day fades into a mere shadow beneath the both of you as he presses his lips onto yours yet again.
“It’s cold Hoon, we should head in,” you murmur as you watch his glasses fog up yet again — and you want to draw heart shaped stars around the lenses of them, a symbol of your love towards him.
Your boyfriend hums, pulling you closer into his arms. “Just a while more,” he answers softly, fingers wrapped delicately around your waist, chin perched on your head.
And if the winter wind had memories, it’d remember the countless times you and Sunghoon spent in the chill, away from the comfort of your home. The gentle breeze through the leaves, yet strong enough to engulf the both of you — making you savour the warmth brought by him.
Sunghoon shifts from his comfortable position to catch your gaze, a small smile appearing on his face as he moves in to kiss you for the nth time. And you can see the tinted mauve pink that you’ve transferred onto his lips, a testament of the love shared between the both of you.
“What are you doing,” you giggle softly, the quiet atmosphere calming and alluring, as you stare at Sunghoon — clad in his favourite black Armani suit and tie, sleek black hair slightly messy after a long day of work. And you can’t help but notice the shades of pink that contrast his aloof aura.
Sunghoon stares back, admiration shining through his eyes. “It’s because you’re too pretty,” he comments, facial expressions serious and stern.
You scoff, pulling away from his embrace, and Sunghoon’s body instinctively searches for your warmth again. “I told you not to say sappy things,” you whined, “it’s cringey, Hoon,” you grimace, holding back a giggle.
“It’s not sappy, it’s real,” he reiterates, taking big steps to return by your side, fingers once again finding their way to the dip of your waist; pulling you into him, “you’re the prettiest girl in the world.”
You throw your head back in laughter, filling the once empty atmosphere with a ringing melody. “And I guess you’re the handsomest man in the world.”
“You guess?” Sunghoon probes, fingers tickling your sides as he dips down to get a taste of your lips once more.
And even with the thousand more kisses Sunghoon takes from you, he can’t seem to get over how sweet your lips taste.
Tumblr media
© SJYUNS
762 notes · View notes
httpsserene · 1 year ago
Text
𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥
𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟴: 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗽𝘂𝘀𝘀𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽
Tumblr media
📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: if lando achieved a podium at silverstone, you promised you’d give him anything he wants. he thinks about it the whole race weekend, and when the two of you are celebrating his second-place finish, he tells you that he wants to take care of you. you’re disbelieving–he takes care of you every waking hour. lando, on the other hand, said that with his chest. and he’ll prove it to you. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. not beta read. service top lando. shy/self-conscious!reader. mention of multiple orgasms. mention of vaginal sex. face-riding/sitting. lando is a munch & simp. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴:  lando norris x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: drabble. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: lotus flower bomb • wale ft. miguel
𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: different type of smut? idk testing out the vibes with this one—yes, this man has one goal this fic and it’s all about you. which i guess is why it edges more into general worship? and not exclusively pussy worship. made myself mad writing this because no man like this exists, me thinks. have fun shawty mamas :)
do you want to be added to my general taglist? send me an ask!
cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss
to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
lando pulls your body completely against his, chest to chest as you straddle his lap. he tenderly holds the nape of your neck, using his large hand to coax your head backwards. he leans forward to kiss you but pauses at the last second, and smiles at your body language. as soon as his hand gently tangled into your hair, your eyes fluttered shut and your lips pursed in anticipation for a kiss. instead of pressing your lips together like expected, lando kisses you softly on the forehead. you open your eyes halfway in question, and lando beats you to speaking.
“let me,” lando murmurs, his warm eyes gazing at you lovingly, “you said you’d give me anything i want—so, let me take it.”
he watches the astonished look in your eyes fade into a bashful avoidance of eye contact. he pets at your scalp gently, charmed at how you still shy away when you deem his devotion too intense. lando doesn’t understand why you don’t believe that he actually wants to take care of you, why he wants to love you thoroughly. his brain sings in satisfaction every time he makes you satisfied. you’re his soulmate; you’ve become each other’s rock, he’s not sure if he’d manage to withstand the extreme pressure of his life without you. so, of course when you offer yourself to him in exchange for his home race podium finish, he’s going to take advantage of that—and provide you with pleasure, solely. 
lando allows you to hide, but continues to press sweet kisses around your face. he drags his lips from your forehead, to your cheeks, to your brow bone, to your eyelids, to your nose, reveling in the heat that rises to your brown skin at his attention. he kisses you properly when he feels the tension coiled within your muscles dissipate. the slick sound of your lips meeting rings in the brit’s ears, and he moans into your mouth when he feels your manicured nails dig into his shoulders. lando captures your bottom lip between his teeth and nips teasingly; he wants your lips even plumper than they already are, he wants them to swell from his passionate onslaught. when his tongue sneaks past the seam of your lips as they part around a moan, his kisses deepen. his free hand cups your ass and drags you closer to him—there should be no space between your bodies. he’s become lost under the weight of his own kisses and swallows down every keening moan, whimper, and whine that you breathe into his mouth. he wouldn’t mind if this is as far as he took it tonight, sharing kisses like these quiets his urge to move along. you, however, care little for lando’s content; you begin to circle your hips down onto him in tight, almost unnoticeable grinds. he breaks the kiss to sigh shakily, and fulfills the question he knows you’re not going to vocalize.
“pretty girl,” lando hums at the sight of your already disheveled appearance, you look fucked out. “hmm, you want more, love? yeah, you do—c’mere and ride my face, pretty.” lando chuckles at the way you freeze at his request, and how you choke on your own breath. you’ve been bare on top of him the whole time and unconsciously started searching for more friction from his boxer-clad erection, and you clam up at the idea of grinding on his tongue—like he’s never eaten you out before.
lando doesn’t allow you any time to protest and shrugs off the shirt he’s wearing, tossing it to some random spot on the floor. he relaxes back, lying flat and rests both of his hands on your hips. he watches how your pupils blow, irises shrinking away at your arousal—he’s not going to interrupt you, and gives you ample time to bask in the sight of his toned torso. a handful of seconds pass before your eyes flick upwards to meet his own, and he sees how you automatically hide away from his stare. there’s no need to attempt to hide from him, he knows your intricacies forward and back. lando dismisses your behavior, and bodily lifts you to hover over his mouth. 
he pretends to miss your scandalized cry of his name at the sudden manhandling, and sucks marks into your inner thigh, slowly moving closer and closer to your core. lando presses a final kiss where your navel meets your cunt, and pauses to stare up at you, waiting for your permission. for the first time tonight, you hold eye-contact with him and softly whisper for him to continue, and lando smiles tenderly at the first hint of confidence that leaks into your tone.
building a strong neck is good for his day job, but lando especially appreciates his strengthened neck for this activity alone—he can feast on you without a single complaint concerning cramping or exhaustion. he messily brandishes his tongue through your lips, his moan of delight at your taste vibrating through your most sensitive area. his tongue forms tight circles and flicks against your clit, and he pauses randomly to slurp lewdly against your entrance to make sure he’s not missing any of your essence. lando whimpers depravedly when he feels your hips start to press down on his mouth, rocking against his tongue to direct him where you want—and his eyes flutter shut in pleasure. 
lando will make you come once like this and the resulting dopamine spike will cause your shyness to evaporate. you’ll start riding his face like he wants you to, leading to another orgasm. his goatee will be soaked with your arousal and lando will not care. then, he’ll make you cum once more from his fingers alone—you’ve always had a thing for his hands—and depending on how sensitive you are, lando might make you spray your release all over the fresh bed sheets. he’ll allow himself to fuck you slowly to another orgasm, that coasts over your body smoothly. and when he deems that he’s satisfied his desire of taking care of you, he’s going to paint your thighs white with his release. of course, his pleasure comes second to yours. he has the whole night to worship you, and he doesn’t see his devotion for you faltering any time soon.
taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld@buendiabebeta@butterfly-lover@lana-d3l-rey@dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj@miahgonzalez16@jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic@sweetpiccolo-blog@my-ylenia @zaynzierulez@reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane @inloveallthetime
Tumblr media
© httpsserene 2023
1K notes · View notes
misshuntereevee · 12 days ago
Text
a continuation of the 5-star kindled moment memory, "business trip" w/ zayne... this was my first ever 5-star memory and it's everything to me so take this spicy time that picks up right after the fade to black.
content: smut and fluff
[ reminder: i'm not beta read ]
Tumblr media
"I changed my mind. Is that okay?" He murmurs against your lips before nearly devouring your lips.
You giggle as he descends on your lips. It leveled him how honest you were. How you admitted to missing him, even though he was beating around the subject himself. You readily admitted that you needed him.
And it made him -- a man of ice and steely resolve -- feel like he was burning alive. He needed more of it. More of you.
"You're definitely allowed to change your mind," you tell him, as his lips move down to your neck. His lips start off gentle before nipping and sucking at the tender skin. You give little gasps and moans as he works his way around. One of his hands comes to grasp yours, pinning it down next to your head.
His knee comes up, pushing against your core, and you give another loud groan for him. He nearly eats the sound from your mouth, kissing you as he drags it from your lips.
"You're not thinking clearly if you think I didn't miss you," he finally admits, pulling back to drag his nose down the column of his neck. Just the scent of you was addicting. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you. The thought just pounds in his head and he has to make sure that you feel it.
You're about to say something in return when he keeps speaking. His free hand starts to roam, pulling your leg up to his waist. "Just because I can survive without you, doesn't mean I want to. You should know that."
And just like that, he seems to be done talking. His mouth descends upon yours once again, but his hands are fast, efficient at taking off your clothes. It's your top that goes first. His time as a doctor has his movements exact and sharp. Buttons are carefully undone and the top is removed.
When he sees your bra, he finally lets out a groan. "You're beautiful." His hand comes up, palming you through the cup. "You fit perfectly into my hand. I wonder..." He pushes the strap down on one side, and a breast spills out. "How sensitive you are for me right now?"
His fingers are feather-like, circling your nipple. He's going painstakingly slow and deliberate. HIs eyes drink in every movement. on your face. Every flicker of pleasure, every bite of your lip as he continues those feather-like movements.
"Zayne," you whimper, arching your back to ask for more. He chuckles, shaking his head at you. In fact, it makes him pull back. "Zayne!" You complain. "Where are you going--"
His fingers finally find the back of your bra, and the whole thing falls away. He's quick to bury his face in your breasts. His head turns, pressing kisses, nipping and sucking at the skin. Your head falls back against the couch in pleasure. He chuckles again. "I'm not going anywhere. You're being impatient."
Your hands find his hair, pulling and tugging with each wave of pleasure. "It's not my fault you feel s'good." You say, the last few words more of a groan as he drags his teeth ever so gently across your nipple.
"Oh fuck --" you gasp.
"You know I'm almost hurt you thought I didn't miss you. I thought it was a given. Maybe I should make it abundantly clear how much I missed you."
With that, his head moves further south. His fingers dip into the waistband of your shorts. Every movement is dedicated to laying you bare to him. You pull at his shirt now that he's released your hand, but that only earns you having them pinned again.
"I'm showing you how much I missed you, remember?" He chides
You groan, but it's lost into a moan the second your pants hit the floor. His mouth is everywhere. He sucks and nips at your stomach, your navel, your thighs... everywhere that he can get ahold of.
You are squirming underneath you, but he's quick to use his weight to pin you, and his hands to hold your hips down. He's not letting you escape the onslaught of pleasure.
The teasing kisses continue for what feels like at least 10 minutes, and you're dripping with the need for him. Your panties are the only thing still on, and you're almost sure they are soaked.
"Zayne," you groan. "Stop teasing me..."
He chuckles, his lips finally finding the front of the waistband of your panties. "I won't tell you again... I was showing you how much I missed you. And I missed kissing your pretty skin. How it feels under my touch..." He drags a finger down the front of your panties and you almost lose it.
"Zayne," you whine. "Please!"
It's then that he finally slips a finger under your underwear, finding your slick clit. A smirk plays at his lips as his green eyes peer up at you. "You're so wet for me. You meant it when you said you missed me, didn't you?"
He needs to hear it again. He needs to hear that you missed him as much as he missed you. There was a reason he checked the weather where you were. There was a reason he was relieved when you texted back. There was a reason he texted in the first place.
"Yes," you gasp, euphoria flooding you as finally get a bit of stimulation. "I missed you so much. I wanted to be here with you."
That's enough for him to completely give in. With something that sounds like a growl, he rubs your clit faster. You're groaning his name loudly as he works on you. It's not long before he slips a finger inside of you, and you find yourself riding his hand.
His eyes watch you in amazement as you grind down on his hand. "That's it. Good girl, show me how much you missed me," he groans, his eyes still locked on you as chase your high.
"Zayne, I'm gonna-"
Your high crashes over you, and you can faintly hear Zayne's little chuckle as you do. You feel like your legs are jelly, but you still want... no need more from him. Together, your panties are cast aside, and he gets on his knees on the couch, looking down at you as he slowly starts to undress.
You giggle, leaning up -- a hand being naughty as it chases every inch of free skin. He's not immune to your touch, his breath hitching every time you find new purchase. Finally, your hand finds his happy trail, and then his belt, aiding him. His cock springs free, standing at attention. He's already leaking pre-cum, and you can tell he's desperate for any friction on his member.
You're about to put your mouth around him when surprisingly, he shakes his head, pushing your back down against the sofa seat. "No. I need to be in you. I need to be home."
"Yes, yes, please, Zayne," you murmur almost like a chant.
His mouth leaves hot kisses on your shoulder as he positions himself to enter you. Slowly, he slides in, stretching you out in that delightful way only Zayne could. Other men had been ruined the first time he ever took you to bed.
He groans at the feeling of you fluttering around him, pausing to just feel you. "You are so tight," he groans, but then with a sharp snap of his hips, he surges even deeper than you thought possible.
His hands come up, pinning your hips down. He loves this position. He didn't care how boring it might be called. To him, nothing is better than getting to fuck into you with your love drunk eyes looking up at him. Nothing is better than seeing you blissed out and safe in his arms. "Say it again," he demands. "Say you missed me again."
And the way he's chasing your pleasure right now is evident on his face. He's chasing it just as fast as he own. Every inch of pleasure, every twitch of a smile... he's taking it all in as he purposefully angles each thrust where you need it most.
"I missed you so much," you nearly wail from both the intensity and sheer honesty of it. "I wanted to come home as soon as I left -- Zayne, I can't hold on--"
"I know. I've got you." He says, his fingers coming down to rub circles on your clit. Your head is thrown back as your orgasm starts to ram into you. You're already starting to mewl his name. "Come for me. It's okay." Despite the gruffness in his voice, gentleness can still be found and heard.
And for the second time, you come for him, this time with your walls around him. Your nails dig into his back and shoulder with the intensity of it. He doesn't even seem to notice.
That's because the second your start tightening like that around him, he's doomed. He pumps one, two and three more times before a shudder and groan falls from his lips, and a warmth fills your abdomen. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He then moves like he's about to pull back, but you hook a leg around his waist. He's surprised by your boldness, but then chuckles. "What is this-" he starts.
"Don't go. Not yet," you tell him. "I want to hold you."
Zayne presses a kiss to your forehead, shifting his weight to a comfortable position. "I'm not complaining."
255 notes · View notes
munsonsmixtapes · 8 months ago
Text
First Time
Tumblr media
Find part two here!
virgin!Eddie x experienced!fem!reader
since smut won the poll, heres what I came up with!
summary: you hook up with a very inexperienced Eddie in a club bathroom
cw: MDNI 18+ smut (p in v) oral (m receiving) Eddie receives a handjob
The club was very overcrowded with dancing bodies covering the dance floor. You had a drink in your hand and were dancing the night away without a care in the world. By that time in the night, you usually had someone to take home, but you came up empty handed. Nobody looked good. They were all either drunk off their asses or definitely looked like they’d slip something into your drink when you weren’t looking.
You scanned the place one last time, deciding that if you didn’t find anyone, you’d just go home by yourself, your only company being your fingers and vibrator. They did the job just fine, but sometimes you just didn’t want to fall asleep alone.
You noticed a table that was to the far left. Four men were sitting at it, laughing their asses off about something while sipping from their drinks. Your eyes locked on the one with curly hair, deciding that he was the one. He was so pretty and definitely your type. As you got closer, you could see that he had a beard which made you even more attracted to him.
You could practically imagine his beard scraping your chin and above your top lip as he kissed you roughly, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to pull you closer.
As you approached the table, you noticed the small silver hoop looped through the right side of his nose. You loved men with piercings, finding them to be very attractive. Everyone at the table but him looked your way, all curious as to who you were going to talk to.
“Hey handsome,” you greeted but he still wasn’t making eye contact with you, almost as if he was avoiding it. The Black guy sitting next to him nudged his shoulder and he turned in his direction, only for his friend to point to you.
“Me?” He seemed confused as he pointed at himself, his eyebrows furrowing.
“You are handsome, aren’t you?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow as he got all flustered. God, he was adorable.
“I mean, I guess so,” he shrugged. You loved a modest man. Too many of them had a lot of confidence for being so mediocre.
“What’s your name?” His own name completely faded from his brain. Women didn’t usually talk to him, especially not super hot women such as yourself.
“Eddie,” the guy on the other side of him answered for him. For whatever reason, the name suited him. He looked like an Eddie.
“Well, Eddie, do you want to dance with me?” Dance? Eddie could do that to save his life, but since such a beautiful woman was asking, he had no choice but to say yes.
“He’d love to,” the same guy answered for him and pushed him up from his seat. You weren’t going to dance with him if he didn’t want to. Consent was very important and only wanted to do things with people if they were really enthusiastic about it. And that went for both inside and outside the bedroom.
“Would you?” You asked, wanting to make sure.
“I really would,” he nodded furiously and stood up from his chair, taking the hand that you were offering him.
You pulled Eddie out on the dance floor and he was quick to turn to his friends in panic. He had no idea what he was doing, but they all just gave him a reassuring thumbs up.
He liked the way your hand felt in his, all soft and warm. He let you lead him through all of the drunk, dancing bodies on the floor, just happy to be there. He tried his best to keep up with how fast your legs were moving. There was no way that he was losing you in the crowd. He could barely handle going to clubs with his friends, let alone by himself.
This whole thing was so overstimulating; the lights, the loud music and the people yelling over the loud music. Eddie hated it, but he only went because his friends liked it. While they danced, he sat at the table, throwing back glasses of whiskey like they were going out of style.
But there he was, actually getting his ass out onto the floor because you had asked him. He had denied so many invitations because he was afraid of looking stupid or being made fun of which had just been a product of not being desired in his youth. He was the freak, a loser, a person who just wasn’t worth anyone’s time. So why did he think that he was worth yours?
You stopped in the center of the floor and turned your back to him, taking no time to grind your ass on his dick to the beat of the pop song that was blasting through the speakers. Eddie had no idea what he was doing, but he was loving whatever was going on.
You grabbed his hands that were still by his side and guided him to rest them on your waist. You moved to the music together and Eddie could already feel his dick getting hard at the feelings of your ass grinding against his crotch.
If you noticed, you didn’t say anything. You turned around as the song chance and draped your arms around his shoulders. Eddie’s hands ended up on your ass when you moved in his arms and quickly slid his hands up to your back, thinking that it was a safe place for them.
“You’re quite the dancer, Eddie,” you smiled and he was grateful that you couldn’t see his blush in the terrible club lighting. He knew you were lying but he appreciated the compliment. He couldn’t dance to save his life and was sure that you agreed.
“Oh, am I?” He sounded so unsure and you thought it was refreshing that a man as attractive as him had no idea how good he was at anything.
“Definitely,” you nodded then leaned closer, your lips right by your ear. “You know, I can take care of that little problem in your pants if you’d like.” He felt a shiver run down his spine at both your breath and thinking about you “taking care” of his boner.
The thought made him kind of nervous. He didn’t have any sexual experience, hell, he hadn’t even kissed anyone since Josie Geller when he was thirteen and that hadn’t really counted. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had offers, he’d had many, but his insecurity always got the best of him. He was just convinced that it was all a prank and was quick to shut it down, not wanting to fall for anything like that again. He had had enough tin high school.
But for some reason, he has fully believed that you were being genuine. He could see the look in your eyes; it was excited and full of lust. You had to be telling the truth. Either that, or you were just a really good actress and he didn’t think that was the case.
“I would love that.” His words came out breathy and rushed and he hoped that you couldn’t see how desperate he was for you to help him with his little problem.
You took him by the hand and the two of you made a beeline for the bathroom. Eddie was almost giggling while you kept it cool. You had had your fair share of bathroom sex while he hadn’t had sex period. It was almost funny how opposite you were.
You pushed the women’s bathroom door open and checked to make sure no one else was in there before pushing him into one of the stalls. Eddie pressed his hands against the walls so he wouldn’t fall into the toilet while you locked the door and turned around to face him, your eyes lighting up as you took him in.
He was so hot even in the dark of the bathroom stall with the way his messy, curly hair that you just wanted to run your hands through, giving it a tug as pounded into you. Your gaze moved to his pretty pink lips and you could see that they were a bit chapped but you hardly minded. You just needed to feel them on yours.
You leaned forward, but Eddie put his hand on your shoulder to stop you. He took a deep breath before licking his lips, preparing himself to tell you the truth. He felt he owed that to you.
“Before we start anything, I should tell you that I’m a virgin.” Your eyes widened, now feeling guilty for pulling him into the stall. You pulled your hands away, backing up to the door, trying your best to give him space in the small area.
“Oh my god, I-I had no idea.” You put your hands up to your face to cover it, but Eddie quickly pulled them away.
“How could you have known?” Eddie wasn’t going to blame you for something you didn’t know. He just wanted you to be aware of the situation before you continued.
“We don’t-we don’t have to-”
“But I want to.” Even though Eddie didn’t know you, he still felt like he could trust you, not getting a single feeling in his gut like he had all the other times women approached him. It just felt right being there with you and he was hoping you felt the same.
“You do?” You wanted to be one hundred percent certain before you continued, wanting him to be absolutely sure that it was what he wanted.
“So badly. I mean,” his snapped to his still very hard dick and your gaze followed. “Still want to take care of it for me?”
“You’re sure you want to lose it to a stranger?” Eddie stepped closer to you so that you were chest to chest. He looked at you, taking in all your features and now that he was looking at you up close, he could confirm that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and couldn’t have been more honored to have you take his virginity.
“I’m sure.” He gave you a nod and you slowly moved your arms to wrap around his neck while his went to your waist. You slowly inched your face towards his, capturing his bottom lip between your two.
He was quick to respond, mimicking your actions, hoping that he was as good at it as you were. He honestly had no idea what he was doing, but he was confident that you’d teach him, showing him exactly what he needed to do so he was fully prepared for next time.
The kiss slowly progressed to hot and heavy as you swiped your tongue along Eddie’s bottom lip. He opened up and let his tangle with yours, a whimper escaping from the back of his throat as he did so. His eyes widened at the noise and he pulled away, covering his mouth with his hand.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” you told him softly. “Make as much noise as you want. And actually, I found that really hot.” Even though first times could be awkward for some, you wanted Eddie’s to be memorable for him. Something he could look back on positively and not in embarrassment.
“Oh.” His cheeks burned at your compliment and you thought it was adorable how you could make him blush so easily.
“Wanna make it again?” Eddie thought for a moment and decided that he did, especially since you thought it sounded hot.
“I do, actually,” he nodded and your lips were back on his in a second. You licked into his mouth once again and he let out another whimper, not holding it back this time. You felt your cunt getting wet at hearing the noise and you slow moved your hand down his chest, stopping right when it got to his belt buckle.
You pulled away and looked at him for permission. He nodded his head furiously, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and you slowly unbuckled his belt, giving him plenty of time to back out if he wanted to. You pulled down his pants and let them his the tops of his shoes before shimmying his underwear down his legs. You let out a gasp at how big he was, feeling honored that you were the first one that he was going to let touch it.
“Wow,” you said, looking back up at his eyes. “You really are huge, aren’t you? I’m going to consider myself grateful that you’re going to let me take care of it.”
“Wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, to be honest.”
Beads of pre were falling from the head and you looked around for your purse that had fallen to the floor at some point. You pulled out a small bottle of lube and put some in one of your hands before letting it and your purse to fall back to the floor.
You stepped forward and grabbed hold of Eddie’s dick, moving your hand up and down the shaft slowly to test the waters to see if he liked it. His hands moved to hold on to the wall as he threw his head back. A moan fell from his lips and you were convinced that you hadn’t heard anything hotter.
You continued to pump, making your movements harder and faster at his commands, wanting him to be in control and tell you what he wanted. Moan after moan fell from his lips and now you felt like he was ready for more.
“Can I suck you off?” You asked, your hand slowing down, but still moving at a good pace. Eddie still had his head titled backwards, his eyes closed and you felt yourself getting even more wet at seeing him like that, coming undone from your touch.
“God, please,” he groaned and you slowly dropped to your knees.
Your hand wrapped around the base and you took him into your mouth giving his dick a suck while your tongue swirled around the head. Eddie’s hands pressed flat against the stall as he threw his head back even more at the pleasure he was experiencing. God, this was so much better than using his hand.
“Shit,” he moaned, his breath becoming heavy. He closed his eyes, trying hard to prevent his knees from buckling. “Fuck.”
You continued to suck, taking all of him into your mouth, ignoring the fact that your eyes were watering, desperate to give him the best head of his life. Your tongue swiped along to tip another time as you sucked the hardest you could, eliciting the prettiest sounds from Eddie.
For the finale, you stood up and gently pulled down on his chin to force him to look at you. His eyes opened and he watched you swallow, feeling his knees buckle as you did so. God, you were so fucking hot.
“Fuck,” he moaned and pulled you into a kiss, his beard scratching roughly at your skin as he took what he wanted from you, you happy to be pliant under his touch. His hands moved down to your pants and you let him unbutton them, pushing them down so they hit your ankles and you kicked them off, leaving them in a small pile next to you.
“Is that all for me?” Eddie asked, his lips parting as he stared down at the wet patch that had dampened your underwear.
“And only for you,” you winked. “You think you’re ready to get inside me?”
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” he breathed.
You pulled a condom from your purse and opened it before sliding it onto his cock. Once he was all set, you stepped forward, helping him line up with your pussy. He then slowly entered you, the two of you letting out moans as he did so.
He grabbed onto your waist and slowly pumped in and out of you, trying to feel it out for himself. You moaned as he pumped, closing your eyes in pleasure as you grabbed onto his neck.
“Am I doing this right?” He asked, unsure and you just moaned in response.
“Oh, Eddie.”
He began to moved a little faster which elicited more moans from you as you wound your hands into his hair, giving it tug after tug. You both moved together, feeling nothing but pleasure as he began to pound into you.
“Just like that, baby, yeah,” you whined and Eddie continued, feeling super confident about his movements, knowing that you’d let him know if you didn’t like something.
Sex was far better than he thought it was going to be, but he was sure that it was all because of you. You had been nothing but sweet and kind and made him feel like a king. How was he going to have sex with anyone else when his first time was practically perfect.
“Oh my god, I think I’m gonna-” he cut himself off as he reached his climax, suddenly feeling embarrassed that it had happened so quick.
“That’s right, honey,” you told him. “Let it out. You’re doing so well.”
“But I finished.” You honestly couldn’t have cared less how quickly he had finished. That just meant that you could have gone for round two that much faster if he was up for it.
“That’s okay,” you assured him as he pulled out. “Do you wanna…take this back to my place? I think it’d be more preferable to being here.”
“I’d love to go back to your place.” He pulled the condom off of his cock and tied it off before disposing of it. He then pulled up his underwear and pants before buckling his belt.
“Do you want to call a cab while I clean myself up here?” You asked and Eddie just nodded silently. You both shuffled around the stall so he could get to the door. You pressed a lingering kiss to his lips before he opened the door. He then stepped out and pulled out his phone to call the cab company while you took a piss then cleaned yourself up.
You were confident that you had just had the best sex of your life. Who knew that a virgin knew exactly how to make you cum as opposed to men who slept around all the time? Maybe it was because he was actually interested in pleasing you.
As Eddie ordered the cab, he couldn’t help but let the images of you orgasming flash in his head. It was the hottest thing hearing you moan like that and he was looking forward to hearing it again and again even after the night was over. Maybe if he played his cards right, you’d invite him over again.
You exited the bathroom as Eddie hung up the phone and placed your lips on his, pulling him in for a sweet kiss that has been the exact opposite of the last one you had given him.
“C’mon,” you reached for his hand once you pulled away. “Let get out of here.” He put his hand in yours and you led him out of the bathroom and through the club, confident that you’d make his second time even better than the first.
568 notes · View notes
luveline · 11 months ago
Note
Hiiii sugarplum. I would absolutely adore some stripper reader x Hotch maybe like some of him comforting her or just coming to visit like outside of the case and some fluff 🥰🥰
ty for requesting!! fem
You’re texting on the wall outside of work when a shadow cuts across the streetlight illuminating your lap. Your head flinches up, phone to your chest, but the man standing in front of you isn’t one you’ve ever been scared of. “Fuck, Aaron, you scared me,” you say with a nervous laugh. 
He smiles at you in his gentle, unassuming way. “Sorry. I took care to scuff my shoes as I walked.”
“Oh, you took care,” you say. Your smile is far less gentle than his; your cheeks apple, your words coloured with it. “I was in my own world.” 
“I thought we talked about you coming outside alone.”
“Did we?” you ask, the short wall you’re sitting on biting into your hands and thighs as you tip back to grin at him teasingly. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner, I can’t seem to remember any such talk.” 
“Mm.” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t remember that?” 
“Don’t recall, no.”
“So you also won’t remember the conversation we had about flowers.” 
Your first date, your only date, and your first bouquet. He’d given you flowers and read the embarrassment on your face immediately. You aren’t the kind of girl who gets flowers. 
What’s wrong? he’d asked. 
You’d held the flowers to your chest, something in you worried he’d take them away, though you’re almost positive he’s incapable of being cruel like that. Do I look stupid? 
Of course you don’t. 
There hadn’t been much else to say about the flowers, until after the evening had gone well, and he’d asked you for another date. High with the delight of knowing Spencer’s nice, handsome boss doesn’t just think you’re pretty, he likes you, you’d said Sure, if you bring me another lovely bouquet, we can go on as many dates as you like. 
Aaron pulls the bouquet from behind his back. Petals bounce off of his tie, pinks and whites and baby blues against his black blazer and pristine white shirt as he taps his chest. They’re beautiful, and far too many. 
“Are they really for me?” you ask. You’ve never seen such a big bouquet in your life. It’s a wonder they fit behind his back. 
The strangest thing about dating him has been his sudden propensity for moments of shyness. “That depends,” he says, the slightest hint of nerves in his otherwise dulcet tone, “are they nice enough?” 
“They’re the prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen.” You stand up and hold out your hands, pull them back to your chest, and then hold them back out again. You can’t not want them. 
He hands them off to you. 
It must be weird for him to meet you like this. He’s very high up the ladder of his career, and it doesn’t make much sense for him to fall for you. You’re younger, less educated, less prestigiously employed. You hadn’t understood what it was about you that pulled him in, but you can remember how clearly he told you he was interested in you. No shame. Not a hint of reluctance. He’s bringing you flowers outside of the stripclub, ignoring the fact that you’re in sweatpants and a tight corset-type bra, and he hasn’t looked at your body once. 
“I was just texting you,” you say, opening your phone to press send on the text waiting in the hot bar. 
Aaron’s phone immediately pings. 
He reads it quickly. It isn’t a long message. Hi, handsome. Want to pick me up tonight? 
If he’d said yes or no didn’t matter, because you’d just wanted to talk to him, and here he is. 
He finally ducks in. A half side step into your reach, his face angled down, he kisses you chastely on the lips and everything fades away. The neon pink at your feet, the buzzing streetlights and the passing cars, the steady thump of music from three different buildings, it all disappears under his warm hand. He kisses you, and he hugs you to his chest, careful not to crush your flowers. You could glow from the inside out. 
He’s still smiling as he pulls away. “Are you hungry?” he asks softly. 
“So hungry.” 
“We can get anything you want.” 
“Really? What if I want the same as last time?” 
It had been expensive and you’d felt vaguely underdressed. Aaron doesn’t baulk. “Anything you want… You may need to wear my jacket, though. I don’t think your current outfit adheres to their dress code.” 
You push the flowers just under his nose. “Funny.”
807 notes · View notes
hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year ago
Text
.⋆。Morning Voice。⋆.
König x plus size reader
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader
Just imagine their morning voices
Warnings: Lou is thirsty again, implied smut, secret relationship, mutual pinning, injuries, fluff, little angst, itty bitty bit of smut, might be ooc König, mention of stitches
WC: 970
Minors DNI
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
Tumblr media
König
It was the voices that woke you up. They were muffled behind the door to your private room but just loud enough to rouse you from a surprisingly restful sleep. You blinked your eyes open but the warmth that surrounded you and the heavy weight across your soft stomach urged you back to sleep.
Just as your eyelids fluttered shut once more, a thought occurred to you. You shuffled backwards just slightly and your ass came into contact with something hard and teasingly hot. There came a deep groan from above your head and the weight around your stomach tightened, drawing you even further back into them.
“Stop moving, liebling.” (darling) His voice rumbled through you like an earthquake, shaking you down to your core. It was breathy but not weak, no, you could hear its power waiting just below the surface. The German rolled off his tongue in a way that made your eyes roll back into your head.
“König.” You whimpered. “You have to go, they’ll find out.” But you made no effort to pull away from his protective hold, in fact you snuggled back into the colonel, putting your right hand on top of his own much larger one. 
He laughed softly into your hair before planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think you would rather me stay spatzi.” (little sparrow) Long fingers danced down your plump stomach, drawing closer and closer to your core. “I think you need me right here.” 
You gasped as he finally cupped your mound, the butt of his hand brushing against your overworked clit. “König.” You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice down.
“That seems to be all you can say this morning.” He teased and rolled his hips into your ass, forcing his hardening length between her cheeks. “How about I make you scream it?”
Ghost
The words on the report in front of you had stopped making sense about 2 paragraphs ago but you continued your attempt at reading the action report just to distract from the sight only a few feet away from you. The room was silent save for the quiet beeping of the heart monitor and the almost deafening sound of your own breathing.
With a groan, you threw the folder of papers onto your cluttered desk and looked back up to the bed in front of you. 
He was only wearing a tight black shirt and tan cargo pants but you had insisted that the old skull balaclava remain firmly on his head. His wide chest rose and fell consistently, giving you peace of mind even as your hands still burned from stitching up so much of his body and the smell of blood still overpowered that hospital smell you had grown so used to.
He looked so small laying on the infirmary cot, his normally overwhelming presence now dwindling down to an ember and it broke your heart. Not because you were in love with the man! You cared out of professional obligation given you were the only doctor for the 141. 
As the clock struck 3 am, you stood up from your desk and approached the bed. You told yourself that you were just going to check his stitches but you never even touched his bandages. Instead you sat on the rickety folding chair that Gaz had found in one of the broom closets. 
Simon’s hand was devastatingly cold as you took it into your own. You cradled his palm, tracing over the various silvery lines of scars with your fingertips. Exhaustion hit you all at once and you couldn’t help but slump over the huge man, your head coming to rest on his thick thigh. “Only for a second,” You muttered, “Just need to rest my eyes.”
His whole body ached as Simon slowly slipped back into consciousness. His mouth was dry and parts of his skin felt stretched to its limits. But as he opened his eyes, all of that faded away. You were dead asleep on his lap, holding his hand as small snores escaped your lips.
He tutted at the huge dark bags beneath your eyes and he vaguely wondered how long you had been awake for. With his other hand, he cupped your head, marvelling at the way that he almost covered your whole head. You grunted softly and nuzzled into his touch.
Simon would love to let you keep sleeping especially since you were using him as a pillow but your neck was at a weird angle and he didn’t imagine that the metal folding chair you were sitting on was particularly comfortable. 
So with a considerable amount of hesitation, he spoke up. “Doc.” His voice was broken and husky, just barely louder than the machines attached to him. Your brows scrunched and you burrowed further into his thigh, clutching his left hand even tighter.
He smiled beneath his balaclava. 
Pain ripped through his body as Simon bent forward. He slipped his hand from your hold carefully in order to slip them both under your armpits. You were a dead weight in his arms, exacerbating the tight stitches on his sides but he still pulled you up easily, laying your soft body down between his legs. 
Your head fell to his shoulder, nose immediately pushing against his throat. “Si?” You asked sleepily, attempting to sit up but a hand on your shoulder and another one on your wide hip prevented you from moving. 
“Go back to sleep doc, I’ll still be hurt in the morning.” Heat crawled up your neck with the deepness of his voice and you found yourself unable to disagree, even though you were probably causing him even more pain. You nodded against his skin and Simon squeezed your hip gently. “That’s my good girl.” He purred.
MW2 Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Join my taglist!
All works
@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @km-ffluv
1K notes · View notes
warping-realities · 3 months ago
Text
A Night in the Devil's Den - Part III
Fred was just stepping out of the bathroom next to the main stage when he witnessed Mark's transformation firsthand.
Tumblr media
He was still dumbfounded, trying to come up with excuses for what he saw—it must have been some kind of light trick, but Mark wasn’t the type to pull a stunt like that. That was more Jamie's style; maybe he convinced Mark to get into this. Yeah, it had to be something like that, he thought, coming up with justifications as he decided to head back to the bar to look for his friends and get an explanation for all this. Just as he was about to take his first step, someone spoke to him.
“It could have been you! But now another kind of life awaits you.” Turning around quickly, Fred found himself face to face with the club’s bouncer, who was smiling enigmatically at him.
Tumblr media
Not wanting to get into trouble and fighting the curiosity to ask the man what the hell he meant, Fred continued on his way. Halfway to the bar, weaving through the crowd, he spotted the performer Marco, all sweaty, strutting on stage toward the VIP area where the club manager was grinning at him. Finally stopping, he flexed his muscles.
Tumblr media
“What a freak show,” Fred thought, but he couldn’t look away. “Why and how did Mark get into this? And how the hell did that transformation happen?” he pondered, diverting his gaze when the two men began kissing passionately, but not before sneaking one last peek and seeing them both looking right at him, smirking as if they knew something he didn’t. Which was probably true. He needed to find those two jerks and get the hell out of there.
Tumblr media
As he approached the bar, he got shoved by one of the muscular drunks dominating the place. “Where had all the women gone?” He was sure there had been a ton of them when they arrived. Picking himself up, he realized he somehow ended up behind the bar. A young Latino man in his twenties looked at him, grinning like he knew him.
“There you are, Papi! I’ve been waiting for you all night!”
“What the hell was this?” He didn’t know who this guy was, but there was something in his eyes…
“Jamie?”
“It’s Javi, you’re hurting my feelings, Papi, after you took my ass so hard, you forget my name like that…” The younger guy said, stepping closer while his smile fading.
Tumblr media
He needed to get out of there; something was seriously wrong, and he had to leave—now! Without thinking twice, he stood up and bolted.
Tumblr media
When he reached the entrance, he once again bumped into the mysterious Mr. Shay, who was caressing and kissing Marco—or was it actually Mark?
Tumblr media
Seizing the chance to escape that madhouse, he slipped out the door, breathing a sigh of relief for a moment before running smack into the massive black bouncer, who stared him down as if daring him to leave.
Tumblr media
With no way out, he turned back only to find himself facing an even scarier sight. Mr. Shay, this time alone but with those massive horns on display, and Fred was sure the guy didn’t have time to put on any kind of prosthetics. To make matters worse, he heard the man’s voice inside his head.
Tumblr media
“Fred, Fred, Freddie, always the weakest, always humiliated, needing to learn to fight with words because no one ever taught you how to use your fists. But does it have to be this way? Let me show you another option, Freddie; if you refuse to accept it, you can walk out that door, and no one will stop you, not even Hank out there, though I think he’ll be disappointed; he seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“That offends me, Freddie; I always give my clients a choice. You should know that from all the stories going around about me, most of them lies, but this one’s true. Plus, you don’t have choice.” The demon said as Fred fell into a dark abyss.
The first image he saw was of a blond kid like him talking to a strong, muscular older man.
Tumblr media
“… Frank, you have to be strong; our land is surrounded by enemies, the Soviet Union has fallen, and independence will come, but we will always be surrounded by foes.”
… you have to be strong… be strong…
He was strong; by seventeen, he was a prodigy in various forms of combat, including Brazilian jiu-jitsu, boxing, and Krav Maga. He honored his father's request, becoming a man of few words but decisive actions.
Tumblr media
… decisive actions… actions….
“Action will unfold at the border, and anyone who dares think it shouldn’t be taken seriously will have to deal with me.”
Lieutenant František Andel of the Czech Republic Army was known for his ruthlessness, always ready for war.
Tumblr media
… ready for war… war…
The Russian invasion of Ukraine put all the states previously belonging to the Soviet Union on high alert, and the Czech Republic was one of the first to provide all possible humanitarian and military aid to the country. Frank was sent to ensure the delivery of projectile shipments, although under strict orders not to get involved in the conflict. What he didn’t expect was to meet Bohdan, a young man 15 years his junior, forced by circumstances to serve his country. Bohdan wasn’t like him; he was a sensitive, affectionate kid with a fantastic ass. Against everything he should have done, Frank let himself get involved, only to see the kid taken from him, which made all of Frank’s rage surface, causing him to lose his head and attack the Russians mercilessly in the midst of his despair.
Tumblr media
… despair… despair… no mercy…
Frank looked mercilessly at the desperate face of his opponent, more than a year after Bohdan’s death, and he felt nothing—no pleasure, no anger, just a huge void that even the violent underground fights or the booze he downed every night couldn’t fill.
Tumblr media
… booze… fill….
“What do you want?” he asked with a serious face while waiting for the owner of the dive fill hiss glass, maybe the seventh or eighth of the night, although deep down he knew that not all the booze in the world would be able to satisfy him.
Tumblr media
“I have a job offer for you, a new beginning, new possibilities, maybe new… lover.” The man said with a smile.
Tumblr media
The flood of information was so overwhelming that Fred could barely move. Still, with all the effort in the world, he turned and bolted for the door. Only to hear the demon’s voice whisper in his ear. “Unfortunately for you, Fred, my deal was made with Jamie; you were never my client.” Then with a single step, that torrent of information flooded his mind once more, with many more scenes and memories, as his body expanded, muscles piling on, covered by the black security uniform, and his young face aged a decade and a half until it became a tribute to rugged masculinity, and František found himself in front of his boss back inside the club.
Tumblr media
“Called for me, boss?”
“Yes, Frank, Poncho came to talk to me about your relationship with his nephew. As antiquated as it may be, he wants to know what your intentions are with the kid. And since the man has been with me for centuries, I can’t ignore his concerns.”
“He doesn’t need to worry, boss; I have the best intentions for his nephew.”
“As the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe in hell. Hell is in our heads, and I’ve already lived mine, and I won’t miss the chance to find happiness before another hell comes.”
“How can you say you don’t believe in hell while working here, working for me?”
“Honestly, sir, if this is hell and you really are the devil, which I don’t think you are, I wouldn’t mind spending eternity here!”
“You flatter me, Frank! Now go find Poncho and calm his heart before you replace Hank; he’s itching for some fun.”
Tumblr media
Frank walked through the club with all the confidence of someone who knew a single word from him could end any trouble, although deep down he longed for the chance for a good fight.
Tumblr media
When he arrived at the bar, he didn’t find Poncho, but standing at the door leading to a secret room was Javier, looking at him with a seductive gaze.
“Did I do something wrong, Papi, for you to ignore me like this?”
“I’m not ignoring you, kid; I just had to sort out an urgent issue, and besides, your uncle was around. He was complaining to the boss, so I need to find him to talk about my intentions with you.”
“And what intentions are those, Papi?”
“The most serious ones possible, Javi.”
“How boring, Papi, because right now all I wanna do is have some fun.” The younger guy said, turning and swaying his hips seductively into the room, and Frank couldn’t resist following him inside with a smile on his face.
Tumblr media
The two were wrapped up after some wild sex in the mirrored room overlooking the dance floor and stage of the club that the boss liked to use sometimes to feel like everyone was watching him while he pulled off the most unimaginable acts of depravity, although those on the other side couldn’t actually see anything through the glass.
“We need to go; our break is almost over, and I still haven’t talked to your uncle.” Frank said, getting up and pulling the smaller man close.
“Just one more kiss, Papi!” Javier said, attacking the bigger man with a passionate kiss until they were interrupted.
Tumblr media
“I thought you were going to talk to Poncho, Frank. Instead, you came to deflower his nephew.” The boss commented, smiling, accompanied by the Italian porn star who was one of his regular partners.
Tumblr media
“Sorry, boss, I didn’t find Poncho, so…”
“… so you decided to use my room to satisfy your carnal needs.”
“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”
“Certainly not, because next time I’ll be joining you.” The man said, grinning. “Now go; Hank is gonna lose the little hair he has left if you don’t replace him soon. But Javi stays; Marco and I are gonna play a little. I hope there’s no problem with that.”
“No, sir, Javi can play with whoever he wants, as long as he knows the serious stuff is only with me. But I gotta say, after the speech you made about me needing to talk to Poncho…”
“Ahhh, hypocrisy is one of the perks of being the devil, my dear.” The boss replied with a mischievous smile.
Tumblr media
….
“I see you didn’t waste any time.” Frank commented as he saw Hank approaching, wearing shorts and loafers instead of the uniform pants and boots.
Tumblr media
“I gotta be quick before all the good ones are taken. You already put your paws on Poncho’s nephew, and I’m not crazy enough to try anything with the boss’s Italian. Though maybe I shouldn’t worry too much.”
“Why not?”
“Take a look at who’s coming over there.” Hank said, nodding toward a group of three young guys who were smiling as they walked toward them at the front of the line.
Tumblr media
“Jerome’s group?” Frank asked.
“Jerome’s group.” Hank replied, grinning. “Hope you manage to catch at least some of the fun.”
“Oh, I’ll find a way. I’ll see you inside.” He replied before strutting confidently toward the boys.
Tumblr media
“Hey, fellas, what do you want here?” he asked, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
“Good night, sir! Jerome told us to go straight to the bouncer at the main door and said that he hopes… that he hopes you… you have a… a hell of a night.” One of the braver kids said, or maybe just the most daring.
“Jerome, huh? IDs?”
“Here you go, sir.” One of them said, handing over the IDs he knew were fake, though he still made a point to scrutinize them with a serious look, just to intimidate the boys a little.
“Any problem, sir?”
“Nope, on the contrary, looks like you guys got VIP passes. Jerome must’ve liked you a lot.” He said while fiddling with a walkie-talkie before speaking again. “Jerome’s group is on the way.” He radioed before handing the IDs back to the kids and cracking a smile.
“Boys, looks like we’re all in for a hell of a night!”
Tumblr media
218 notes · View notes
lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 6 months ago
Text
Zombie Apocalypse: Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen (2)
Tumblr media
Part 1
In an alarming blur of white and black, Gojo introduces himself by jumping in front of you from above
“Hi there (Y/n)! It’s a pleasure to meet you! Chu! You’re as gorgeous as your blood tests suggest.”
“Oh, my Plasma. Please stop embarrassing yourself.”
“Yeah, even I thought that sounded freaky.”
“Well (Y/n) something you’ll find about me is that I’m a freaky guy~”
“Please stop.”
Meeting the eccentric head of the fortress puts you in a spin
Dragging you to dinner and then to some of the activities the fortress has
With a blindfold that occasionally lifts to show striking blue eyes 
You nearly forget to ask the question that introduced him in the first place
“Hey Gojo?”
“Yes, Cutie-pie?”
“Uh…can I get clearance to see the other survivors.”
He gets real quiet 
his smile fades a little but not enough to mean anything
“Why Star-face? I thought you liked all of us over here?”
“I do. I just want to see my group. It’s only been a day but–”
He puts a finger on your mouth not exactly in a shushing motion
But he ushers you away from Yuuji and Megumi who were fighting over a painting
Taking you farther away from all the other members of the fortress he leads you up some stairs
Finally reaching the roof of one of the buildings you can see the other half 
A less developed place
The homes are close, filled with people, and it’s a lot less lit than the areas you’ve been
“That’s where the other survivors go…you want to go down there?”
You hesitate but not for long
“Yeah if my group is there I think we should be together.”
He sighs running a hand through his white hair before taking off his blindfold
Now you can see the way his light eyes dart over the people below 
He laughs 
“That man…with the purple vest pushed a pregnant woman into the horde when they were cornered.”
He doesn’t look at your horrified expression 
Only pointing out a few others who’ve committed something awful
“Why do you let them stay here then? If they did these horrible things?”
“Because they came with those who need us. But too many of them practically kill themselves if they get too far away. It’s like the way parasites shape the brains of their hosts.”
You didn’t like the implication
“Gojo…why do I have the yellow wristband? And why was I separated from my group?”
He pulled you into his chest rubbing his fingers into your side
“Bug, think of it as us intervening before the Parasite gets their final claws in you. Your special and perfect for saving.”
“Wait but my group isn’t–”
“Hush, love. I’m sure you're tired. Today has been a long day for you.”
He ignores any protests from you and only gushes about what you’ll do tomorrow
You stop trying because you are tired 
Letting him lead you back to your room in the tower above the fortress
“Have a fun time, you two?”
“We had a great time!”
He kisses the black-haired scientist before helping himself into your room
He goes through your closets, the bathroom, and your bag still ranting about nonsense you don’t understand
Suguru gives a comforting pat on the back
he gives you a clean version of your pajamas before bidding you goodnight
“C’mon Satoru you’ll get to bother (Y/n) tomorrow.”
“That’s right and I don’t even have work tomorrow so I’ll be with you allll day!”
“Alright, out mister. Goodnight (Y/n) we’ll tell the kids you said so too.”
“Uh, goodnight.”
When the door finally closes you’re able to think about what he said
And then you fall asleep 
Maybe he’s got a point
“So how’d it go?”
“They were asking about the wristband.”
“The whole time?”
“Only at the end, made up somethin’ about parasites.”
“Oh, their friends? I hope you didn’t suggest they were in that town.”
“Eh-I dunno! Can’t you make up something about them being immune?”
“Maybe but it’s going to be hard convincing them.”
“Who cares? We got ‘em now, right? I’d say we try whatever we want.”
“You’re right we do got ‘em.”
They’ll just have to accept whatever we say
377 notes · View notes
ronearoundblindly · 1 year ago
Text
Midnight Kiss
Steve Rogers x reader
Just a little ditty in honor of the upcoming holiday. Warnings for suggestive language and bad puns. It's just cute, awkward, and chivalrous...until it isn't. If you couldn't deduce it from the title: they kiss lol. WC 1.5k+
Tumblr media
He's happy to see the team having fun, but this isn't exactly Steve's 'scene.' Granted, his 'scene' flew the coop long ago, when his generation aged out of large, raucous celebrations, or rather, Steve never had any true social scene because he never really lived .
He's still trying, he swears; it's just...
really. damn. loud.
The lights are somehow too dim and too bright all at once. Everyone is happy and blitzed and dressed to the nines and leaning on the closest stable object. Any minute now, he'll bow out and call it a--
There's an ear-piercing cackle from a woman in a '2024' gold-streamered headband not two yards to his right, and she tips backwards, shoving an innocent passerby straight into his solid side.
"Sorry," you squeak, rolling your eyes because the word wasn't loud enough to shame the drunk woman beside you, but you're facing him, too, unable to see she's about to make it worse.
The woman snorts and laughs harder, toppling over because her party of friends have the reaction time of sloths, their hands full of dainty champagne flutes and mini-snacks.
Steve instinctively pulls you out of the way, his broad, strong arm wrapping your waist and pinning you to him.
"Oof," you grunt in alarm, the woman's drink spilling over your shoulder.
Hors d'oeuvres, Steve thinks sullenly, that's what people call them these days.
The woman doesn't apologize, and neither do her friends.
He counts a full five seconds before anyone in the small group even raises a hand to help the woman still giggling on the floor. Mostly, Steve is now concerned with the glass shards near your feet.
He's all for having fun, he's all for letting off a little steam, but he is not a fan of sloppiness. That's not a generational trait; that's simple courtesy.
"Ok, 'nough of this," he mutters, an itchy irritation scurrying up his body while he tries not to take over care of the woman. Instead, he checks your legs with a glance, sees the open toes of your strappy sandals, and hoists you into his arms.
He walks away from the bar, sound of crunching fading with each step, and finds a tiny bench--the only spot not occupied--where he can set you down.
Steve can't hear your shock or protest because his blood races past his ears. That was the last straw. He's annoyed now.
"Stay there," he commands, putting up a finger that gets shockingly close to touching your lips since you leaned in to speak. "I'm getting some napkins."
The bartender is oblivious, and why should he not be? The man is one of two serving over a hundred guests, give or take, for hours and hours. Steve doesn't bother getting his attention. He stretches a long arm over the bar top and grabs a stack of cocktail napkins.
It might as well be toilet paper.
He dabs and dabs at the sleeve of your dress, but the napkins dissolve and turn to damp pills. In his day, those results would make excellent spitballs to pass the time in class. They aren't so trendy on your black velvet.
"I thought this would work." He doesn't know what else to do but keep dabbing, so he anxiously continues, not noticing the precarious proximity to your chest until you put a hand on his.
You have kind eyes, he thinks, even though he can't fully make out their color in the mood lighting.
"Please, don't--" finally one of the woman's group yells over a quick sorry "--don't bother with that," you finish. "It's just a dress. You can go back to your people, Captain."
He scrunches his brow. He sometimes wants to introduce himself; he wouldn't always use his rank, but he rarely gets that luxury. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah." You nod. "Was heading out anyway. I'll just sit a sec and then leave."
Sounds like the highlight of my night--leaving.
Instead, Steve stands to his full height and scans the busy room for any of his team. He shrugs to himself since, who's he kidding, no one will miss him if he disappears early. He's put in the appearance. He's made enough small drunk talk. Yikes, does he wish alcohol still affected him...
"I'll walk you out," he offers, careful to modulating his volume when one song abruptly ends and another starts lower.
At first, you don't take his hand, and your first two steps seem sturdy.
Then your weight crumples after a deep hiss.
Steve has you back up and carried to the bathroom in a flash. It's lit so he can actually see and muffled so he can actually hear, thank goodness.
Glass did sneak into your shoe, and it easily poked through the ball of your foot. He's so quick to find it that not one whole drop of blood has even eased out of the wound by the time he's pulling the shard out. His bare hands pinch the sizable chunk.
He's careful, slow, and gentle. He's also a touch proud that you make very little fuss, only squirming in discomfort while he works.
"All better," he says, dropping the glass into the trash bin. "We'll just wash it and...you alright?"
You're already pushing yourself off the counter top.
"You shouldn't put weight on it yet." Steve gingerly lifts your leg at the knee to keep the foot from touching the bare tile floor.
"Yeah, but--" you make a face "--you set me down in water."
Steve's eyes bug out. "I--oh gosh--so sorry, I--let me--" there are no paper towels, only an air dryer "--shit."
Defeated by modernity again, he sighs. "I just...I can get more napkins and maybe a first aid kit from--"
The crowd outside is starting to yell. They're counting, backwards, and there's no way anyone will understand what he's asking for in that chaos.
"Ten!"
Steve meets your eyes.
"Nine!"
He can see their full color now and that your dress isn't black. It's a very, very dark maroon velvet. Wetness is easily visible though, since your sleeve seems fully black at the shoulder.
"Eight!"
He points to the door. "Somebody I can get for you?"
You shake your head.
Not that he was fishing for your relationships status, but he's encouraged nonetheless.
"Seven!"
"Only me," you shrug, "braving the party for a thrill..."
"Same."
"Six!"
"How was the year?" he cracks with a smile.
You tilt your head. He's distracted by the cute gesture.
"Five!"
He stares.
"Four!"
"Not great," you admit.
Steve thinks while he stares.
"Three!"
Actually, no, that's a lie. He doesn't think; he just acts.
"Tw--"
He swoops in, big palms cradling each side of your face, soft lips pressed to yours for just an instant, but only because he wants more.
Unless tortured, Steve Rogers will never admit that he didn't plan for one instant where his tongue was not involved. He absolutely wants to taste you. He absolutely wants to own you, just for these few seconds. He absolutely wants to hear you moan in encouragement, the sound crystal clear in isolation from the party.
The roar of the crowd is soft static compared to that racing blood of his.
He pushes himself closer, his bent arms getting in his way, so Steve props up with a palm on the--oh wow, that is wet--counter. His thumb touches the soggy velvet covering your hip and thigh.
He'll buy you a whole new dress if only you lace your fingers in his hair, if only you take his bottom lip between your teeth, if only you whine just like that again.
By 'again,' he means in a few seconds, and maybe tomorrow, and, for good measure, whenever after that.
A loud thud on the door knocks him out of his lip-lock trance. It's not a single restroom, so he suspects another overly inebriated patron since no one comes through the door.
But now some sense is knocked into him, too.
He chews on his swollen lips for a moment, nervous to look up. He hopes you don't regret it, and he hopes you know that he does not, can not, and will never regret that kiss.
Your sated sigh breaks the tension after a beat. "Starting this year off right," you mutter, "at least for me..."
"Yeah," Steve chuckles, glancing at the door before finally taking in your lounging form, "the gang is gonna love how I ended up in a ladies' bathroom at the stroke of midnight, necking a stranger."
You snort.
"Don't leave out the part where I was wet for you, head to toe, huh?"
Too bad the florescent lights are bright enough to show his raging red blush, but he clears his throat with a deep growl.
"They'll never believe me..."
Steve sweeps you up into his arms again.
"...unless I take you as proof...and to get a bandage, of course."
You snatch up your shoe and purse, but he won't let this Cinderella run off. You'll be right here against him all night.
"Well, go ahead and splash my other shoulder," you tease. "I can't be lop-sided."
Steve grins, already adding more and more things to list of what he'll do for you, to you, and with you. The list can include parties, too, if this is how wonderfully sweet and silly they can all be.
Happy New Year, indeed...
Tumblr media
@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp (My taglists are all jacked up again, so if you are missing from the list and/or want to be tagged, please let me know!)
[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
571 notes · View notes
aeliuss · 9 months ago
Text
warnings!: angst, mentions of self hate. hurt comfort.
on days when he cannot discern between his body and his shadow, chan tries to keep away from you for as long as possible.
it's not that he doesn't love you--the opposite actually. sometimes he thinks the dead thing in his chest beats only for you. beats and beats and beats, pumps blood into veins he feels he is unworthy of because how then would he be able to hold you? to kiss you?
but on days like this, he is ashamed.
his knees buckle under the weight of his own existence. how could he hold you, kiss you, when he felt like a mere shell of the man he once was? how could he offer you anything when he struggled to find value in his own existence?
it's crippling. this feeling. this weight. this him.
so when you find him sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, he winces. turns away. the dark circles stretch under his eyes like black holes and he's in the same shirt he'd pulled on four days ago and the light that comes in through the crack in the door you just opened is blinding him and he's ashamed.
"what're you doin' here?" it comes out as a croak. he cringes at the sound of it.
but all that comes out of your lips is a small, "baby.."
you say it with so much love but all it does is repulse him. how could you still have love for a rotting carcass? it's the reason he's opted to stay in the dorms rather than your apartment these past few days. he's almost certain the boys had something to do with your presence here now.
"m' fine," he says, turning on the bed, away from the light, from you. he can't really tell the difference.
you close the door behind you, bathing the room in darkness once more. you take a step closer, the floor creaking beneath your weight. chan flinches, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. he wants to disappear into the shadows, to fade away until he no longer exists in your world. to shield you from the festering ugliness inside of him
but when you step forward, towards him, his body reacts, legs opening so you can stand between them.
your hand hesitantly reaches out, fingers brushing against his tense shoulder. he catches it, pushing it away.
"i haven't showered," he mutters, head bowed, unable to meet your eyes.
"chris."
"you should probably leave. this happens all the time, i'm fine." he's telling you to leave but his fingers are clenching around the hem of your t-shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i'm fine."
"chris," you say softly, your voice a tender caress in the dimness of the room. "look at me, baby, please."
he doesn't. can't bare to, so you have to nudge him gently with the palm of your hand, cupping his cheek. his eyes are dark, haunted, and they flick away as soon as they meet your gaze.
"you're not okay," you say, heart aching.
"i'm trying," his voice cracks. "i'm trying to be."
your finger grazes his jaw. "i love you."
and then he's clutching your hips, drawing you close to him, and the tears come like tidal waves. his face is smushed against your stomach, and you hold him, you feel the tremors coursing through his body, the weight of his anguish pressing against you. you don't flinch, don't pull away. instead, you hold him tighter, letting him know that you're there, that you're not going anywhere.
"i love you," you whisper again, your words a soothing melody in the darkness. "i'm here, chris. i'm not ever leaving you."
he clings to you desperately, as if you're the only anchor in a stormy sea. his sobs echo in the quiet room, mingling with the hushed sounds of your reassurances.
on days when he cannot discern between his body and his shadow, chan tries to keep away from you for as long as possible. he doesn't want you to see the ugly he knows is inside of him. but you do anyway. you see the ugly, the part of him he tries so desperatly to hide. you don't flinch. you don't turn away.
in your love, he discovers his own resilience, his capacity to rise from the depths of despair and embrace the light once more. and though the journey may be fraught with obstacles, uncertainties, and moments of darkness, he knows that as long as you're there, holding his hand, he'll never have to face it alone.
345 notes · View notes
neowinestainedress · 2 years ago
Note
hello!!!! I'm not sure if you're taking requests rn but I just wanna let this out of me or I'll go insane. I've been watching a lot of diggity haechan fancam and man really know how to hip thrust. It's just that haechan's thighs are so muscular...I-I—just wanna ride it😳😳
w!: unprotected s*x, thigh riding, light degradation, (kinda mean) dom!haechan, two *ss slap and one cl*t slap, rough s*x
a/n: someone: haechan’s thighs—  me: FINALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING FOOD. i’ve written about thigh riding with him already but will it ever be enough? no. ALSO diggity!haechan? supreme haechan, coming second to better than gold!haechan only. also, hard hours are open, and i’ll either write drabbles or blurbs depending on the inspiration (this was supposed to be a blurb and turned out longer than a drabble but yeah… yall know what happens when I write about haechan)
Tumblr media
Imagine Haechan sitting on the couch, tired after a long day. He’s so tired he doesn’t even change into his house clothes, still wearing the white blouse and tight black pants, watching the tv because when he got home you were in the shower and he is waiting for you. 
You’re wearing his favourite nightwear when you sit next to him on the couch, kissing him and running your fingers in his hair to welcome him home, but by chance, there’s his favourite movie on tv, and he’s barely paying you attention. So in a second, you’re on top of his thigh, you’ve been thinking about this since he left earlier in the morning, drooling when he walked past you to bid you goodbye, wearing those black pants that wrap his beautiful thighs so perfectly. But now he looks even better, with his black hair crowning his face messily, the white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, showing the veins of his arm, and the first three buttons undone. Your hips start moving on their own, grinding on his thigh that flexes immediately as an innate reflex, you might do this so often that he’s not even fazed anymore. 
But this time he’s tired, even annoyed about some things that went wrong at work, and you distracting him, ignites a fire. 
“What are you doing?” Haechan groans, bouncing his leg, catching you by surprise before he calls your name sternly when you don’t reply right away. 
“What you should be doing instead,” you reply resolutely. “Didn’t even spare me a look.” 
“Oh, I did,” he coos, hand running on your nape to turn you toward him. “I know exactly what you want when you get all dolled up for me.” 
A victory smile curls your lips but it fades as soon as his attention goes back to the screen on the wall. “I fear you’ll have to work for it harder.” 
You groan annoyed, but don’t stop. You honestly don’t care much, the obsession with his thighs is crazy and unhealthy and you’d ride them forever, you’d rather feel his skin than the fabric of his pants, but this will do anyway. 
“Hyuck,” you breathe out when he starts bouncing his leg, it’s a small movement but it makes you shake every time your sensitive clit hits his leg. 
“I’m watching the movie,” he shuts you before a smug grin blooms on his face when you grunt in disappointment. That still doesn’t stop you from rolling your hips on him, and even bravely reaching down to unbuckle his pants. His eyes skim down briefly, but he lets you continue, even if he fakes nonchalance his dick is hard and begging to be freed from his tight clothes. 
“You really can’t fucking listen, uh?” He groans when you struggle pushing his pants down, harshly grabbing your chin and blocking your wrists together. 
“I just wanted to take your pants off, want to feel you,” you try to pout and pity him, it works for now but you know Haechan always has something up his sleeve, so you don’t know what awaits you after. He lets you go, getting rid of his pants only, and roughly lifting you up to put you right where you were before once he’s done. 
“Come on, get off only with that, show me how pathetic you are,” he mocks before pulling you into a messy, wet kiss, slapping your ass to silently tell you to move. Your body reacts naturally, grinding on his muscular thigh, now feeling his smooth skin and not the thick fabric of his clothes. Haechan lets out another groan when you move again, this time to push your clothes down your legs, but doesn’t say anything else, only pushes you down and guides your movements. His attention is still on the movie, but you hear his occasional shaky breaths when your thigh brushes against his throbbing cock, or when you moan louder, and you feel his hand tighten on your hip when you start whimpering his name. 
“Fuck,” you yelp when his hand hits your ass harder than last time. “What was that for?” 
“You’re slowing down,” he says, dark eyes meeting yours, and you know you’re fucked. “You started this, you will finish this. Come on, don’t stop.”
You gulp, nodding weakly before placing your hands on his shoulders. This time you’d be so close to reaching your orgasm, but right when you’re about to, the sound of the tv turns off and the lights flashing in the room stop lighting it up. You freeze on the spot when Haechan groans your name. 
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, seeing you turned it off by mistake with your knee. You try to act fast to grab the remote and turn it back on but the pleasure is still fogging your brain. 
“Drop it,” Haechan orders, voice low and eyes sternly looking at you. “You want my attention? You’ll have it all.” 
Your lips part but don’t let out a sound, and your eyes snap open when his hand wraps around your neck, rubbing your jaw before reaching your chin and squeezing it. “Ride my thigh and come. Don’t make me waste more time.” 
You don’t hesitate, humping him embarrassingly fast to chase the orgasm that slipped through your fingers. 
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, “you can’t possibly be so wet just from this,” he mocks when his free hand moves between your legs, not that he needs that to feel your cum dripping out of you, it has been sticking to his thigh since you started, he just wants to mess with you and tease your sensitive spot while watching his skin glisten with your arousal.
“It feels good,” you justify. “And your thighs — fuck, your thighs,” you mumble, head thrown back and lower lip trapped in your teeth when he slaps your clit once. “They’re pretty and thick and feel so good.” 
“Uh, really?” Haechan snickers, throwing his head back because he can’t believe you have no shame. “Maybe I’ll always make you come like this if you like it that much. My thighs only.” 
“Yeah,” you cry out, bouncing and grinding, struggling to keep a rhythm and just wishing to quickly come. “But I also — fuck — I also want you.” 
Haechan chuckles, shaking his head. “Thought my thighs were enough?” He teases, moving your head side by side in a mocking manner as he pouts close to your lips. “Need more?” 
“Yes, yes, please,” you beg as one hand reaches for the back of his head and tangles in his hair. “I — I… oh, fuck,” you cry out when the orgasm washes over you before you can even say anything, hips and legs trembling as you move weakly to ride it before you collapse on him. 
You don’t have time to take your breath that you find yourself with your back on the couch seat, Haechan harshly flipping you over and trapping you underneath him. 
“Greedy, dumb baby, always playing with fire, not caring about what she gets herself into,” he mocks, pushing his sleeves up on his arm before placing you like he wants you with another rough tug. “Look at how wet you are, and all this just for my thighs?” 
You nod, wetting your lips with your tongue, as you stare into his eyes before they skim down, watching him get rid of his underwear. 
“You are a brat, and yet I always give you what you want. What am I gonna do with you?” He groans, shaking his hair out of his face as he leans down, rubbing the head of his cock on your wet pussy. 
“Fuck me?” You ask nicely, blinking your eyes innocently. 
Haechan groans. “Yeah, it’s the only way to teach a lesson, isn’t it?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, his dick is into you before you can even formulate a thought in your brain, taking your breath away from the first thrust. 
“Fuck,” you curse, hands wrapping around his arms to hold onto something. His thrusts are hard, hitting you deep with every single stroke. 
Haechan grins when your nails dig into his arms, and your head lolls back, eyes rolled in the back of your head and mouth wide. “Is it too much for you, baby? You don’t like my thighs so much anymore when they help me fuck hard into you?” 
You’d glare at him if you’d have anything coherent running in your brain, but it’s filled with nothing but lust and need. “I can take it,” you still mumble. 
“Oh, I know you can, that’s why you’re my favourite girl,” he hums, grabbing your legs and pushing them as flat as he can — and you can bend — to your chest. Your back arches in response, feeling him even deeper with each precise, hard thrust. 
When his fingers make contact with your clit, your eyes snap open, throat closing for a moment as you feel like you’re slipping farther away from reality. 
“Messy girl,” he taunts. “So wet my fingers are slipping. You planned this all day, didn’t you?” He says, breath uneven as pleasure starts overwhelming him too, your pussy gripping him tight, making it harder to move out of you, your chest heaving while your boobs look so pretty in the lace of your nightwear, and your moans filling his ear. “Couldn’t wait for me to come home to fuck you on the couch after riding my thighs like a needy, desperate thing.” 
You nod swiftly, eyes closed as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. 
“Fuck, then come with me, babe,” he says, pushing you closer with a harsh tug on your hips as his hands wrap around your waist tightly, fucking into you with force. “Gonna fill you up, fuck, just like you like.” 
Your back arches more, while your hands reach for his shoulders to pull him in a heated kiss that seals your orgasms and traps the loud whimpers and moans that are coming out of your mouths. You feel weak and dizzy as he keeps thrusting into you at a quick pace, filling the room with the lewd sounds of his cum spilling out of you, and whispering dirty words to your ear. 
“Fuck babe, you’ll be the death of me,” Haechan huffs, kissing you and caressing your forehead to wipe away the sweat before pulling out of you and pulling you into his arms, trailing kisses on your neck and shoulder. 
You chuckle, turning around to face him, tangling your legs with his. “Was this better than the movie?”
Haechan rolls his eyes. “You know you’re better than the movie, I just like teasing you.”
Tumblr media
© neowinestaindress; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. you can find my works on ao3 (neowinestaindress) and wattpad (winestaintedress_; currently inactive).
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago
Text
We Won't Be Missed
Legolas x Female Elf Reader
Content & Warnings: mild sexual content, fade to black, kissing, sneaking away, flirting, fluff
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno
During a celebration in the Woodland Realm, Legolas suggests that the two of you sneak away for some alone time.
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist
Tumblr media
Above you, the stars glimmer.
You don’t know how Legolas managed it, but the night sky is there, twinkling through pockets of canopy. Perhaps he sang to the trees, promised them sweet water or fair winds for their leaves to dance in. Whatever he did, they have opened up, revealing the dark sky and silvery bursts of light that break the inky expanse.
Smiling up at the dazzling lights, you twirl gently in a tight circle, the sheer fabric of your dress spinning with you. All around you, your fellow Elves dance by themselves or with a partner. Music plays, and there is gentle, contented laughter everywhere. It is a moment of celebration and of peace.
Warm hands grab hold of your waist but you’re not startled. Instead, you step into it, inhaling. A familiar woodsy scent fills your nostrils and then your lungs. Twisting in said grip, you find a face that you’d know anywhere.
His name hardly leaves your lips before he pulls you close.
“Legolas,” you breathe, voice nearly a sigh.
“My star,” he replies softly.
Heat creeps up your neck to inflame your cheeks. When it comes to public affection, Legolas is not one for boldness. He is typically subdued and reserved, and this singular moment is enough to surprise you.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” you compliment, gesturing outward to indicate the room.
Legolas blushes slightly under the praise.
It is true, and he should take pride in what he has accomplished. The large hall is beautifully decorated, hinting toward the oncoming summer that will draw forth warmer weather and the migrations of different creatures. The forest will shift, and new life will emerge. Everything is in bloom. Everything is earthy and rich.
“Your approval is a comfort,” he responds in that soft tone.
You turn to face Legolas completely. “But is my approval the only one you seek?”
The answer is already known to you, but you want to remind him why he’s done all this in the first place. Birthdays are not often celebrated by the Elves because time moves differently. For those who have dwelled for hundreds if not thousands of years, birthdays become insignificant. They are small memories, sometimes completely forgotten.
Yet Legolas decided to celebrate anyway. For his father.
Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, hasn’t celebrated anything since the death of his wife. Since that time, he has been stoic and cold. There has been celebrations and other such occasions, but Thranduil has either been absent or only made a brief appearance.
This party is a surprise. A way for a son to show his father that he cares.
Legolas turns in the direction of the throne, and you follow his gaze.
Thranduil is surrounded by his people. He is talking. Animated. A gentle smile on his face. The raven-haired woman sitting beside him says something, and Thranduil laughs, his smile widening.
You haven’t seen him this expressive in years.
“Do you think I’ve made him happy?”
You turn back to Legolas who gazes upon his father. The middle of his brow is tightly pinched.
“Your father?”
Legolas hesitates and then nods, like he isn’t entirely sure his father is appreciative of his efforts. When you don’t answer, Legolas tears his gaze away from his father and gives it to you. Before you is the man you love seeking validation.
“What do you think?” you ask softly, nodding toward the throne.
Legolas sighs and then glances back at his father. As Legolas watches, his features melt from hardness to peaceful contentment.
“You’ve done well,” you say. “He is happy.”
“He is,” sighs Legolas, a dreamy look on his face.
Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder. Legolas wraps an arm around your waist and starts to sway to the music. Time passes, the two of you simply moving together, breathing in the essence of the other.
Legolas turns his head slightly, placing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Would you like to slip away?”
You pull back enough to glance up at him. Legolas’ smile is a bit sultry and it immediately warms you everywhere.
“What did you have in mind?” you ask curiously.
“We won’t be missed. We should take advantage of the opportunity.”
Private moments between the two of you have been scarce. Legolas may be your betrothed, but you hardly see him. Duty comes first, and sometimes that doesn’t always include you. A few hours alone would be nice. Perfect.
“I agree,” you answer, and Legolas beams. “Lead the way, my love.”
Legolas’ smile turns into a delighted grin. Sliding your hand into his, he guides you away from the dancing bodies and past the large casks of wine. No one turns to look or to question where the two of you might be off to. There is only your hand in his, and the teasing way he stops to push you into dark corners for chaste kisses before taking off again.
This boldness is new, and you find that you like it. He leads you to his private quarters, the place that will soon by your home. When the door completely shuts, Legolas pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your body like vines.
This time, his kisses are not chaste.
They are liquid heat and from it comes a burst of fire in your chest.
“Legolas,” you murmur, a hint of need in your tone. “My love.”
He only draws back enough to look into your eyes. His eyelids are heavy like he wants to devour you. A stuttering exhale leaves him, and then Legolas is grasping the side of your face, pulling you back to him.
Your bodies are pressed close. Hands roaming.
Elves mate only once. Legolas is it for you. There is to be a ceremony, but that is just a formality. To be skin to skin, to accept him into your body, is your acceptance of him.
Legolas’ hand slips between the delicate folds of fabric to graze over your bare thigh. You inhale sharply and Legolas steals the exhalation, his tongue delving for a taste. Your dress is nothing in his hands, the sheer material bunching as he touches.
“Is this too much?” he asks, voice raspy with need.
You shake your head, fingers digging into his shoulders. “No. I want more.”
Legolas hungrily draws you back to his mouth and your heart hammers in your chest. It is so loud it is all you hear.
To seal the bond, the two of you must become one. To be bare. Open.
The ceremony is only for the people.
“I love you,” murmurs Legolas against your lips. “With all my heart and all the stars in the sky.”
You grin. “And I love you. I never wish to be apart.”
Legolas makes a little purr in his throat. It sounds like contentment. “That will no longer trouble us come the end of summer.”
“Must we wait?” you ask softly. You slide your hands off his shoulders, bringing them to the twisted straps of your dress. You pull on them, drawing them over and down your shoulders. “I do not wish to.”
Legolas’ pale skin flushes before his mind catches up. “I cannot resist when you ask this sweetly.”
“That is why I asked,” you reply, matching his tone.
The dress falls from your body landing in a pool at your feet. His sultry gaze morphs into appreciation. His fingertips lightly trace over your flesh, leaving a trailing heat behind.
“Are you certain?”
“You are my betrothed. It is not wrong to want this.”
Legolas runs the back of his knuckles down your throat and over one breast. He leans forward, and sucks the nipple into his mouth. You moan, arching into him, one hand sliding to the back of his head. His other hand delves between your thighs, and that too twists your stomach into knots.
He brings that nipple to a stiff peak, and then moves to the other, his other hand still moving between your legs. That too springs to life, and then Legolas’ mouth trails further south over your stomach. Lower still to kiss between your thighs.
You gasp. Groan. Shudder as he learns your taste and brings you to an endless sea of stars.
“You are perfect,” he nearly growls, his words drifting upward to caress.
“I am yours,” you gasp out, fingers tangling in his silky hair.
He continues to explore with his tongue, and then he’s standing before you, removing his formal tunic, shedding all this clothes to match your own bareness.
“Let us go to bed,” you murmur, palms pressing against his bare chest.
Legolas’ hands slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts and you’re locking your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. You cling to him, tasting yourself on him.
The bedsheets are cool against your back.
Legolas nuzzles the side of your face, his lips pressed against your ear as he speaks. “I shall give you no rest.”
taglist:
@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast
@protosslady @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath
@berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics
@beebeechaos
259 notes · View notes