#shins: fucking winters blanket

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

the tops and bottoms of my legs are so disproportionately hairy it’s unreal

[ynbabe]

Cute situations w/ f1 drivers- ep2.

Asking the drivers if they 'wanna nap?'

Charles:

"Wanna nap?" You asked the man as soon as he stepped into his hotel room, tired and eyes red. You knew Ferrari wasn't some winter wonderland but you didn't know why Charles put up with it.

You had been close friends with the man, since before he'd started f3 too, you knew he bled Ferrari red but this wasn't bleeding this was suicide.

Nonetheless, you were there for him, every weekend, only today there wasn't much to do, he had just come back from some meetings. He looked at you and hummed, taking off team-issued merch and throwing himself on the bed beside you.

You turned on some sad Adele song and faded into sleep, holding the boy close to you, his head resting on the curve of your neck.

Carlos:

"Wanna nap?" You asked Carlos as you both walked into his drivers' room, it was early in the morning at the Las Vegas GP and just as the year before they had messed up the timings and the drivers had to wait till four-thirty in the morning to get on with the programme.

Knowing the both of you, you were sure if you hadn't extended the offer the both of you would have ended up doom-scrolling through Netflix looking for some show to watch fighting off sleep.

"What?" He asked, shocked at the offer for a second before raising his browns and winking at you, "You finally feel my charm didn't you?" he laughed as he climbed onto the small and rickety bed next to you. "Smooth operator strikes again," he praised himself, pulling you close to him, enveloping you in his arms as the big spoon.

You groaned and kicked his shin, making him complain, "Dude you're so fucking lame!" You made fun of the older man who only replied with terrorism (tickling you,) "S-top, stop, I'm sorry," you laughed, trying to escape the death grip he had on you, eventually getting him to stop.

He let you catch your breath as he set an alarm, before trapping you in his warm arms again, both drifting into a comfortable sleep.

Lando:

It was way past midnight but you couldn't sleep, unable to get yourself out of the party high, too drunk to rest your brain. Thankfully you weren't the only one.

There was a barrage of knocks on your hotel room, a slurred voice with a British accent begging to be let in. "Y/n/nnnnn, I can't sleep," he cried once in the room, stumbling over nothing as you both made your way to your bed.

You giggled as he fell, brushing his hands over the cold blanket. You joined him, crawling onto the bed slowly as the room around you spun. You laid on your back, clinging onto the bed for dear life.

Lando noticed and piled on top of you, making you raise a question brow. "So you don't fall off," he muttered, his face buried in your chest.

"Ohhhh, that makes sense," you said, understanding his thought process as the spinning slowed down. "We should nap," you said out loud, eyes shutting due to the comforting warm weight on top of you.

Lando hummed in return, wrapping his hands around your waist, as you pulled one hand up to his and another grabbing his curls for extra support.

Oscar:

There were two things everyone knew about Oscar, he hated waking up early and he loved sleeping. So when his trainer woke him up on a perfectly cosy yet cool Monday morning to exercise, he nearly wanted to kill the man, only stopping because that would take much more effort than simply going through with the workout.

Your apartment was closer to the gym than his, so he happily invited himself in to bitch and moan about his trainer and how that man must have hated him.

Rolling at your friend's antics, you pushed away your laptop, walking from the dining table to where he was sitting on your sofa.

"Wanna nap?" You had barely finished your question when you were pulled onto the Australian.

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispered, as he shuffled on the narrow sofa to get comfortable, you still on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face buried in his neck.

"Are you using me as a teddy bear?" You asked incredulously, trying to get up to no avail as the man's grip on you was far too strong.

"Yes, now let me sleep," he murmured, already half gone.

George:

George had a habit of pushing himself too far, ever since he was a child. When you guys had just newly become friends, the boy had spent hours trying to find out what exactly you liked and didn't, stalking your Instagram and your family's Facebook.

You had found it endearing but also concerning how he always wanted to be perfect. So when you walked into his house at midnight (you got a key made- there's a reason the both of you got along so well,) and found him staring unblinkingly at his laptop and a large mess of papers spread across the wooden coffee table.

"Dude, what is wrong with you," You whisper-yelled at the man making him jump, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Me? What is wrong with you?" He yelled, panting as you jumped over the back of the couch, sitting right next to him, ruffling through the papers much to his chagrin.

"Shut it, Georgie boy," you smirked at him using the nick name he hated. “What are you even doing, it’s so late?” You asked looking at the taller man who started off in a rant about the car and everything he was doing wrong, making you slide down on the sofa till you head was resting on the backrest. You lifted your feet up to rest them on the coffee table, making George rush to move a stack of papers so they wouldn’t be under your feet.

Perfect. You grabbed the man’s shoulders and made his head rest on your lap.

“What on earth are you doing!” He yelled more than asked, trying to get up but you doubled down.

“George you need to sleep,” you deadpanned as he tried to make you let him go, knowing his pleas fell on deaf ears he gave up.

You raised your brow, “wanna nap?” You asked teasing the boy.

“Only for a few minutes,” he pressed, making himself comfortable, while you tangled your fingers in his hair, “maybe more then,” he sighed and let his eyes shut, slightly watering and finally fell asleep.

Lewis

Lewis had never been a friend to you, he was more like an annoying yet caring older brother or like a fun uncle of sorts. The man was fiercely protective of his friends, even those whom he saw in animosity.

But you were different, Lewis would steal your coffee, eat your food, and push you around but he'd also sneak you Red Bull (much to his disgust,) into his driver's room during late races, walk you to your hotel room after parties and get you souvenirs from races you couldn't be at. Similarly, you loved to annoy the man, stealing his expensive jackets, which looked hilarious due to the size difference, stealing his headphones and running away with them and most importantly coming to him with your problems day or night.

So no, Lewis wasn't surprised when you showed up to his driver's room in the middle of the day, even though Toto had revoked your pass for the day (for bullying George, but it was worth it,). He was ready to tease you but then he saw your eyes, red and tears flowing down your face.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" He immediately came up to you, giving you a once-over to see if you were injured. "Did someone say something, are you hurt?" He asked panicking at your silence. You simply wrapped your arms around the older man, hiding your face in his chest, quietly sobbing and sniffling.

He walked you both to the sofa in his room, seating you down, trying to wipe your tears, "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked as you finally calmed down, using his arm as support to sit up.

You cleared your throat, "No, I just wanna nap," you hiccuped slightly.

"Okay," he leaned back so you could rest your head on his shoulder, giving you one of his airpods to relax, which you gladly accepted.

Lance & Fernando (they aren't always gonna be together but the situations... THE SITUATIONS WRITE THEMSELVES)

"Oh honey that’s not," Lance said pointing to your coloured hair (matching with Alex) and thats how the conversation had started and had ended in a cat fight.

“At least I’m not a nepo baby,” you yelled as you threw a basket of oranges at him, which he dodged, darn those f1 reflexes. The basket itself smacked him square in the face, leaving a red indent across his nose. He glared for a second before jumping over the table you were fighting across and pulled your hair. “Owww, you bitch”

You bit his hands in defence, to which he kicked your shin, screaming you launched yourself at him, crashing the both of you to the ground, “oh my god, okay, truce, truce,” he panted, pushing you off him.

“Just so you can catch your breath,” you retorted making him mock you. In reality, you were definitely much more tired than he was. You were struggling to catch your breath, your head killing you where he grabbed a large chunk of your hair.

You turned to look at him, resting your head on his stretched arm, he was massaging his nose, the bruise turning purple now, “well that was fun,” he turned to face you.

“Sooooo fun,” you rolled your eyes, “wanna nap? My heads killing me,” you are far him in accusation but he glared right back pointing to his swollen nose.

“Sure,” he shrugged, shifting closer to you and closing his eyes. You opened your mouth to make a joke but were interrupted, “there are like a million oranges on the floor right now, I’ll throw one at you,” you accepted defeat and fell into a comfortable sleep.

That’s how Fernando found the both of you, slightly scowling but fast asleep, he took a picture for blackmail’s sake and placed a blanket over the two of you.

PT-2 w/ Max, Logan, Alex, Daniel, Yuki, Pierre, Esteban, Zhou.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Stranded Chapter 3

Summary:  Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island.  Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive.  But is he really alone?

Warnings: bodily injury, mentions of sexual harassment/assault, eventual smut

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They were able to get into a rhythm with each other as time passed.  Y/N showed Bucky all the ins and outs of the island, where to find fresh water to drink versus to bathe, where most of the food could be found, and taught him how to fish the ocean around them so they could have more than just fruit to eat and how to cook it properly so he wouldn’t get sick.  His chest injury slowly healed, leaving a gnarly scar that spread across his pectorals.  

Y/N still had some things left over from when the plane crashed like a few books she and the others had, and Bucky took to reading them on the beach after cooking up a fish for dinner.  He could almost always guarantee that he would hear a song being sung throughout the day as Y/N went about doing the daily survival chores.  He had always thought she had a nice voice when he’d heard her songs on the radio years before, so getting to hear her in person was a nice soundtrack to his daily routine.  

The days turned to weeks and then months.  Y/N had already done all the things he’d thought of to try to attract attention from nearby ships or planes or even satellites flying above them, and within the four or so years she had been here nothing had worked.  He contemplated ways that maybe they hadn’t thought of, things that could possibly work, but so far had come up empty.

They had talked extensively and learned a lot about each other.  She quickly became one of the best friends he’d ever had in his life, not just because they were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future.  Bucky could tell that he was getting into dangerous territory as his feelings toward her changed to something more romantic.  He did some introspection to see if it was a case of Nightingale Syndrome: falling in love with someone who saves them.  As much as he was appreciative of that, he felt that wasn’t it.  He loved her voice and getting to hear her sing everyday.  He loved her smile and how much wider it became as the months went on.  He loved making her laugh, and how loud and boisterous she laughed.  He loved how determined she was and how calm and collected she could be in high pressure situations, and that even with all she had been through she could still find it in herself to be soft and kind.  

They shared the bed every night and more often than not woke up entangled in each other’s arms, and it was turning into more of a common routine now for them to cuddle together as they fell asleep, rather than doing it by chance overnight.  As Bucky’s hair grew Y/N started to hold him to her chest and run her fingers through his hair, humming or softly singing a song she loved called “Nature Boy” that lulled him to sleep without fail.  If there was ever a night where she happened to not do it he would have a fitful sleep.  

As the winter season started to set in, the nights became colder, making it so sleeping was difficult without being completely snuggled against each other for warmth.  On one such night Y/N couldn’t stop shivering, even with Bucky behind her and the blankets cocooned around them, the windows blocked with clothes and other things to keep the cold out.  

“Y/N, for God’s sake,” Bucky sighed as he rubbed her arms, her feet freezing against his shins.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Y/N whined, her arms tight against her chest.  “I don’t know w-w-w-what’s wrong with m-m-meee…”

Bucky tried shifting her so she was facing him, tucking her cold nose against his chest, making him gasp.  “Jesus Christ, you’re freezing.”  Y/N nodded slightly, her fingers diving under his shirt and slotting under his armpits.  “FUCK!  Okay, we gotta figure something else out,” Bucky said as rubbed her back and made sure she was tucked in by the blankets well enough.  He had a fleeting thought as her fingers warmed under his armpits that made him tense.  Something about how body heat is the best way to make sure people don’t freeze…

“W-w-what?” Y/N asked, looking up at him as he tensed.

“Um…there’s something that might help,” Bucky said quietly, trying to calm his frantic heart.  

“I-I-I’ll do anything…my whole body hurts,” Y/N whispered, her face burying into his neck.

Bucky was becoming genuinely afraid now.  He did not want to wake up to a dead woman next to him, especially the love of his life.  “We need to take our clothes off,” he said urgently, starting to pull his shirt off.

“Wait…what?” Y/N now tensed, her wide eyes staring at him.

“Sharing body heat will keep us both warm,” he explained as he shifted and took his pants off.  Y/N was dumbfounded.  “Come on, lovey, or else you’ll freeze to death.”

Y/N exhaled sharply then started pulling her shirt off.  Once they were both naked he held her close to him again, desperately ignoring the fact that her breasts were against his stomach and one of her legs was tucked between his, making his cock rest on her thigh.  Her cold limbs more than made up for the awkwardness as he rubbed her arms and legs, trying to get her to warm up faster.  She tucked her face back into his neck, her hands against his chest slightly tracing his scar as she tried to breathe normally.

Bucky could feel her warming up within a few minutes and it made him sigh in relief.  Her fingers no longer felt like popsicles, her feet moving against his legs and not making him flinch away.  She sighed heavily as her nose warmed up against him and her breathing evened out.  The shivering eventually died down and she wrapped her arm around his back, making her body flush with his.

“Thank you, Buck,” Y/N whispered, her lips moving against his jaw.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky huffed a laugh, kissing her forehead.

Y/N froze at that.  As much as they had cuddled and were now in this crazy predicament, they had never done anything intimate like kissing, even in very neutral parts of the body like on the forehead or the hand or anything else.  Bucky waited for her to calm down, but she didn’t.  “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Y/N rushed out.  

“Was that not okay?  I’m sorry–”

“No, it was okay, I was just surprised,” she said.  Her voice was giving off an air of nonchalance but her body was still tense.

“Sure, and I’m not hugging a statue,” Bucky snorted.

Y/N laughed at that, her body shaking at his joke.  Bucky laughed along with her.  “It…it was just nice, is all,” Y/N said, still giggling.

“Oh you liked it, huh?” Bucky teased her, his hands slipping to tickle her sides.  Y/N squealed and twisted in his hold, her hands pushing against his chest to get away.  He moved up so he was hovering over her and tickled her neck.  Through their movements they found themselves within an inch of each other’s faces, catching their breaths and staring at each other.  Bucky’s eyes blinked rapidly as they flicked between her eyes and down to her mouth.  Y/N did the same to him.  He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose softly, making her smile.  “This is…dangerous,” he whispered as he stared at her lips.

“Yes,” Y/N agreed.  “We should probably stop.”

“Probably,” Bucky nodded but didn’t move away.  

Y/N took the initiative and pushed away from him again.  “Let’s, uh, get some sleep,” she said, disappointment laced in her tone.

“…okay,” Bucky said, feeling dejected but knowing it was probably for the best.

They awkwardly lay close together again, letting the warmth envelop them and eventually dozing off to sleep.

[lenreli]

saved from the cold [Dreamling Week Day 7 - Assassins]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

Title from Diablo Swing Orchestra's A Tap Dancer's Dilemma!

M, 2.1k. Hob smiles, charmed and endlessly grateful for being shot in front of the other’s house.

-

The forest is wild ― and cold, a thick layer of snow on the ground, on the shrubs and trees as he runs, voices nearing. Looking back, he can see shapes over the horizon and his heart races, off-setting the winter in his bones as he runs and runs― 

Until he hits something, and Hob was expecting a tree, but walking back, he sees a small house, the land cleared and white around it. Fuck. 

And then he feels a stabbing, piercing pain in his leg, making him scream and fall to the floor. His blood splatters on the snow, and the last thing he sees before pain overtakes him is the arrow, all the way through his shin.

-

Hob’s quite surprised to wake up, feeling hot with a fire he can feel nearby, as well as a luxuriously thick blanket, black and possibly the softest thing he’s ever touched as he stares at it. 

“You were hurt,” a voice says, clipped and impersonal as Hob looks up, breath leaving him. Pale skin, glowing in the light of the fire, black clothes blending in with the darkness, and long black hair, shiny and wavy, the only pops of colour being pink lips and blue eyes. “I believe the people went past this house, leaving you for dead.” 

Hob sighs in relief, grimacing as he moves his hurt leg, pulling back the blanket slightly so he can see the black fabric covering it. Looking around, he sees the man sit next to him, a bed on the other side of him, and the fire in an ornately decorated fireplace, a length of black rope coiled near a chair. “Sorry for uh, the,” he gestures to himself with a sheepish smile and the man blinks. 

“It was no trouble ― I was not sleeping when you screamed,” the man says. Hob cringes. “May I ask why they were going after you?” The man asks, tilting his head, and Hob clutches the blanket tighter, as to not see if the man’s hair is as silky as it seems. 

“Ah, well. I haven’t,” he bites his lips, then sighs, “I wasn’t the best person, when I was younger, and so one of the people I crossed in the past, probably very rich, decided to send assassins after me.” The man’s brows furrow. 

“After all this time?” 

Hob shrugs, “apparently so. And I don’t blame them ― I was pretty horrible, though I’ve been learning…” trailing off, he blinks at his saviour. “Why are you out here, stranger?” 

The stranger shifts to stare into the fire, blue eyes reflecting the flames, “I have been hiding, in a way, also,” the man says softly, voice soft and deep in a way that Hob wouldn’t mind hearing every day. 

Getting the sense that he won’t get more of the man, he asks a more pressing question. “Can I get a name, stranger?” The man blinks, blue eyes wide, “I’m Hob.” 

“Hob,” the stranger repeats slowly, his nickname stretched out deliciously. “I am Morpheus,” he says eventually. “How are you feeling? I am unused to taking out arrows.” 

Stretching his limbs, he winces, the pain dull, and he can feel the build-up of blood on the fabric, “well, you got both bits out, which is a win in my book,” he says with a smile. “Just ― pain. Fuck, walking is gonna suck,” he despairs, “may need to get a stick or something so―”

The man interrupts him by standing up, expression determined and Hob blinks as the man begins to whisper, doing a slow circle with his hands. Black sand, glistening in the firelight seems to come from Morpheus’s hands and Hob gapes, amazed at the sight as a black stick eventually forms, obsidian and heavy, by the way it thuds into the other’s hands. “I am no good with human anatomy, but this I can do,” Morpheus says, putting the stick next to him. 

Hob blinks, taking a deep breath, “beautiful,” he whispers and Morpheus starts, blue eyes somehow even bluer as they stare at him. Getting a hand out from the warm blanket, he feels the stick, thicker at the top than the end of it ― and he can feel textures, engravings on it. 

“Many people do not think that,” Morpheus says shortly and Hob looks up from the item the other man made. “Including my own family,” Morpheus’s brows furrow, “some of them.” 

“It’s amazing! Did you make this, too?” He grins, arms pulling the blanket up, and Morpheus nods. 

“The snow was quite heavy and you were covered in it, and so it is enhanced and can also stop frostbite from setting in,” Morpheus says quietly, pale face now a light red. “The crutch you use will also be quite light for how heavy it is.” 

Hob smiles, charmed and endlessly grateful for being shot in front of the other’s house, “thank you, Morpheus,” he says, and Morpheus seems to get even redder, face focused on the fire. Blinking, he stares at the blanket, warm and weighted, then at Morpheus, “come over here. We can share.” 

Morpheus blinks and brings his arm tighter around himself, “I am fine.” 

Sighing, Hob picks up his new crutch, using the bottom end to drag himself over to Morpheus, who looks bewildered, then startled as Hob throws an edge of the blanket over the other’s shoulders. “There,” he smiles, leaning closer to bring the blanket edges together, making sure not to touch the other man. Even though he wants to. 

“That is not―” Morpheus gapes, brows furrowing as he cuddles into his side of the blanket. “Thank you.” 

 Morpheus relaxes next to him, hair―a mess, can feel it brush against his shoulder, “can I? Your hair?” He asks, causing Morpheus to look over, pink lips so close and eyes so blue―and confused, yet he nods. Carefully, Hob gathers the long black hair in a hand, taking a sharp breath at the softness of it as he lightly twists it together, resting it on the other’s shoulder, long black hair pooling in the other’s lap. 

 “Is this a tactic of yours? Sharing body heat?” Morpheus asks, blue eyes dark through his lashes and Hob can feel his face heat. 

“Once or twice, I won’t deny,” he mumbles, tugging his ear, and he resists freezing up as their shoulders touch. “Entirely up to you, of course, we can just share this and it’d be perfe―”

He’s cut off by the other’s mouth on his, lips as soft and plush as they look, his hands going up to cup Morpheus’s jaw, soft, slightly-cold skin. The kiss itself is chaste, Morpheus stopping as they connected, and it takes some coaxing for Morpheus to respond as he licks the other’s mouth, one of his hands stroking down a pale throat, feeling a shiver as Morpheus starts to respond, joining into the kiss.

Morpheus presses forward, hands going through his hair, down to his beard and he shivers at the touch, moving to lean over the other man―”ow,” he winces, shin twinging at the movement, Morpheus pulling him away to give him an unimpressed look.  “Well, the bed looks comfier than the floor anyway,” he says, nodding to the bed in question.

There’s a huff from Morpheus as he stands up with his crutch, Morpheus putting a hand around his waist as they eventually get to the bed, Hob groaning at the soft feel of it. Appreciation of the bed over, he brings Morpheus in from his leaning near him, bringing the blanket over them as they begin to kiss more. 

Hands go under clothes, explorative and blissfully warm as they gasp and kiss, the eventual orgasm slow and gentle as they rut against each other. Morpheus pants against his neck as he gets another blanket from the bed to clean themselves up, and Hob laughs at the way the other man glares down at the white staining his other black sheet.  

Afterwards, Morpheus curls on top of him as they fall asleep, blanket a cocoon around them. 

-

The guard’s nod at him as he begins to walk up the lengthy path, trees on all sides, and Hob hopes that this visit to the royal palace won’t end with him in pain ― or jail. Or worse. Though, from what he’s heard, there’s mainly celebration and good tidings, their absent king returning, not that Hob paid much attention to royalty aside from when they paid him.

And it’s weird, the way guard’s nod to him, letting him pass without incident as he makes his way into the huge entrance, spiraling stairs and people milling about ― and someone, a darker-skinned lady in a purple suit, motions for him to follow, which he does. Eyes wide, he looks at the various portraits and gilded ceilings with awe.

Eventually, the lady stops in front of a door, ravens etched onto it as he turns on the spot, opening the door for him. There’s the sound of the doors closing, but he’s too distracted by all the art, watercolour and like a whole other world ― a huge castle on the edge of a cliff, a bridge with human hands holding it up, so much that he’s overwhelmed by the time he sees there’s a person in here, waiting as he gapes― 

―The first thing he sees is a halo on top of the person’s head, bird feathers and gems intricately put together, the sun shining between it, the person’s hair black and― 

―He kneels to the floor, eyes getting even wider at seeing Morpheus, face amused, so beautiful in daylight that he’s speechless, only able to take in the beauty in front of him. Morpheus’s hair, tied into a braid and going over his shoulder, a soft robe draped over him, pale hands clasped in front of him. “Beautiful,” he breathes, almost not hearing himself with how his heart races at the sight. 

Morpheus’s neck turns pink, bright blue eyes looking away from him, “there is no need for that,” Morpheus says, swaying forward to grab his hands, pulling him up softly, the smell of lilacs and lavender strong. 

“There was for me,” Hob says, staring down at the soft hands holding his own, gripping them closer so he could kiss the knuckles. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, unless I came across that cabin somehow,” he whispers. 

Of course, he treasured the memory anyway, even with Morpheus protesting that he didn’t have to go, although Hob pointing out the people after him at the time was enough to quiet them, Hob not wanting to leave as he gave Morpheus a goodbye kiss, too worried with what they’d do with the fey-looking man. “I am happy to see you,” Morpheus says, voice hushed between them. 

“You did call for me, I assume,” Hob grins, rocking on his heels and Morpheus sends a look to his leg. “Your crutch was very useful, and I still have it, of course,” he smiles, thinking of how he tied a variety of blankets and rags over it, hiding the intricate carvings, and so people would feel less inclined to take it. Though, it did come in handy when beating the people attempting to take it, of course. “At most, my leg just twinges weirdly with changes in temperature, but otherwise.” 

“I am glad,” Morpheus sighs, leaning in until their foreheads are pressed together, the other’s hands clutching his own firmly. “When we met that night,” Morpheus starts, eyelashes dark as he looks down, “I was hiding―from myself, mainly. And in that night,” Morpheus trails off. “After, I kept thinking of you all the time, your amazement, your enthusiasm for my gift, which I so often thought of as a curse…”

“It is amazing,” Hob grins, still thinking fondly of the black sand he saw that night and Morpheus’s cheeks go pink, almost matching the pink of his lips. 

“Some of my family have told me that, but I found it hard to believe, until that night, a glimmer of sunlight in that dreary winter when I was―” Morpheus cuts himself off, lips thinning and Hob wonders what he was going to say. “I,” Morpheus steps away, their hands still joined as Morpheus takes a deep breath, blue eyes steeling as they stare at him. “I have called you here, if you approve, to become part of my retinue, whichever―”

“Yes,” he grins, leaning in, nose brushing against the other’s cheek before he stops himself from the kiss he wants. “I’d love to be a bodyguard for you, maybe?” 

Morpheus’s eyes crinkle, their hands joined still, “whatever you desire,” Morpheus says quietly, looking up through his lashes and Hob’s heart goes to his throat, mouth dry as Morpheus continues to stare at him. 

[Fin]

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

23 for any combination of geraskefer please? 💖

23. Cold feet warming each other up under the blanket

Geralt is nearly back to camp, holding a werewolf’s severed head in each hand, when Jaskier’s shriek cuts through the stillness of the night. Dropping the heads to the ground, Geralt starts to draw his sword, only pausing when Jaskier shrieks again and he notices that the sound is entirely lacking in fear.

“How are your feet so fucking cold?” the bard whines. “Ye gods, is your icy heart spreading to other parts of your body now?”

There’s only one person who brings out such dramatics in Jaskier. Jaskier was alone at camp when Geralt left to hunt the werewolves, but Yennefer must have portaled in to join him at some point. Too pleased to be truly annoyed by the shrieking—though he can't count how many times he's told Jaskier not to start screaming unless there's actual danger—Geralt retrieves the dropped heads.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” Yennefer’s voice is quieter, but still audible to Geralt’s witcher hearing. “It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s almost winter.”

“Stop pressing them against me!”

“You’re warm.”

“Yes, and I’d like to stay that way, thank you. Is this your plan to finally do me in? Will Geralt return to find me blue-lipped and silent, frozen to a block of ice?”

“He should be so lucky.”

With a snort, Geralt resumes his trudge towards camp.

“I offer you the warmth of my body,” Jaskier says with the gravity of Lebioda facing his final martyrdom. “And in return, I’m treated like… ack, Yennefer, are you well? I don’t think feet are supposed to get that cold.”

“And I don’t think anyone is supposed to get so annoying, and yet here you are.”

“It’s an art that I take—Yennefer, your hands are worse! How are your hands worse? What sorcery is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re whining about.” Yennefer sounds smug. “I’m comfortable.”

“Dreadful, horrible, blood-sucking…”

Geralt clears the trees and finds the two of them curled together on Geralt and Jaskier’s pushed-together bedrolls, cocooned in enough blankets to keep a small village warm, even though the night is mild for being past Saovine. Despite his protests, Jaskier has Yennefer wrapped up in his arms, doing little to hide how pleased he is. From the musky scent in the air, they’ve been busy while Geralt was gone.

“Geralt!” Jaskier looks up at Geralt with beseeching eyes. “Oh, thank the gods, my savior. Yennefer is freezing me to death with her horrid paws. I’m seconds from expiring of hypothermia.”

“Hm. From the way you were shrieking, I thought another werewolf got you.”

“At least werewolves are warm and fuzzy.”

“You’re fuzzy enough for both of us, bardling,” Yennefer grumbles.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Geralt pats Roach’s neck—she, at least, is being quiet and well-behaved—and starts shucking off his armor. “Now you know how I feel all the times you decide to use me to warm your hands and feet, bard.”

Jaskier gasps. “But you have witcher body heat! Surely, you aren’t selfish enough to keep it to yourself.”

“I’ve been letting you use my body heat for twenty years, Jaskier. Doesn’t mean having your cold fucking feet against my legs feels good.”

Yennefer guffaws. “So you have cold feet and you snore, bardling. What a prize you are.”

“I do not snore!”

“You do,” Geralt and Yennefer say at the same time. To Yennefer, Geralt adds, “First time I shared a bedroll with him, I thought a grave hag had slipped into bed with me during the night when I woke up and felt his feet against my shins.”

“I can see how you could make that mistake,” she says.

Jaskier yowls in protest, wiggling away from her the best he can while wrapped from chin to toes in blankets. “Unhand me, you cold-hearted harpy! You can’t slander me and then use my body to warm the icy depths of your soul, you fiend.”

Shaking his head, Geralt slides onto the bedroll behind Jaskier, slipping under the blankets and putting his arm around Jaskier and Yennefer’s waists, pulling Jaskier flush against him. Jaskier gives a token grumble of protest, then melts back into him.

“Thank the gods,” Jaskier breathes. “Geralt, your witcher warmth saves the day again. Now I may not freeze to death during the night.”

“I’m going to portal you to an iceberg somewhere,” Yennefer says.

“I don’t think I’d notice the difference.”

“You both have fucking cold feet,” Geralt says. “Now go to sleep.”

He’s unsurprised to find four icy feet pressed against his shins and thighs.

“Hers are colder, right, Geralt?” Jaskier asks in a stage whisper.

“Maybe,” Geralt grumbles. “But she doesn’t snore.”

He drifts off to sleep to the familiar sound of Yennefer laughing while their bard squawks in outrage.

Twenty-four touches prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[mayuzumiiis]

I forgot to send you an ask about my ship ask game you reblogged from me😭😭 I’m gonna cheat and give you a blank check for it, your favorite ship or a ship your really into rn🖤🖤🖤🖤

Ope lmao I also forgot to send you an ask about your ship game so I'll do that after I answer this!

Okay let's do this thing! Uh... let me do it for... oh, fuck it, OC ship. @lawfulgay's Felix and my Tragedy!

Who does the laundry: They both do, but Tragedy is better at remembering it needs to be done.

Who makes the bed: Tragedy, most mornings

Who sleeps on the right and who sleeps on the left/do they end up in the middle curled around each other: They start the night with Felix on the left and Tragedy almost in the middle on the right. By morning, Felix has gotten himself on top of Tragedy

Who likes cooking dinner but who ends up cooking dinner more: Tragedy loves cooking, but Felix tends to have more energy by dinner time.

Who buys the snack foods: Felix

Who keeps the grocery list: Tragedy; Felix goes grocery shopping based on vibes most of the time

Who adds silly things to the list and does the other gets it for them: Felix; and yes, Tragedy does typically get those silly things for him

Who has an obsession with water bottles/travel mugs: Neither, really? They certainly have a lot of mugs, though. (Ah, the joys of being a court wizard and a highly sought after doctor)

Who has an obsession with hats: Felix for sure; Tragedy's horns don't usually lend to comfortable hat wearing

Who likes camping gear but hates camping: Neither!

Who likes stickers: Felix, 100%

Who likes tea and who likes coffee: They both like both!

Who prefers cold drinks and who prefers hot ones: Tragedy prefers hot drinks; they soothe his throat better. Pretty sure Felix also likes hot drinks

Who hordes blankets and who just likes putting on socks when they are cold: Who needs blankets when your Tiefling husband is a walking furnace? (Felix does still hoard blankets when Tragedy isn't around, though)

Who prefers spring/summer and who prefers fall/winter: I'm not 100% certain on Felix, but I know Tragedy likes Autumn and Winter for the cooler weather

Who gets obsessed with something random on YouTube (what it is): YouTube doesn't exist in their world, but Felix would get obsessed with those crazy Minecraft Redstone machine videos

who likes podcasts (what they listen to) (this will be kinda limited to what I watch): I feel like Tragedy would enjoy a podcast like Sawbones... he'd also like spooky shit like The Magnus Archives

Who has a tumblr: Felix

Who has a twitter: Also Felix

Who reads fanfic/if they are famous who has read fic about themselves and who judges the other just a little bit/do they ask people to not write fic about them: Felix is probably the bigger fanfic reader of the two of them, but he always convinces Tragedy to read something weird at some point lol (they both read Oliver's fanfic about their author friend, Shin)

I know this is very "you have to know these characters to understand what the fuck I'm talking about", but I got decision paralysis and was thinking about D&D haha

[whitegoldtower]

Thinking about how I’m feeling rn makes me want to draw Serana, Garan Marethi, Ronthil, Feran Sadri, Eddard and Vingalmo snuggled up to one another with steaming tankards of hot blood, surrounded by like 50 types of red, black and furry blankets, all wearing oversized hoodies and fluffy socks bc they’re all anaemic and you know Castle Volkihar is fucking C O L D.

You know everyone wakes up at the start of the night and winces when they step onto the stone floor

I used to live in a Victorian house on a mountain with flagstone floors and let me tell you something. Stepping on those in the winter after you’ve just woken up and are too disoriented to put your socks on is a fucking wake up call and a half because that shit goes STRAIGHT INTO YOUR BONES AND UP THE SHINS like you’ve been impaled in the feet by two ice spike spells.

[dirtroadtooutofhere]

Chapter 2 - "Preparations" Max

ROAD! TRIP! ROAD! TRIP! ROAD! TRIP!

Alright, I’m gonna be real with you. I’m not actually that confident Canada is safe.

Is it possible? Definitely. Do I think it could even be likely? Hell yes!

But there’s no guarantees in life, especially not after the apocalypse.

It’ll still be good to escape this dump, though. Even if it’s only for a couple days before figuring out we have to go back.

Raymond takes the map and crumples it up, throwing it in the trash.

“Hey! What the fuck? I thought you were on board with this?!?”

“I am, Max, but it’s no use to us. Every last major roadway in the country is going to be blocked by abandoned vehicles and swarmed with roaming hordes. Driving through is physically impossible, and walking is suicidal.” He talks while pulling a drawer out and rifling through it, finally finding a compass and a zoomed-in state map of Florida. “This is all we get to work with, plus more regional maps, if we’re lucky.”

The next morning, I find his legs sticking out from under the car, working on the engine. “How’s it going?”

He remains absolutely stoic.

“Raymond. Hellooo. Earth to moron.” I lightly kick his shin, and he stirs.

“I’m up! I’m up.” He slides out, sits up, and lets out an audible yawn. “I wanted to. Check everything before we go.”

Sleeping beauty finishes his tests as I do some final packing, and we load everything in the trunk together. He sighs nervously. No clue as to why he’s worried, we have more than enough:

A metric fuckton of food. It’s mostly chips, cookies, cereal, that kinda shit. Shelf stable. Ready to eat. Not the most nutritious, I admit. There’s also a little over a dozen meals, between canned foods and boxed pastas. It looks like a lot, but I admit it might not last as long as I was hoping.

Some medical supplies. Some bandages and tourniquets, various pain medications. God, there’s a lot of pain medications. When did we even get all of these?

My trusty fire axe, that I used to smash windows and bust doors with back when the department was still a thing. Still good for breaking shit, but sees a lot more zombie blood these days. I kinda miss when destruction was for a cause.

Two boxes of low-caliber ammunition. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a working gun to use it with. We do have a revolver, but it’s ancient, and only fits the 4 bullets that were in it when we found it in the back of an antique store.

Raymond’s box of tools. He managed to keep most of his original set after all this time, but there’s a few odd screwdrivers and wrenches he’s had to replace with whatever was left in the hardware stores. Includes his thick iron monkey wrench, which has doubled as his go to back-up weapon when whatever sports gear he’s holding breaks.

A pair of fire extinguishers, an ordinary red one you’d find in any house, and a bulky yellow that resembled a diving tank. You’re not supposed to hold the hose by the horn, it can freeze your fingers.

Three ratty blankets and an old nylon camping tent. There was about a week last winter where a bad frost-snap caked these islands in ice. We set the tent up in the basement and laid the blankets over it, and rode it out. He was really clingy then. “For body heat.”

He turned the ignition after we got in the front seats. He pinched his nose and blinked a few times. “I should probably drive first, dude. You look like death.”

“...yeah.”

I wasn’t even out of the neighborhood before he passed out, passenger’s seat leaned all the way back. Only a handful of undead passed by as we rode towards the main peninsula. They look so fun to run over, but I guess I value his sleep. Bastard.

[hellcatinnc]

Sweet & Spicy Wintertime - Master List

These will be updated for each and every one entered in the event. Stay tuned wanted to share my writing list and the characters I will be adding for it. This is for the sweet & spicy wintertime fan fic 18+ NSFW. So please stay tuned and I hope you enjoy through the month of December what I write.

Touching Under The Blankets (Impey Baribicane - CR)

Canceling plans to snuggle and fuck (Dazai & Chuuya - BSD)

Cold skin, warm hands - (Chuuya - BSD)

The recipe says "Add a pinch of love" (Ichiya - VB)

Hot cocoa tastes better when shared (Ikki - Amnesia)

Gift wrapping distractions (Dante Falzone - Piofiore)

In front of the fireplace (Shin - Amnesia)

Long winter nights spent awake (Akutagawa -BSD)

Quickies at the holiday party (Nicola Francesca & Leo Cavagnis- Piofiore)

Naughty Christmas wish (Herlock Sholmes - CR)

[sparklefics]

Bucky's Sweater

Bucky Barnes & Avenger!Reader [Agent Dollface]

WC: 572

A/N: This is the first thing I've written in months. It's short but fluffy.

Gif not mine.

Warnings: Language!

[Masterlist]

"I fucking hate winter."

You said as you plopped down on the couch in the living room at the compound.

"Second that." Bucky said from under the blanket. You jumped up in surprise, you hadn't seen him there. "I know why I hate winter, why do you?"

"Shit! Buck, I didn't see you there." You looked at him and took in his comfy look in that ridiculously beautiful navy blue cable knit sweater, it made the sudden fright go away however it made your heart race for an entirely different reason. The scruffy beard that he grows out during winter covering his pristine jawline, long and luscious brown hair coming down to his shoulders only added to the appeal that is James Bucky Barnes. 

In truth, you hate winter because of Bucky. He looks so fucking beautiful in those comfy sweaters and his butt in those grey sweatpants– to die for! But you can't tell him that without admitting that you totally have a crush on him. 

So you just said, "Too many layers of clothing." Which you are quick to regret because it totally sounds like a come on. "It's a hassle to take off."

And that explanation was not any better. 

"Is it now?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

Wouldn't you want to know? 

Oh no! Your thoughts have a way of running away from you, that damn brain-to-mouth filter failing you at the worst of times. 

"Let's at least watch this movie first, then we'll see about stripping down. I'm an old fashioned guy, agent dollface. But, please consider me interested." He winked at you.

Though embarrassing your faux pas worked in your favor, for once.

_____________________________________

After the movie Bucky selected was over, you two remained cuddled under the blanket, laying on the couch. 

"You wanna know why I really hate winter?" You ask softly kicking your feet against his shins. 

"Sure."

"You."

"Me?"

"You look so fucking–agh! – Warm and inviting in those sweaters and sweatpants. I just wanna crawl on you like a cat and sit on you. And just to be clear I wasn't just talking about sex, that would be good too. But I mean just inviting and lovely, in the way I just wanna sit around and cuddle with you. You know, doing nothing in particular, just being warm and safe in your arms. That's kinda all I wanna do…all the time to be honest, not just during winter."

"Wow! You're like in love with me." he teases and you stay quiet.

"Would that be so bad?" You ask after a beat. 

"Not at all." He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles. "Wanna know something? I really don't hate winter…actually I kinda love it."

"Why? I mean I would expect that after all you've been through– I mean, it would be logical to hate it."

"I know right, but I love it because of you. You and your many layers of clothing that I fantasize of taking off, like your scarves, or how you'd look wearing just my sweaters." He smirks, "How cute you look wrapped up in blankets, shuffling about in your fuzzy socks. How much I really want to cuddle with you every night–not just during winter, might I add." 

"James…"

"Sweetheart, you wanna go steady with me?"

"Wow, you really are old fashioned." You giggle and Bucky kisses the crinkles around your eyes. "Yes, I do want that very much." 

[captainsimagines]

the warmth of summer || epilogue

Summary: Time has flown by and the universe continues to spin on, while you and Bucky Barnes create an axis of your own. How is everything going?

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (Fem) Reader

Trope(s): DBF! Bucky Barnes; Age Difference; Idiots in Love; Epilogue

Based on the Song(s): Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift

Epilogue to The Warmth of Winter || MiniSeries

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; unprotected sex; dirty talk; pet names (sweetheart, doll, kid); exhibitionism kink; age difference kink; strong language

Word Count: 4,500+

Author’s Note: Sigh. I couldn’t resist. Enjoy my lovelies. 🥺

~

     “Craziest place I’ve ever had sex was in line, outside of a Best Buy, waiting to buy the new Wii that was released that year. Can’t remember what year, but I remember her tits.”

The whole group pauses, drinks suspended mid-air, shock evident on everyone’s contorting faces. Clint… fuck, what else is there to say about Clint Barton? He’s won the indirect “who has had sex in the craziest place” challenge. A close second was Wanda, with her not-so-innocent “a classroom”. Pietro damn well almost threw up. 

“While other people were also… waiting in line?” you ask, trying and failing to use your vodka lemonade as a barrier for a blush. But Clint sees the way your lip curls sheepishly and the way your eyes avoid his. 

“You’re one to talk.”

It always impresses you how well you and Bucky work in sync. Both your legs kick out at the same time and pierce Clint’s shins: you his right, Bucky his left. Clint wails and clutches his beer as if it holds magical healing abilities. 

“God, don’t bring that up.” Captain Rogers, or Steve as he’s been literally begging you to call him for the past eight months now, groans and runs a large hand down his face. 

Now, here’s the story. Captain Rog— Steve— said he would be home at nine pm. on a spring evening in the middle of the week. It was a Thursday, to be exact. He gave absolutely no warning or additional indication he would actually not, or that he wrapped up work down at the Commando Center an hour earlier than expected. He didn’t text to see if you or Bucky wanted some take-out. He assumed you’d bother devour it whether he asked or not. So he ordered your food, climbed the steps to his and Bucky’s apartment, put the key in the door, turned the goddamn doorknob, and came face to face with the one sight he never thought he’d see. 

He’s accidentally walked in on Bucky having sex before. He’s seen his partners in the midst of orgasmic bliss. Hell, Steve has often wondered how good Bucky is in bed a little too often. But he’s never walked into his own apartment and caught Bucky Barnes, plastered on the couch, with his girl practically full-frontal in his lap and bouncing, before. Or at least, that girl had never been you. 

You had gasped so loudly, doe-eyed and sweaty, completely exposed. Bucky had moved so quickly, tucked you into his side, covered you with a blanket and—

But Bucky hadn’t had time to pull out before he moved, and the movement was an accidentally calculated one, and he involuntarily toppled you over that delicious edge. You had come so hard, a scream on your lips, embarrassment flooding your veins, in front of Captain Rog— Steve. 

And Steve didn’t know whether to move or not. Several seconds had passed, his eyes locked with yours. So he placed the bag of food down on the floor, backed up slowly, and camped in the hallway until you and Bucky put some pants on. 

No one really brought it up until now. Because you’re a goddamn idiot and told Wanda, who told Pietro, who told Clint, who told Kate, who told Peggy, who told someone else in the nursing home, who told a nurse, who told your dad for some godforsaken reason. 

A week later and Bucky’s apartment door was basically broken down by your dad marching through, loading his pistol, and screaming, “Steven Grant Rogers, you fucking hypocritical-ass voyeur, get your white ass out here and pay for your fucking sins!”

You stood in between them, arms raised, screaming, “He didn’t see anything!” 

But Steve had groaned, head his hands as he admitted, “I saw everything! God, I saw everything!” 

And you snapping at him, “I will let him put that bullet in you! Stop fucking talking!” 

And Steve responding, “It was the first thing I told my therapist because I was having nightmares.” 

Then, “Fuck, Rogers! You’re on your goddamn own! Idiot.”

Your dad hadn’t shot him that day. But he promises he’ll shoot a bullet into Steve’s gravestone when he ultimately dies first. 

Bucky had just mentioned that it’s nice not being on the other side of the gun for once. You had laughed until you cried. 

“Everyone’s seen your tits, ‘cept for me?” Clint asks.

No. Sam hasn’t and he says so immediately. And Pietro has only caught a glimpse of a nipple at the beach once. So, no. No.

“Alright, Clint, that’s enough beer,” Kate mumbles, trying to pull the bottle from his tense grasp. She can’t really cut him off considering she’s not the bartender tonight. 

“Keep talking about my girl’s tits, man. See what happens,” Bucky chuckles, taking a sip of his own beer. 

Clint is Clint and Clint is basically a brother. You know for certain he doesn’t want to see any part of you naked. Listening in the one time was for blackmail purposes and because… well, Clint is Clint. He’s just shitfaced right now. 

“Let’s change the subject!”

Everyone agrees with your exclamation. It’s late August so the air is a little humid and the bar is packed. School has barely started, back-to-school shopping has created a dent in every parent’s bank account, and a cold beer after a hard day’s work is the summer thing to do. Instead of massive overcoats and cardigans and mittens, it’s short-shorts and tank-tops, and ponytails. You don’t have to raise your beer with a napkin to protect your chilly fingers, you don’t have to breathe into your hands after removing your gloves, and your boots aren’t soaked to your socks anymore. 

You had gotten some vacation time, Bucky had left Ayo in charge of the bar back in Brooklyn, and Steve and Sam made the trip home together, finally, for the first time in ten years. Your dad’s house is packed to the brim. But he absolutely loves it— the amount of baked goods he’s placed on the counter, the amount of new board games he’s bought, it’s insane. But a good insane. He’s happy. 

After the first month, he had called you on a regular Monday night. He talked about work, other things that you can’t really remember, and then he paused. A long pause. 

“… He’s been good to you?”

“You’re really worried about that? Of course he has.”

“I know he’s my friend, but I still have to ask.”

“I know you gotta. I promise you, he’s been amazing.”

“You love him?”

“It’s been a month!”

“So?”

And that’s just it. So? 

Peggy had mentioned how she fell in love with this man named Daniel in 1950. The love of her life, she called him. She wanted to sit in on a meeting, was denied, but before she could kill everyone involved, Daniel had placed a fully-typed transcript of the entire meeting, even the gossip discussed, on her desk. “We slept together two days later,” she admitted, pushing her cart down the aisle. “Ooo, it’s strawberry season!”

So a month was nothing but also everything, and you knew for damn certain you had fallen in love with James Buchanan Barnes. And he you, you could tell, but neither of you has said it yet.

What were you waiting for? Who fucking knows. But you feel it, and you know he knows you feel it. It’s like riding an ever growing wave, one that doesn’t seem to be crashing anytime soon. It’s brilliant. 

“So, how’s the new book coming along?” Sam asks as he pokes around his french fries. 

“It’s coming,” you answer, about to elaborate when—

“Mm, I bet it is,” Clint winks about a thousand times. Steve reaches over, steals his beer, and replaces it with his water. 

“Clint, fucking pervert!” Wanda laughs, twisting his nipple beneath his shirt. Clint yelps, snags her nipple with his index and thumb, and twists as hard as his drunk strength will allow. Wanda screams and smacks him repeatedly. Pietro calmly stands, shimmies in between the two bickering children, and takes Wanda’s smacks for himself. 

“As I was saying,” you say, lips pursed with a threatening laugh. “It’s another science fiction novel written by one of my favorite authors, Loki Laufeyson. It’s about some multiverse theory, and there’s this wizard, and some witch that has become my favorite anti-hero.”

“And even though it’s illegal and/or immoral, I have no idea which,” Bucky jokes. “She’s let me read some chapters.”

“Bad editor etiquette,” Sam chastises. 

And what can you do? Bucky’s an avid reader and he shares the same bed as you. You can’t exactly sit on your side of the bed, glasses on the tip of your nose, a mountain of highlighters and pens on your blanket, and expect your boyfriend not to sneak a peek every once and a while. You’ve simply given up rejecting him— every page you finish and place face down in its own pile, Bucky picks up and reads for himself. 

He’s challenged you on a correction once… ONCE… and after a screaming match about whose grammar was better, he fucked you into the mattress until the left side of your face had blanket burn and your ass was bruised. 

You shiver from the memory. Bucky tugs you closer into his side, smirking down at you as you continue praising science fiction and fantasy in general. Somehow he knows you’re remembering that time.

You’re currently editing a few books, Kate’s thinking of going back to college, Wanda and Pietro are gearing up for the last of the summer flower shipments, Sam just got a promotion at work, Clint and Wanda have been discussing him buying a share of the shop, and your dad is enjoying his vacation time sleeping in and hosting his friends. He even promised to drop by the bar within the next hour before he meets up with a friend. 

A lady friend. You overheard Pietro tell Sam excitedly, who then proceeded to slap his palm over his mouth and loudly shush him. It’s been… how old are you?… so long since your dad has been on a genuine date. She’s Peggy’s nurse, Monica something, and in Peggy’s own words, “Quite the dish.”

As if on cue, the bar doors open and your whole table erupts with a loud cheer. Your dad sheepishly makes his way over to you guys, hushing everyone as he slides into the large booth beside Steve. 

“Look at you! Leather jacket, non-work boots, hair combed to one side! Someone’s getting laid!” Sam cheers, patting your dad on his shoulder. 

Your face contorts. “Ew, don’t say that.”

Your dad, surprisingly, scoffs and points a finger at you. “Consider it payback, Bumblebee. I’ve had to suffer almost a full year of those comments you guys don’t think I hear when you whisper.”

You drop your head onto the table. Bucky rubs your back, in between your shoulders, and says, “Aw, sweetheart.”

But your dad quickly interjects before Bucky even pushes out the last syllable. “You shut the fuck up. You’ve corrupted my daughter and I still haven’t decided if I’m gonna kill you yet.”

Wanda slams her face into Steve’s chest as a loud cackle escapes. Bucky’s lips spread thin, and he nods because he knows your dad is right. 

Kate reaches over to pat your head. “Cheer up, BumbleWumble. We’ve all wanted to say that to your face for a longass time, though.”

You snap your head up. “Guys!”

Clint, as drunk as ever, laughs almost louder than Wanda. Almost. “Ms. Exhibitionist can’t take the heat, huh?”

Both you and Bucky take cover, you behind him and him almost underneath the table. Your dad slaps the table as he tries and fails to keep his face settled. “Aaaand that’s my cue to leave.”

Everyone at the table grumbles and tells him to stay a little while longer. But he stands and smiles down at all of them. “Can’t be late for my first real date in three years, now can’t I?”

Avoiding the eyes of everyone else, you shimmy out of the booth with Bucky’s help. You pull your dad in close, your hands tight around his waist as you speak. “Good luck. She’s gonna love you.”

“Well, I don’t know about love.”

You pull away to grin up at him. “Trust me.”

He smiles down and kisses your forehead. He whispers, side-eyeing the rest of the group. “Don’t let them tease you too much. I can’t believe Bucky’s just blushing and taking it. Unlike him…”

“Oh?”

“He’s always been a ray of stupid sunshine, but getting teased about a girl? Not since his twenties, Bumblebee.”

You gasp, “Ooo, interesting!”

He kisses the top of your head and backs away as he waves goodbye to the group. “Visit the house in the morning, yeah?”

Oh, yeah. You’re not staying with your dad this summer vacation. With how often you and Bucky do the deed, it wouldn’t have been appropriate. You’re staying in the one hotel in town, letting Steve and Sam stay in your room and the guest room. It’s the least you could offer Sam. You’ve already paid him back for the plane tickets. And it’s the least you could do for Steve. Especially Steve. Dude has seen and heard too much as is.

You give your dad a thumbs-up. 

“I can’t feel my toes. Can anyone else not feel their toes?” Clint asks, smacking his lips together. His words and actions contradict themselves. Kate rolls her eyes and starts helping him stand up. 

“Up to bed, you,” Kate says, and says goodbye to everyone. Steve and Sam share a nod, then they’re off. Wanda and Pietro stick around and order one more drink each. 

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

“That was so white and middle-aged of you.”

Bucky feigns hurt, clutching at his chest. “You wound me, kid.”

“Good. I’ll make sure to completely saw you in half next time.”

Bucky hooks his arm around your neck and tugs you down, effectively wrestling you out of the bar doors. It’s routine, this. Bucky’s manhandling and treating you like a sparring partner makes your heart burst violent red. His sheer force but careful coordination, calculated and on purpose, gets you going in more ways than one. The two of you finish your little wrestling match: he’s squished your cheeks under his armpits enough and you’ve tugged at his hair. He’s been growing it out. His hair grows fast and it reaches the middle of his neck now. 

You tug it a lot nowadays. You walk hand-in-hand the few blocks it takes to get back to the hotel. 

“Hey, doll?”

“Hmm?” The town looks different without the obscenity of holiday lights. It’s not that it looks dull, but it’s harder to see the street signs and store fronts without the extra luminescence. 

“Did you ever think we’d be here this time last year?” 

The question is an easy one to answer. After everything happened with Brock and after your dad sat both you and Bucky down to have a serious discussion, the answer simply ignited like a well-known prophecy. Like it was obvious all along. 

“Yes.”

Bucky startles only slightly. “Seriously?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You didn’t?” 

Bucky’s eyes widen enormously. “Trap. Trap! It’s a trap!”

You throw open the hotel doors with a loud laugh, stumbling to the elevator as Bucky tries to grip your waist from behind. Once inside, Bucky holds you close. “It felt like a dream. A very real dream. But because it felt like a dream, I felt like I would wake up at any moment.”

You hum and lean your cheek on the top of his head. He’s bending his knees in order to hug you like this. “I’m very real, James.”

Bucky stills and slowly unhooks his arms from around you. He meets your eye and slowly, teasingly, a bright smile spreads on his face. “You haven’t called me James since the day we met.”

Before you can respond, Bucky lunges forward and plasters you to the elevator wall. It’ll open at any second and anyone could be standing waiting to board. But Bucky immediately sucks a large kiss and bite to your neck like an alpha in rut. 

“Buck—“, you plead, hips knocking forward out of instinct by now. “There’s a camera.”

But that doesn’t stop the bulky soldier from biting down further, trailing little nips above your clothed breasts. “And that’s a problem because?”

God, it really isn’t. You’ve come to accept it. You’re an exhibitionist, through and through. Just knowing someone is watching Bucky take what’s his in such a primal manner is making your thighs quiver, a delicious drip in your panties. And fuck, you’d be lying if Steve walking in on you bare and spread didn’t give you one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had in your life. Because the idea of sharing isn’t necessarily one that gets you off, but the idea of someone witnessing you getting off? You think Bucky knows. He came, too. That was obvious. 

“They can see,” you whisper, glancing at the blinking red light in the corner. Bucky eases his right hand to the middle of your thighs where you need him most, and applies just the faintest amount of pressure. You whimper into his neck, finally glancing away from the onlookers. 

“God, sweetheart,” Bucky groans, then sighs when the elevator doors open. He quickly tugs you out and to your shared room, fumbling with the key card. You look away to smirk, finding the whole situation borderline hilarious. Finally, Bucky succeeds and pulls you through, signaling at you to begin stripping. You don’t have to be told twice. 

“You know,” Bucky says, tugging his shirt over his head. You don’t have much to take off either— just your tank top, bra, jeans, and your shoes. You do so quickly. “I know you like being watched. Or at least, like knowing someone could be.”

You roll your eyes and shimmy your underwear down your legs. Bucky licks his lips as you snap back up. “Your point?”

Bucky strips himself of his boxers and walks toward you until you have no other choice but to fall back onto the bed. The sheets are still undone from this morning. “What if we create some form of amateur porn? Like those videos where they film everything from the neck down?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Bucky, you have a metal arm.”

“I can always take it off.”

“You can do that?”

Bucky smiles from above you, his weight becoming heavier as he dips down to kiss along your collarbones. “Yeah, but I usually do that with T’Challa or Shuri there to help me.”

“I am not letting you remove your arm so we can be unrecognizable in order to shoot some amateur porn.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

You huff a laugh and kiss along Bucky’s neck. He answers with gentle sighs and the feeling of his lips turning up against your skin makes your chest pound. He kisses all the way down to your belly button until you think he’s about to eat you out, but he hikes your thighs up and bends you in half. Then his face is directly across yours again and he sinks into you slowly. Neither of you had the will to hold out and fuck around with foreplay anyway.

“Fuck,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your nails into the soft flesh of his back. Bucky attacks his lips with yours, smothering you with both his breath and weight. He rocks into you slowly, at a set pace, and oh so deep. 

“Then, how about this?” he continues. You can see your feet dangling above his head. “We go to a club. One of those BDSM sex clubs where they practice public sex.”

Fuck. You automatically clench around his thick cock, delighted in the way it tears a soft grunt from Bucky’s throat. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs, holding you impossibly still. You’ll start cramping soon, but Bucky always somehow knows when the discomfort is starting. 

“Are you serious?”

Bucky quickly nods, then he starts driving into you faster. Bucky grunts once, then twice, in response to your clenching. “So fucking serious. Think about it. Our own little booth, everything is consensual and people respect the performers. I fuck you nice and hard until you’re dripping down my cock while others have a front row seat.”

You whimper, practically breathless, and nod helplessly. “I want that. I want them to see you fuck me.”

“God,” Bucky whines, clenching his teeth. He lets go of your thighs and expertly rearranges you both. Now he tips you on your side while he settles behind you, his hot chest to your sweaty back, as he hikes your leg up. He sinks back into you, attaching his swollen lips to your already bruising neck. When Bucky bites, he bites. “You want them to watch as I bend you over the table and sink into you, pull you up so they see as every inch of me impales you?”

Your eyes roll back in your head. Bucky’s snapping his hips so rhythmically, so damn good, and your ass is jiggling as he makes contacts with your hips. He sneaks his left arm over the pillow until it’s all the way in front of you, then he holds your chin up. He tilts your head to him, smacking a sloppy kiss to your parted lips. His right hand continues holding your leg up, but you’re so damn close with all this dirty talk and wonderful expectations that you switch his hand out for yours. You hold yourself open as he moves his right hand down to smooth over your heated clit. 

“They’ll watch as I make you mine, over and over. They’ll see as I come so deep inside your dripping pussy they’ll fucking salivate, wanting to lick you clean themselves.”

You whimper repeatedly, clenching your eyes shut as white spots start overtaking your already blurry vision. It takes a moment for you to realize the pillow beneath your head is slightly wet. Bucky’s fucking you so damn nicely that tears of fucking joy are streaming. The pulse of heat in your stomach is gradual, tickling then pounding, burning with each thick inch of Bucky’s cock. 

“But I won’t let them. You’re mine. I’ll lick you clean myself. And you know what?” Fuck, does he expect you to respond? You mutter something incoherent, but you think you succeed in nodding. Bucky huffs, pinching your clit wonderfully. “Once you’re good and fucked, it’s my turn.”

W…h…a…t…

“You’ll bend me over that same table, lube me up and fuck me open, then you’ll sink into me with a toy of your own and fuck me until my spit drips onto the fucking floor.”

A scream tears through your heaving chest as your orgasm hurdles through each of your blasted nerve endings. Your legs move to close but you force yourself to keep them open, writhing back into Bucky’s hot chest and cock so you can prolong the amazing feeling. Tingles erupt all over your skin, your hearing mutes, and your throat stretches as yet another scream erupts. Bucky’s not letting your clit rest. 

“Think we’re at that point of our relationship, no? You can’t be the only one taking it,” Bucky chuckles, but it soon turns into a groan as your cunt squeezes him nonstop. He’s right there at the edge, teetering in that blissful purgatory. He plays with your sensitive clit more, ignoring your tiny protests (because he damn well knows you can come again), and continues voicing his desires. “You wanna fuck me, doll? Wanna see me scream and beg the same way you do?”

YES! YES! YES! YES!

It takes a moment, but you soon realize you just screamed that response. Bucky holds you to him tightly, thrusting hard and fast, rhythm slightly faltering. As he rolls expert circles into your clit, dipping his fingers down to where you’re connected to collect more of your juices, he rolls his hips against your ass. It’s like he wants to melt into you, connect with your skin forever. 

It hits you hard. You milk him once more, now breathless, throat tight and clenching as this orgasm steals your sound. 

But Bucky’s not quite there yet, and even though you know it’ll take maybe another ten minutes for you to orgasm for a third time, you let him fuck you, use you, as he reaches his end. 

“I’m one-hundred percent certain,” Bucky breathes, his eyes shut. His lips tickle your neck. “That if you fuck me, I’ll cry. I’ll melt into whatever surface you’re fucking me on. I’ll make noises you haven’t heard me make yet.”

You don’t get to respond. You don’t even think you would have been able to. Bucky groans deeply, bites your shoulder, and comes in rough, scattered spurts. He grunts after each prolonged thrust, slowing down once his chest stops heaving erratically. 

You’ve said it before, and you’ll say it again: Fuck.

“You good?” you ask him, bringing an arm up to pet his hair. He snuggles into your neck and kisses your skin softly, humming his answer. It takes a few minutes for you both to settle down, breathing back to normal, white spots gone. After cleaning up and slipping on underwear, you change the sheets with the extra ones provided from the closet. 

Bliss, bliss, and even more bliss.

Bucky’s chest is a wonder. Warm, inviting, sculpted. Laying your cheek against him has proven one of your favorite pastimes. The amount of times you’ve fallen asleep on his wonderful chest and drooled all over him is insane. Bucky doesn’t even mention the drool, but you know damn well he notices it. 

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Hmm?” he says, metal fingers massaging your scalp. 

You breathe in slowly, extend the fingers of your left hand on his chest, and close your eyes. It’s not that you’re afraid of saying it, but it’s the fact that you’ve never said it to a significant other before. It swirls within you, like the warmth of summer, stretching it’s fingers in a longing grasp. You’re finally home. 

“I love you.”

Bucky’s fingers still over your head. His chest halts and you hear his heartbeat quicken. For a millisecond, just a fraction of that time even, you’re worried you rushed into saying it. But Bucky hurries to tug you up, rather clumsily, until your entire body is sprawled on top of his and his lips are meeting yours. 

“I love you,” he quickly admits, pecking your lips. He kisses your chin, both your cheeks, your forehead, and once the skin of your face is covered, he moves to your head and to the top of it. “I love you. With everything in me. I belong to you.”

He belongs to you. Your heart feels tight and tears spring to your eyes. 

“Say it again. A million times more. So I know you’re mine, too,” Bucky asks.

Your voice is gravely by the time you fall asleep, but you repeat the affirmation to him a million times more. He knows it now. It’d be impossible for him to forget.

[havenoffandoms]

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it! 

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?” 

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road. 

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level. 

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber. 

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick. 

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months. 

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.” 

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer. 

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens. 

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden. 

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.” 

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…” 

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off. 

“You mean that?” 

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.” 

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again.  Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent. 

Lambert can live with that, he thinks. 

Request a prompt.

[angelguk]

dedicated to the lovely @himboksj​ happy (very late almost criminally late) bday present! so whew... there’s a lot happening in this one! return of jock!jk and his wonderful girl oc now featuring!!: squirting, creampie, oral (fem receiving), mild choking, biting, boobs in face!!, anime tiddy mentions, praise kink galore, multiple orgasms, the use of a vibrator, jaykay is sick actually, over-stimulation, mild spit kink, dommish!jk, (redacted) pet name, mentions (and watching) of porn, everybody is in love and horny, crying cause the dick too good, fingering but not really. 5k of words that should have never left my brain. listen to continuum & nothing without you by tanerelle (kindly check masterlist for the pretty boy drabble mini masterlist if you want to read the rest of this au!)

Jeongguk didn’t mean to go snooping through your things. It was 100% accidental. He just remembered that you kept some athletic tape in your drawers because Jeongguk usually needed to wrap his knee or ankle after practice and you ensured that he always had some near (in case he came crashing at yours instead of going back to his dorm after Coach brutalised him during drills). And, anyway, you were at a point in your relationship where Jeongguk didn’t necessarily feel the need to outright ask you if he could poke around your drawers. Of course, he respected your space, but it’s not like he wasn’t nosy when you were best friends. You were in the shower too, he didn’t want to bang on the door and ask where you kept the tape.

Imagine his surprise when he reached the final drawer in your dresser, idly rummaging around for the blue athletic tape he knows is buried somewhere, and his fingers latch around a silky cloth instead. He knew what it was immediately, the shape a dead give-away. A discreet bullet vibrator, stuffed under your unnecessarily large collection of fluffy winter socks. Perhaps he stopped breathing, the twitch in his loose workout shorts undeniable. He’s not surprised that you own one and yet, his brain can’t fathom you using it. Even now, Jeongguk’s still growing used to seeing you come undone around his length, the feeling of your walls tight on his cock as your mumble his name. It drives him mad. He’s seen you in every kind of state; sobbing hysterically, laughing until tears slip from your pretty eyes, stumbling drunk in the streets, eyebrows furrowed with anger at him, that soft tiny grin you grant him on good days, the pout your lips settle into when you don’t get your way. He never fathomed he’d ever see you in that way, skin flushed with heat, eyes cloudy with ecstasy, your heat pressed against his own. He finds new ways to fall in love with you every day but it reaches new heights when he’s deep inside of you. Maybe he’s mildly obsessed with seeing you unravel, but that’s a secret he keeps to himself.

He does take a peek at your toy though, a soft velvet-like purple vibrator. It’s cute actually, something you would definitely purchase. But then the sound of water hitting the shower tiles slows down and Jeongguk swiftly tucks the toy back into your drawers.

“Oh?” You say when you open the door to him standing stiff in your room. The steam from the shower wraps around your figure in gentle wisps, sunlight filtering in from the window behind you, the image of an innocent angel appearing right before his eyes. “You’re here.”

“Practise ended early,” Jeongguk returns, his gaze trailing the droplets of water that slip down your skin. You smell good, just like that vanilla and peach shower gel that you dearly love. And the towel hiding your body is loose. It’s not his fault that he’s hard in his pants. When he moves to hug you, your face contorts, a downward tug at your lips that Jeongguk longs to change with a kiss.

“I’m wet,” you whine, brushing past him. “Go shower, you always stink after practise.”

He huffs, strong arms catching your fleeing figure and quickly wrapping you into his chest. “No. Don’t want to. I missed you and you can’t even hug me? You’re so mean to me.”

“Guk-” Jeongguk cuts that complaint with his face in your neck, lips colouring your skin rouge with a kiss that intends to leave a mark. “You can’t,” you mumble, but your fingers settle on the nape of his neck, tangling in the growing strands of his hair. “I have to get to work soon.”

“It won’t take long,” Jeongguk returns, feathering kisses across your skin as he nudges you to the bed. “I promise. Let me do this, I’ve missed you, bunny.”

Your towel is discarded somewhere in the amble to your sheets, your thighs wrapped around Jeongguk’s face a second later. He watches your body carefully, teasing your clit with purpose before he allows himself to slip his tongue deep. He notes the twitches in your thighs, the way your buck your hips against his face. He ignores his desire, for the time being, nose buried at the apex of your cunt, tongue covered in your slick, his lips latched on your clit. You like it fast, purposeful sharp flicks that make you squirm until Jeongguk has to pin your hips down, the lave on your heat brutal. His brain can’t help but wonder how you’d behave with your toy grazing your clit and his cock burrowed deep. You’re so sensitive, response to even the softest kiss he lays on your cunt. Would you be wetter than this? You’re already dripping down his face, his mouth glistening with your desire. But he wants to see if you can do more than this, squirm more than this, make a bigger mess than this. The thought surfaces as he feels your body lock, the tension in your limbs drawn high as your hands reach for his. You cum on his face with your fingers intertwined, his name falling from your lips as the afternoon sunlight hits your skin. It’s then and there that Jeongguk decides, with his mouth wet from your release, he’s going to see you squirt one day. For him and him alone.

He waits for the moment to naturally strike, silently scheming wicked thoughts every time you crawl into his sheets. It happens one evening, an empty bottle of wine at the foot of your bed and hentai porn playing brazenly on his laptop screen. Somewhere between downing the bottle and cuddling in his sheets Jeongguk had mentioned an uncanny resemblance between your gigantic chest and the anime boobies he’d grown fond of since his introduction to hentai. You’d immediately dismissed him, whacking him hard on the head and then Jeongguk had to prove it to you, opening his favourite website and pulling up a video that had your jaw-dropping.

“Your boobs do that, you know,” he says. Which grants him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Jeongguk, what is wrong with you?” He can tell you’re not annoyed, but there’s a lilt in your voice that makes him pause, doe eyes flicking to your face. You may be kicking him under the blankets but your eyes are stuck to the video, a distance glaze colouring your gaze. He can tell by the way your thighs draw together that you’re not as averse to this as you pretend to be.

“Turn it off,” you mumble.

“Why? I can tell that you like it.”

“Jeon, I’m not joking.” There’s a glare paired with that sentence, but he reads right through it.

“Fine,” Jeongguk offers, fingers already typing what’s been on his mind since the day he discovered your vibrator.

“What are you—oh.”

There’s a quiet lull. He clicks on a video that’s more familiar to him than he’ll ever willingly admit out loud. It starts the way Jeongguk prefers it to, with a man on his knees, his head buried between the thighs of a girl.

“What are you doing, Guk?” A warning. A question. Jeongguk is not sure what you mean by that and he’s too hesitant to take a look at your face to decipher the tone in your voice just yet. He takes the jump instead, hoping you don’t mind the fantasies of his mind.

“Have you ever squirted?” Somewhere between the exchange of words in Jeongguk's room, the man on his laptop screen slipped two fingers into the girl. It doesn’t help that your boobs are falling right out of your loose camisole, resting right on his bare arm.

“Jeongguk,” you return. “Answer my question.”

“Answer mine first,” he looks at you then, trying hard to read your eyes. There’s no heat in your face, just an innocence that colours your features. Wide eyes, your legs draw together, a hard swallow that he sees in the low lights that illuminate the room.

“No,” you say, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “So why are you showing me squirting porn?”

It’s then that Jeongguk realises he wants to ruin you. As horribly cliché as it sounds, he longs for that. And the urge for it doubles when your gaze falters, flicking quickly for the screen before drifting back to his. The couple is still fucking on his screen, hard quick loud thrusts that travel to the pit in his stomach fast. He’s hard in his briefs, a painful throb ebbing through his length when your hand drops to his chest.

“Guk?”

He shuts the laptop, the moans cut off, a heated silence taking its place. The bed feels too big when he gets up, ignoring the confused look you give him.

The vibrator is exactly where he left it, oddly comforting because it means you don’t use it. You have him after all. But he needs the toy for tonight.

“What? Guk? What’s go—when did you find that?” You’re embarrassed, he knows it from the way you squirm under the blanket. He glances down at it, finger pressing the switch that turns it on. A quick run through shows ten decent vibrators at different levels, it’s rather intense even in his hands, the low buzz that it emits filling the room forbidding before he shuts it off.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he says. You groan, your head dropping into your hands.

“Put it away, Guk! And don’t go through my stuff ever again.”

“Why? I think it’s cute.”

“Cu—what is the point of this, Jeongguk? I don’t get what you’re trying to do?” And there you go, staring at him with those wide ingenuous eyes. So trusting, so clueless. He draws closer then, considers taking his underwear off so you can see just what you do to him. But when your gaze drops he halts. It’s not about him tonight. It’s about you.

The bed dips under the weight of his as he says it, the toy still in his hands. “I want to see if you can squirt.” He sees the way your back stiffens, the raise in your brow.

“I’ve never done that,” you splutter, falling back as Jeongguk crawls over you.

“I know. But you can.”

“I can’t, Guk. I don’t think I can.” Your pretty lips are drawn into a reluctant pout, but there’s a bright curiosity sparking through your gaze that Jeongguk knows all too well.

“See, you don’t think you can. You said that before. And then I made you cum five times in a row.”

“No that was different—”

“We’re just seeing if you can. We don’t have to if you don’t want to but I think it’d be fun to try.”

You pause, trying to ignore the heat blooming between your legs as you weigh the decision before you. There were times when you thought you were about to, an edge in your orgasms that felt dangerous. But your body never let you go there fully, drawing back from your slipped from heights you couldn’t handle. You can tell Jeongguk won’t grant you the same precautions. His eyes a dark, toeing a line that feels forbidding. The covers are gently pulled from you, Jeongguk staying silent as you ponder. But the moment the cool night air hits your skin you know what he’s asking for. It’s a strange level of vulnerability, a bareness that makes your skin prickle. He wants something that you’ve never given anyway else — not even yourself. It’s a lot to ask for and his directness makes you pause. The hesitation crumbles when his hand settles on your thigh, wide warm palm gently nudging your clasped legs apart.

“We really don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Jeongguk says, honey eyes locked on you. You know he’s being honest; he wouldn’t push it if you said no. And yet, something twists in your stomach. You want this. The realisation is sudden and you don’t know if it’s because of how perfect Jeongguk looks tonight. Chestnut curls a messy halo on his head and his shirt hanging loose from his broad shoulders. Or maybe it’s how he looks at you as if this is the only he’s ever really wanted in the world. As if you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I want to—I mean I want to try.” You let yourself fall open then, something clicking as Jeongguk slots right against you perfectly, your sleeping shorts bunching up when his hips roll with intent. His lips land on your neck a moment later, a kiss so soft that you don’t feel it at first, lost in the way he hits your clit when he bucks into you. Jeongguk draws you back with a bite, one sharp enough to leave you gasping, your back arching from the sheets. He lets his hands slip under then, the vibrator momentarily forgotten as he maps your skin, lips feather-light once more, kisses gentle enough to leave you delirious.

“So good to me,” Jeongguk mumbles, eyes drifting to your lips. He draws close then, mouth fitting yours in a dreamlike perfectness. It’s flavoured with wine and want, a clear hunger in how he parts your lips. The hands that grip you are hard but his lips are gentle, savouring the taste of you against his mouth as if he wants to commit it to memory. The softness of the act has your skin tingling, bright and wild yet slow like the turning of the Sun. When you part, the air is different — charged, the current that swims through the atmosphere finding a home in your body as it settles in the depth of your gut. Jeongguk doesn’t give you time to ponder, mouth trailing from the corner of your lips to the hollow of your neck where he bites. It hurts enough to shock your senses, sweeping you back from the heavenly haze to the alarming reality of what he’s about to do to you. Your whimper hits the air as his tongue presses into the mark, painting your skin dark. A pointed reminder. You’d thought Jeongguk would be possessive, but sometimes he surprises you with it. The purposeful touches, the harsh bruises he likes to leave high on your neck. Or anywhere on your body, really. There are times he’d press his fingertips into them when you’re willing enough to let him choke you, the flash in your eyes spurring his hips forward.

For now, he busies himself with breathing a new one to life, one you know he’ll play with tomorrow — or later tonight if you give him the chance. Your brain can’t think that fair, zoning out as his mouth works a claim on your skin. Eager fingertips are drifting down your thighs, brushing past the band of your sleeping shorts. It’s expected that you’re already wet, but Jeongguk delights in his find with a muted moan in your neck. His fingers don’t go further though, grazing light against the damp fabric of your underwear. The swivel of your hips is automatic but Jeongguk quickly stills it with a hard press of his palm into your skin. You’re forced into the mattress, freezing when he finally wanders from your neck to your chest. So slow, wet lips idly trailing until his face lands between your chest.

“Gukkie,” you hadn’t realised how gone you already sounded until you spoke, voice wavering. He hums in response, non-committal, his hands shifting from your hips as he focuses on freeing you from your top so he can get your boobs in his mouth.

“Don’t tease me today.” You’re trying to sound firm, pliantly raising your arms so he can get you bare. But that firmness shrinks when your eyes land on his. So dark in the dwindling moonlight bleeding through your half-open blinds.

“Why?” There’s that smile of his, one corner hung higher than the either. You’ve sunk yourself in a sea brimming with sharks. “You sound cute when you whine, bunny.”

“Jeong — fuck.” There’s no point in protesting when he’s buried himself between your chest, tongue already toying with your nipple. Too many guys before him had misunderstood how to touch you there, but Jeongguk knew — he had learned. Studied your body so that he knows when to nip or kiss, shifting from pain to pleasure until the line blurred and so did your vision, until the only sound filling the room are harsh breaths and the quiet murmur of his name. Your hands eventually stray to his head, the heat in your core demanding attention as you guide him down. Jeongguk complies, not because he doesn’t want to tease you any further, but because he loves tasting you too much to ever say no.

The sight he finds sends an ache down his length, already hard but now leaking into the fabric of his grey sweats. You spread yourself so easily for him, light pink panties coloured dark with your wetness.

“Cute,” Jeongguk whispers, falling naturally into his place between your legs. It wasn’t meant to grace the air, but he’s glad it did when he notes the bashful smile tugging at your lips and how you twist to shift your head into the pillows the closer he gets. Which, honestly, makes him pause. He wants you to watch, needs you to. Something in the base of his brain needing constant affirmation that he’s making you feel good driving his next set of movements.

The hand on your chin is unexpected and adamant. You can’t help but give in, wide-eyed when Jeongguk forces your gaze onto him. “Need you to look bunny, can you do that for me?” The nod you give him is instinctual, heat blossoming in your bones when Jeongguk smiles, satiated and proud. Perhaps you should have put up more of a fight, but how could have known what he would do with only the tender touches he’d lift as your guide. Even the quick kiss he plants on your clothed cunt revealed nothing of what’s to come. So gentle as he pulls he fabric down your hips, discarding it somewhere in the sheets, his eyes never leaving the wetness on your lips.

“My pretty girl,” he says, nipping the inside of your thigh. You squirm at that, futile because Jeongguk just held you closer. “All mine, right bunny?”

“All yours,” you return, voice far and your mind slipping from your hands. Jeongguk apparently takes that to heart because he devours you, nose burrowed in the apex of your cunt, breathing you in as his tongue mapped the velvet of your walls. It doesn’t take long for your legs to wrap around his head, back raising from the bed and the drip of your slick coating your inner thighs. Yet, Jeongguk relishes it, forgoing breathing as he eats you open, toying with your clit as if that was his sole life purpose. You forget the world with a speed that should concern you, thighs trembling with each determined swirl of his tongue over that bud. Again and again, until you spill into his mouth, wet and creamy, creating a mark of your own on his lips. He keeps you there, unrelenting even when your whines hit high and your chest heaves. There’s a ringing in your ears as the high wanes away, which is swiftly placed by a quiet mumbling that sinks into your skin.

“Tastes so good,” Jeongguk murmurs, licking between your folds. “So fucking good.”

“Jeon,” Something twists in your gut when he drops a final kiss onto you as if he was thanking you for letting him do that when you should be the one on your knees thanking him. When he softly drops your leg to the soiled sheets you decide it quickly, already shifting onto your elbows.

“Yes?” Such innocent eyes staring back at you like he didn’t just fuck you open with his tongue.

“I want you too,” you’re already shifting but Jeongguk is quick, fingertips hard on your jaw when he halts you. He knows what that means, reads it in how your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, wet just like you were. But that’s not what he wants, besides, he’d rather save that for other places.

“No.” When he says that you almost deflate, but then Jeongguk drops his hand from your jaw, swiftly dragging his shirt over his back and off his body. There’s nothing that can suffocate the desire that blooms in your chest. He’s so beautiful, hard lines and warm skin, kissed by the Sun herself. There’s an itch in your palm instantly, and you hastily register that if you don’t touch him you might die. Yet, your eager hands are pinned over your head, wrists wrapped tightly in the grip of one of his wide calloused palms. There’s a brief moment where his attention is caught by the bounce of your chest before you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that you’ve never asked Jeongguk to fuck your tits before. But as you stow that away for later concern, Jeongguk’s other hand drifts to the discarded vibrator, sinister now in his command.

“Don’t want to fuck your mouth, bunny. It’s not about me tonight, it’s about you.”

“But—” Jeongguk swallows that protest with a quick kiss, the taste of you on his tongue igniting a fire that crackles and consumes until you feel nothing but heat and want, all fuelled by your erratic lovesick heart. You kiss until the only thing filling your lungs is him, like a heavy smoke that envelopes you, travelling through your body until you pull away, warm chest flushed against his. There’s a stupid twinkle in his eyes and it makes you feel sick, swaying dangerously when he shifts away. You don’t want him to go, but you don’t move when he gives you that look. The devastating ache dissipates when his pants drop from his hips, hard cock meeting the cool air. The twitch that travels down his length echoes between your walls, eagerly clenching around nothing. Jeongguk just smiles, stripping bare leaving himself vulnerable to your eager eyes. You wait, behaving good because you want to for him and Jeongguk notes this, delivering a pleased slap to your cunt when he pulls you close, one hard enough to jolt through your spine when his palm hits your clit.

“I’m kind of sensitive,” you whisper, shy again. Which is funny because weren’t you begging for his cock down your throat a second ago?

“I know,” Jeongguk returns, uncaring. The vibrator comes to life a moment later, buzzing low through the room. He knocks it up to the second-highest level.

“Jeongguk! Start low then work it up. I can’t take it like that directly, it'll chafe me.” Which is right, your clit is already feeling dry, slick staying solely between your walls. Jeongguk notes that, pausing before sinking two of his fingers deep. You squeak, hips lifting when they brush against that spot in your walls. He works you open deftly, pleased when you grind your hips into his hands, spurred on by the feeling of something finally inside of you. But it’s fleeting, Jeongguk dragging his fingers out and over your clit before raising his fingers to his lips and licking them clean.

“Now it won’t,” he states, and before you can open your mouth and deliver a retort the vibrator is pressing against that bundle of nerves, tremors echoing in your bones as your legs squeeze shut in an attempt to get away. Jeongguk pins them open, cock leaking against your thigh and he rolls the edge of the toy over your clit, before you jolt so hard the sheets shift and he knows exactly where to place it. He works it out of you, praise naturally falling from his petal lips when you give in, eyes shut tight and your heart stuck in your throat. The vibration feeds the heat in your gut, drawing it to the surface of your skin, sweat beading along your forehead and a dampness forming down your spine. It feels both quick and slow, coaxed out of you with steadfastness. Jeongguk’s gaze never strays from your pussy, locked there as he etches this moment into his memory. You look gorgeous, whining and twisting underneath him. He can tell that this is a lot for you, judging from how you bury your face away from him. He would have forced your eyes on him, if he wasn’t already so enthralled by how perfect you look like this, moans low colouring the air bright with their sound. His own want multiples when your body freezes, strung tight, the edge beckoning you over.

He pulls the vibrator off then, depriving you of your release because his brain demands that he feels this one around his length.

“Jeongguk!” You’re on your elbows, eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. “Why-w-why would you do that?” There’s a waver in your tone, a lilt so pretty he can’t help but smile.

“When you squirt you’re doing it on my cock.” He states it like it's final. And it is from how he draws you close, vibrator momentarily lost in the sheets, the head of his length brushing against your wetness.

But what catches your attention is when. A loaded promise. A determined one.

You spread your legs open, shifting until he slips past walls stretching to accommodate his welcoming presence. “Okay then, make me.” You say it with your gaze on his, watching as his eyes glaze over hips already bucking deeper, before your words register in his brain and Jeongguk’s gaze shifts into a dangerous glint.

He tugs you hard, pulling close enough so that he sinks in deep, cunt already moulding to the curves of his cock. “With pleasure.” Those words are warning, painted right into the heat of your skin as he sheathes himself inside of you. The groans in the air belong to both of you melting into one distinctive sound. It’s cut by the lewd squelch of your wetness coating his length, one that settles in Jeongguk’s gut, release already creeping into the corner of his vision. But he holds it back by knocking your legs further apart, mouth returning to the bruise he left earlier, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin. You arch into him, shifting as pain bleeds through your nerves. The motion allows the last inch of him to slip past your walls, spearing you open, before Jeongguk draws himself out and returns with a hard slow thrust. He fucks you deep, right into the bed, the frame creaking with each loud meeting between the two of you. You can’t do anything but cling onto him, eyes fluttering as his cock drives into you, determined with every piston of his hips to see you unravel. And you do, with a sickening quickness, already weak with the remembrance of your past edge. You feel soft underneath him, pressed against his skin like you hope you find a home for yourself there. And Jeongguk provides — lips mapping your skin gently and a pride in his tone that makes you want to do anything for him.

“That’s it, good girl.” You can’t say anything but his name, whining with every drag of his length along your walls. “So good to me,” he whispers, sweet, unlike his unforgiving hips. “Pretty girl and she’s all mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, wanting this more than ever. “All yours—a-all—hnghhhh—y-yours! Jeongguk, please! P-please, please, please.”

He slows, smiling into your neck. “What bunny? What do you want?”

“Wanna cum, Jeongguk p-please let me cum.” When he moves away you feel your gut drop. The vibrator is flicked back one, humming dangerously. “Guk—” you start; he shushes you with a purposeful thrust.

“You said you wanted to cum. Remember what you promised me, bunny?” You nod, slow, nervous but your need overriding your fear. Jeongguk just smiles, shifts himself a little deeper, and then places the vibrator where you need it most. It’s not instant, but it’s quick and violent, travelling through your bones and Jeongguk rocks himself deep, curls damp on his forehead and his shoulders tense but his body still giving. You match his movements with your own, shuddering the closer you feel it creep, ripping itself right out of your limbs, drawn to the surface with no remorse, your eyes falling shut and hips seizing. The vibration paired with the feeling of Jeongguk fucking you full is intoxicating, and unlike you he doesn’t hesitate, playing with your clit unforgivingly.

You don’t even hear yourself, mouth agape and your back high from the sheets, all you know is heat, burning from the inside out. No air in your lungs as it spills from you, right onto his length, walls drawn tight. It hits his abdomen, leaving his muscles wet and glimmering as the moonlight greets his skin. Jeongguk shuts down, hips moving automatically, the vibrator thrown aside, still buzzing forlornly. He couldn’t give a damn about it, bending your legs back and fucking into you hard as you coat his cock in your wetness. If it was loud before, it’s obscene now. The nails in his back spur him further, a need he’s never felt before consuming him whole. It’s already there, the white of his desire clouding his vision, but his brain suddenly stills.

Jeongguk’s hand on your chin draws you back to Earth, mind nothing but mush as he continues to fuck you open. They’re erratic thrusts, and with them, you slowly release that your cheeks are wet. Jeongguk realises it the same time you do, thumb gingerly brushing the tears falling from your eyes away. There’s a strange new awareness buzzing through your body, like your bones feel new, limbs reformed. But nothing could prepare you for that thumb on your cheek travelling down, grazing your lips until they fall open. He slips it past, lets you flick your tongue against it, before demanding. “Open.”

And you do, because what wouldn’t you do for him.

“Can I?” He questions, and somehow you know what he is asking. Another claim. Something else you’ve given nobody but him.

“Yes.”

There’s a fall in his shoulders as if he was afraid you would deny him. But how could you ever? His thumb leaves your lips, hand drifting until it settles on your neck, pressing firmly but not tight. And then his own lips part, hips unwavering, for what he sends down your throat. You swallow, oddly thrilled by it while Jeongguk watches silently, almost in marvel. It does something to you, the way he stares, like he cannot believe you’re his. And you feel that sentiment in how he kisses you next, desperate, pleading, thankful. You return it, tongue soft against his as you feel his back draw taut, a low groan spilling down your throat when Jeongguk finally snaps, euphoria bleeding through his brain. You feel it hit your walls, warm and wet, painting you white, a strange satisfaction settling through your body.

When he eventually rolls over, quiet like he’s still recovering, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, an attempt to keep his love locked in. His hand cups your own, guiding you back into reality with a gentle squeeze.

The still buzzing vibrator is what you hear first, followed by the joint panting of your lungs. You move to grab it, hoping to hide the revelation in your eyes by glaring at him. Jeongguk is still too lost to care, face flushed a vibrant rouge.

“Turn this stupid thing off,” you mutter, legs still stuck, fused to the bed from the shock of your orgasm. Jeongguk snatches it up, waving it through the air as he turns it off, before giving it a fond kiss.

“Gross,” you comment, smacking his hard chest.

“No,” Jeongguk returns, dropping it. He plants a ginger kiss on your forehead. “I quite like it actually, we should order another one. Do you think they do vibrating panties?”

You hit him again, rolling over until your leg swings over his. He keeps looking at you like that, and it keeps clawing right through your heart. “You’re so sick and evil,” you say instead of the annoying comments that flutter in your delirious brain. You want to call him pretty, beautiful, perfect, maybe the best thing you’ve ever had. But you can’t let Jeongguk know he has all that power over you — not when already made you squirt and spat down your throat in one sitting. “Can you clean me up? I’m getting sticky.”

Jeongguk stills like he’s suddenly remembering what he just did, where he just came. And then you feel the rise of his chest, gaze flicking up to meet his. Bright and full of something akin to adoration, before he blinks it away.

“Give me a moment, I think I just saw God.”

[kyuuppi]

help, my boyfriend has no sex drive! (3)

Pairing: Kenma x reader (f)

Contents: smut; thigh highs; semi-clothed sex; unprotected sex; oral sex (f receiving); fingering; cum eating; creampie; virginity kink; established relationship; forgotten homework ):

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

“Fuck, it’s cold!” 

You curse under your breath as you rub your legs together underneath the blanket, desperate for any semblance of warmth in your freezing apartment. With the arrival of winter, Tokyo has steadily gotten colder and colder each day. Despite wearing your thickest pair of fleece pajamas and cocooning yourself in a bundle of thick blankets on the couch, you feel gooseflesh lining your trembling legs. Each time you accidentally brush your feet against your shins underneath the blankets you recoil from the frostiness of your own toes. 

At your limit, you snatch your cell phone off the coffee table to open the Amazon app, intending to buy a pair of thermal tights to be express shipped. 

Instead, your eyes land on a conveniently placed advertisement on the home page. 

Extra Warm Fuzzy Thigh High Stockings 3 Pack for Women

Immediately enticed by the words “extra warm” you click on the image. The page loads to reveal a variety of colors to choose from along with some product information about the material and a satisfaction guarantee. You scroll down to read a few reviews, almost all citing positive experiences and expressing surprise to find how “cozy and warm” the stockings are despite their low price.

Thoroughly persuaded, you quickly select a set of versatile colors before using the one-click “Buy Now” feature. 

Just as you receive the notification of an order confirmation email, you hear the front door of the apartment open before your boyfriend tiredly shuffles inside. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Kenma murmurs, struggling to shrug off his thick puffer coat. “Yoshida-san wanted to talk again…”

You laugh at that, recalling just how talkative the elderly lady from two doors down tends to be. Once the woman finds someone willing to listen to her rambling, she can go on for hours about topics ranging from romantic conquests of her youth to what types of seasonal fruit her grandchildren like. You can very clearly picture your awkward boyfriend, feeling too guilty to interrupt as Yoshida-san complains about the local markets increasing the price of eggs for thirty minutes. 

“You need to be more selfish, KenKen,” you chastise playfully as you hop up off the couch to help him remove the complicated layers of winter outerwear. 

“Tell people what you want to and don’t want to do. Yoshida-san would understand; you’re a full-time student and eboy , you’re busy.”

Kenma shoots you a disgusted look at your favorite way to refer to his streaming career to which you only cackle. With a few calculated tugs, you manage to remove his coat and hang it on the rack beside the door.

“Anyway, I’ll go ahead and call for dinner—I was thinking we could get sukiyaki and watch a movie for tonight,” you suggest, already making a beeline for your phone.

“Okay.”

The rest of the night is spent comfortably, cuddled up on the couch while you both eat warm soup and watch a fantasy movie Kenma picked out. You hardly have any interest in the contents on the screen but you relish in the warmth provided by both the food and your boyfriend. 

You all but forget about your Amazon order until two days later when Kenma comes home with a plastic package in his hands.

“It says it's for you,” Kenma says simply, handing the package over to where you sit on the couch. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before the realization hits and you tear the plastic to pieces in your excitement to open it. Kenma lingers to the side, seeming curious about what could garner such a reaction from you.

With your university student budget, it is rare that you buy anything outside of necessities and an unhealthy amount of take-out, so you are unperturbed by Kenma’s apparent curiosity. 

You grin as you pull the neatly folded pile of multi-colored soft material from the package, holding them in the air for him to see.

“It's my new thigh highs! I was tired of feeling like I was in danger of getting frostbite in our own apartment.”

You drop all but a pair of striped pink socks on the couch and quickly shift to try them on, oblivious to how Kenma’s curious gaze has morphed into something akin to mild horror. The material glides easily up your bare legs, stopping just below mid-thigh. 

“ Ooh— they’re so soft,” you cheer, standing up to test their slipperiness on the wooden floors. Kenma swallows thickly, eyes lingering on where your plush thighs slightly spill over the tops of the stockings. 

He nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you lift your right leg in his direction, toes unintentionally mere centimeters from his crotch. 

“Feel them, they’re super fuzzy!” 

Kenma shies from the innocent brightness in your eyes and shuffles backward, nearly running into the wall in his haste to leave.

“I actually have to film something right now—sorry.”

With the firm shut of his office door, you find yourself standing alone, leg still raised dumbly before your balance falters and you quickly set it down. You can only blink for a few seconds, thoroughly thrown off by the rapid series of events you just experienced. Eventually, you just shrug, writing the exchange off as Kenma being his weird, gamer-boy self, and set to work on your own homework. 

You don’t suspect anything until the next day. 

As usual, you wake up before your boyfriend. You spend a few extra minutes in bed, enjoying the comfortable warmth and silently cooing over Kenma’s cute sleeping face while he’s curled up to your side. Eventually, though, the desire for breakfast wins out and you quietly slip out of bed.

The cold floor nips at your feet as you tip-toe out of the room. You make a detour to the living room where you left the package overnight, pink and white striped socks strewn haphazardly over the back of the couch where you removed them before bed. Deciding to switch it up, you pick a pair of solid black thigh highs and slip them on before hopping to the kitchen, legs sufficiently warm beneath your oversized sleep shirt.

You lose yourself to the familiar motions of making breakfast, cracking eggs, and mixing batter while your hips sway to a rhythm you make up in your head. Halfway through flying your second egg, you hear the bedroom door behind you open, signaling Kenma’s emergence. 

“Good morning,” you sing-song, well aware Kenma is far from a morning person.

“Do you want your pancakes plain or chocolate chip? We’re out of blueberries.” 

You bend down to retrieve clean plates from the bottom of the dishwasher, rummaging for a few moments before finding two decently sized ones. You return to your full height and plate the eggs before realizing the pancake batter is still sitting in its bowl, waiting, and Kenma has still not responded to your question. You twist your torso around to look over your shoulder, briefly considering maybe he hadn’t heard you properly. 

Surprisingly, Kenma is still awkwardly standing right in front of the bedroom door, seeming to not have moved a muscle since opening it. However, his gaze seems locked on something, eyes wide and pupils dilated not unlike a cat staring at a laser. 

You follow his line of sight only to land on your own thighs, clad in the pair of black thigh-highs. The gears shift and it clicks all at once.

A grin sinister enough to rival the Grinch spreads across your face. 

“Enjoying the view, KenKen~?” You taunt, coyly pointing your toe so the muscles of your calves and thighs flex under the material. 

Kenma finally tears his eyes from your legs to meet your eyes, seeming conflicted between annoyance and embarrassment. With red ears, Kenma turns on his heels and walks unusually quickly towards the bathroom, mumbling something about taking a shower. 

“Wait—you never told me what type of pancakes you want!”

The only answer you receive is the slam of a door. 

For the rest of the morning, you take full advantage of Kenma’s newfound interest in your thigh-high stockings. You brush against him at any opportunity: claiming you need something from the cabinet right behind him when he’s in the kitchen, conveniently dropping pens and pencils right in front of him when he sits on the couch so that you have to bend over to pick them up.

With each action, Kenma gets more and more flustered and vocal with his complaints, well aware of what exactly you are doing. Regardless of his harsh words, the pink on his cheeks is too cute to resist so you keep doing it until you’re forced to leave for class. 

By the time you come back from campus, the sun is long gone and the apartment is silent save for Kenma’s mumbled voice in the back room where he speaks to the viewers of his stream. 

Kicking off the jeans you had hastily slid on over your black stockings and settling into bed you have only one thing on your mind: the essay your professor had so graciously surprised your class with. He claimed the topic was “easy” and therefore could be finished and submitted “before midnight.” 

“Easy my ass,” you mutter bitterly, pulling open your prehistoric laptop. 

The hours melt away with the inconsistent click-clacking on your keyboard as you set to researching and writing your assignment. While actually spitting out a 500-word essay had been easier than expected, many of your arguments felt weak and you found conflicting information in a few of your sources, forcing you to spend extra time editing your work.

You are so lost in your reading that you hardly notice the uncharacteristic silence from the other room until the bedroom door opens. You spare Kenma a momentary glance and mumbled greeting before your eyes are immediately back on the lengthy Wikipedia page. The small text blurs together under your tired eyes and the overheating laptop on your thighs is bordering on unbearable.

Unbeknownst to you, Kenma stands idly at the door for several minutes while you read, eyes roving over your disheveled, stressed form before landing on your thighs where you rest your laptop. Somehow, it is when you are least put together that you look the most alluring. Wordlessly, he moves forward. 

You startle when you feel the mattress shift beneath you, looking up at Kenma in mild alarm as he crawls into bed with a strange expression on his face. You try to focus on your work again, half-heartedly announcing that you’re busy. 

But Kenma doesn’t listen. 

A soft pair of lips connect with your cheek, sending shivers down your body at the unexpected sensation. Your cheeks flush, unused to Kenma initiating physical contact so directly. As much as you would love to take full advantage of this moment, your word essay stares back at you threateningly.

“Kenma—I can’t, I have an essay—”

Your complaint falls on deaf ears as he continues leaving soft pecks along your cheeks, becoming less innocent and more frenzied as he moves lower. One of his hands finds purchase on your breast, gently fondling the clothed flesh.

Your pulse flutters as his lips press under your ear, hot tongue swiping at your skin. He moves feverishly as he kisses down the column of your neck, only pausing when he reaches the collar of your sweater. 

“You look so pretty right now,” he whispers airily, voice lower than usual. 

You want to disagree. You’re unshowered and bare-faced after a full day of classes with your hair thrown in a messy style—no part of that is conventionally “pretty.” 

But the way Kenma is looking at you, pupils dilated, and a soft flush on his face as if mesmerized has you unable to utter a word of dissent.

All previous inhibitions are forgotten as you set your laptop to the side, not even bothering to save your draft.

His grip on your chest falls away and you take the hint, grasping the hem of your sweater and pulling it over your head. Having left in a rush not to be late earlier, you had forgone a bra—but Kenma hardly minds.

His gaze immediately zones into your exposed breasts. Briefly, his eyes flicker up to meet your own as if silently asking permission, to which you nod, before he returns his attention to your chest, brushing his pale hands up your waist to finally cup your breasts without a barrier. 

He marvels at their softness for a few minutes, alternating between gently cupping and firmly pressing into the supple flesh. Some distant part of his mind suggests the feeling is similar to mochi but he thinks better of sharing the childish thought aloud. Instead, he puts his mouth to better use. 

You sharply inhale when Kenma ducks down without warning, hot tongue swiping over your right nipple while he flicks the other with his thumb like it's a joystick. He envelops the bud in his wet mouth, lightly sucking while his fingers begin pinching.

The sensations shoot down your spine straight to your core and your squirm at his ministrations, gently fisting his silky hair when he switches sides.

Eventually, he releases your nipples with an audible pop to press kisses on the underside of your breast instead. His lips brush against your flesh and he slowly makes his way down, pausing to edge his wet tongue around your belly button in an unexpectedly naughty way that makes you squirm.

His hands abandon your chest in favor of your hips where his fingers slip under the sides of your cotton panties.

He glances up, lips just barely ghosting your skin as he murmurs, “can I take them off?” 

Your throat feels much too dry to produce any comprehensible sound so you simply nod. He wastes no time rolling the thin material down your thighs as you assist in eagerly kicking them off. You make a move to remove your last remaining clothing, your soft black thigh-high stockings, but Kenma quickly grabs your hands to stop you.

Confused, you look up to meet his eyes only to find his cheeks dusted pink as he avoids your gaze. 

“I…want you to keep them on.”

You can’t contain the giggles that bubble up at his admission, only increasing when he visibly pouts. Your amusement dies down as Kenma’s hands move to your shoulders, gently pushing. Obediently, you let your back fall onto the soft bed while Kenma settles directly between your spread thighs, hands supporting his weight on either side of your waist. 

You watch as he looks over you, golden eyes flitting across your body almost methodically as if he is assessing a challenging puzzle in a game. The comparison makes your body feel warm and you resist the urge to squirm under his stare. 

It is far from your first time—you shouldn’t be the nervous one here , you scold. 

At last, Kenma nods to himself, as if silently making a final decision before he lowers himself again. A pair of soft lips brush against the hood of your clit in a peck that has your muscles tensing and a mewl getting caught in your throat. Kenma presses a few more light, soft kisses around your vulva before he uses the thumbs of both hands to properly spread your lips open.

You’re almost embarrassed by how much wetness you can feel beginning to leak out but all thoughts are rendered obsolete the moment Kenma pushes his tongue into you, earnestly and without hesitation. His increase in confidence since the night he had “returned the favor” is clear in his every movement.

His tongue twists in ways he remembers you had particularly liked with the occasional new experimentation as well, alternating between firmly massaging your walls with the tip and thrusting in and out in a mimicry of what he intends to do with his cock later. 

Just the thought of his dick experiencing the heat currently engulfing his tongue has him groaning into you, making your own voice keen at the vibrations. 

He releases his tongue from inside of you to wrap his lips around your clit instead, sucking while the middle finger of his right hand pushes into you. The insertion has you nearly breathless as he manages to reach a place deep inside of you—much deeper than your own fingers could. As a former volleyball player and current gamer, it is no surprise that Kenma has long, dexterous fingers but to feel them in action leaves your heart pounding in your chest as you greedily rock your hips against him. 

He eventually adds his ring finger, the resistance minimal with how wet you have become. His other hand moves to grip your meaty thigh, fingertips just barely slipping beneath the fabric of your stockings. 

You can quickly feel your release building. Kenma seems set on having you cum on his fingers as quickly as possible as well, flicking at your clit with the tip of his tongue while he pushes in a third finger, never once faltering in his pace. It is when he unexpectedly curls his fingers inside of you, hooking into a squishy spot that your vision blurs, and every muscle in your body tenses with your orgasm. 

Kenma diligently helps you ride it out, continuing to finger you and suckle at your clit until your legs draw up, attempting to push him off. Kindly, he pulls away.

You take a moment to collect yourself but it seems all for naught when you catch the way Kenma brings his sticky fingers, utterly drenched in your release, to his own mouth and licks them clean without a second thought. Despite the fact he had just eaten you out, something about watching him suck your essence off his own fingers feels decidedly filthy and leaves you more turned on than you were before your orgasm.

Kenma removes his fingers from his mouth once he deems them “clean” though they now shine with the remnants of his own saliva. He moves his hands to rest on your raised knees and carefully searches your face for any negative response. 

“Do you want to keep going?”

He asks softly but purposefully, fully prepared to stop if you suddenly aren’t up for it anymore. The consideration makes your chest swell and you grin. 

“Yeah,” you answer, sitting up slightly only to hook your fingers in the waistline of his track pants, “take these off.”

His cheeks flame but he obediently hooks his own thumbs into the pants and slides them down, carelessly kicking them off to some corner of the room.

Unsurprisingly, Kenma didn’t bother wearing underwear but you hardly mind and your mouth nearly waters at the sight of his pretty dick, bobbling slightly with his movements and dripping a copious amount of pre-cum, just like on that first night you sucked him off. 

He settles between your hips and you lay back on the pillows to form a textbook-perfect missionary position. One of his hands slides up your leg before finding a good place under your thigh to grab and hold your leg open while his other grabs his cock to position himself.

The first brush of his head against your sticky folds sends a shiver through both of you and his grip on you tightens almost painfully. 

“Can I...put it inside?”

“Yes, Kenma, please,” you respond breathlessly. 

You’re far too impatient to bother being embarrassed by your apparently eagerness though Kenma flusters at your plea. He lines himself up carefully before finally pressing forward. 

You gasp at the stretch, trying your best not to tense up as he slowly forces his way inside. You can hardly remember the last time you had someone inside of you—it must have been a while before you had even met Kenma.

Just as you had suspected that night you first saw him, his girth feels thicker than average and the stretch has your toes curling. He keeps pressing until he bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and he has to physically pause to catch his breath as he adjusts to the brand-new sensation of being inside of someone.

His brain feels foggy and slow, like your pussy holds the power to make him go dumb. His length feels like it’s burning in your hot insides, soaked and massaged by your pulsating walls. 

He is positive this is one of the greatest experiences of his life.

It only gets better when you impatiently rock your hips against him, creating friction he didn’t realize he so desperately craved. You mewl needily, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and forcing him to press against you, sweaty chests smushed together.

Kenma steels himself, adjusting on hand to grip at your hip while the other supports his weight on the bed, trying not to lay his full weight on you. Torturously slowly, he pulls his hips back until his length nearly slips out only to sink back into the hilt. 

Your walls suck him harshly, threatening not to let him leave every time he partially withdraws and he’s pretty sure it's causing him to make some extremely embarrassing sounds he’ll regret later.

In contrast, you revel in the soft ‘ah’ s and sharp gasps he releases against your neck every time he thrusts inside of you. You experimentally clench around him just to hear the whine he makes in response, his hips involuntarily stuttering. 

“Ngh... feels good,” he whines into your ear. 

You moan your agreement, pressing soft kisses into his sweaty neck in encouragement. His speed steadily increases, your wetness producing a distinct squelch with each thrust. It is quickly devolving into something messy and imperfect but filled with love nonetheless. Every nerve in your body feels as if inflamed, burning you until you are no longer yourself but something new—something that is both you and Kenma. 

It is as your second orgasm is rapidly approaching and your limbs are seizing up, forcing Kenma to reach even deeper inside of you that you realize why it feels so different from the other times, why you felt so nervous before.

It’s the first time you’ve been fucked by someone you truly love. 

With a stammer of Kenma’s name, you cum. 

Your spasming walls prove too much for him and he follows quickly, thrusts losing all semblance of rhythm as he releases inside of you. You feel him deep inside, the head of his twitching cock near the entrance of your womb when he cums, filling you with warmth. Idly, you realize there’s a lot of it—likely the result of Kenma’s first time cumming inside of someone. It fills you to a brim, some of it escaping and sliding down his own spent length until it drips onto the sheets in a sticky mess. 

All strength seems to leave his body and Kenma fully collapses on top of you, head buried into your neck and chests sticking together like glue. The room is silent for several minutes aside from panting as the two of you catch your breaths. 

Kenma is surprisingly the first to speak. 

His voice sounds nervous, slightly hesitant and he refuses to make eye contact as he asks, “Was that okay?”

Every inch of his appearance screams insecure and the sight tugs at your heartstrings. You know he is worried he won’t compare to your previous boyfriends, feeling inadequate due to his own lack of experience. You quickly work to amend that. 

“It was great,” you answer honestly, offering a bright smile. 

“You’re amazing, Kenma.” 

The redness of his cheeks is almost comical but a wide smile stretches across his lips and when he meets your gaze his eyes seem to be nearly sparkling in happiness.

Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“I love you,” he whispers, voice full of adoration.

“I love you too,” you respond, curling into his side.

You nearly purr when his arms immediately snake around your waist, rolling you both onto your sides as he slips from your warmth. You’re overcome with a sense of calm, everything suddenly feeling right in the world if only for this single moment. You have never experienced this with any of your past partners; yet another piece of evidence to validate what you already know: Kenma is it for you. He’s the one. 

A thought comes to mind that has your features twisting into a sinister smirk. 

“Hey, KenKen...you really like my thigh highs, right?”

He stiffens beside you, instinctively knowing he’s in danger. 

“...I guess so,” he cautions, flinching when you coyly brush a clothed toe against one of his shins.

“Maybe for Christmas,” you continue, “I should get you a pair.”

[muffindaddystyles]

SWEET BF!HARRY HEADCANONS.

A/N: It's ramdan and that's one of the reasons, I'm not writing smut but all the damn cliches of my dreams. Hope ya'll understand :)

Bf!H pictures, sweet!H, Masterlist, ask me here

He'd be super sappy in your special moments, worse than your mum that sometimes you'd have to drag him away from the crowds to escape from embarrassment.

Would come to pick you up from work, like always, and when you're busy would entertain your co-workers and the staff of building with his charm +

It'd make everyone cooe and awe at the fact you've got such a sweet boy.

Would give up his seat for you and make funny faces down at you, standing between your legs.

Cuddles! As many cuddles as possible he could squeeze into a day.

When you'd get annoyed with your tangled headphones he'd leave everything and take them away from over your head without a word doing it for you and placing it back with a kiss on your head.

He'd totally be the boyfriend that takes care if you're layered enough in winters and that your favourite socksies are warmed up in the dryer.

He just loves, loves and loves going out with you on cute shops to try out different sakura coffees and cheesecakes.

Him watching you sleep in the wee of night and you knowing that he's admiring you but let him do it anyways + sometimes giving him a jump scare by smacking a kiss to his lips and giggling about it sleepyly.

Alone, Making instant noodles together in the middle of night and playing footsie like a 12 years old.

Your shoelace undone as you walk infront of him and he watches you for a minute before stopping you himself, squatting down to tie them back + you'd just blush as the passers by gushed over you both. 

Coming home to him making dinner for you in his cute frilly apron [We all think we're bigger than that -- but we're not :") ]

Him mimicking your moans out aloud from your previous naughty nights and it'd heat up your cheeks like no other.

You missing your girlfriends and he'd take you out to drink mimosas saying, "We can have a girls night out! We can have a girls night out!" While, slipping into his shoes excitedly and grabbing your coats in a haste.

He couldn't keep his hands to himself when you're out in public +

His love language being reassurances and physical touch makes him want you close to him everytime.

He's just so soft in bed -- so happy taking weird selfies and almost blurred pictures of sunsets from the window, with you sleeping on his tummy.

His comfy position to sleep in is with his tucked between your squishy tits +

He sleeps anywhere, it's adorable, in the most uncomfortable furnitures snoring with his mouth wide open +

Not admitting that he snores even though you record him.

The way both of you looking at eachother getting a reference to your private joke and bursting out laughing loud and everyone not knowing what's going on.

Stroking your hair and sniffing your sweet smell with his face smashed into the crook of your neck.

Clothes sharing!!! Even though your clothes wouldn't fit him but when you guys are too bored he'd try your skirts and flaunt them as if he's on runway + blowing kisses to you like those victoria secrets models.

Teasing. Loads of teasing, sitting across the couches and bantering off + making you a whining mess upon teasing you sexually till days and fucking you so good for finally.

Kisses. Soft, sloppy, slobbery, affection and passionate kisses anywhere he could manage to + kissing every inch of your body because he's too in love with you.

Sending you pictures of random objects like a guitar pic he incarved your name upon, a stick that just broke and fell at his feet while he was walking, a chewing gum sticking to his boots, pictures of fluffy kittenssss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silly texting such that;

Harry: fight me!

You: come at me, huh.

Harry: Hits you.

Harry: On your lips.

Harry: With my lips.

Harry: SOFTLY.

You: can we fight like this daily?

Harry: course lovie' next fight in 10, be ready sweet cherry ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keeping you in his lap while reading and his fingers interlocked with yours while his plush lips remain pressed to your knuckles, murmuring his words softly against your skin.

"It's too cold, come back! I'll freeze without you honey baby !!" He'd whine pulling you back under the duvet if you'll try to go for the piss.

He'd be extra gentle and caring with you on your periods, heating bottles for you, making soups and feeding it to you himself spoon by spoon since you loose appetite, going out to buy pads or tampons for you and reading the benefits of them because he's that awfully sweet.

Stargazing together, laying like starfishes on the roof and deciding the names of your future children.

Braiding your hair, "shh stop squirming pet 'm braiding your hair." You'd nip at him teasingly, "Oh. . .I see."

Playful kisses on the tip of noses, saccharine heartwarming kisses on temple, laying overlapped eachother on the couch and kissing eachother's shins and knees, inside of wrists, inside the thighs, and infinite pecking because he couldn't resist +

When you're too clingy worming up his waist kissing his neck. He'd ask you smirking, "What's this?" You'd just keep on going lapping at his skin murmuring, "Affection." His tummy rumbling with chuckles as he scrunched his nose up, "Disgusting." Then a long pause as you grumble and he'd push you back closer to make your lips touch his neck, "Do it again."

Sharing a large blanket together on cold days and rolling into a burrito with you wrapped around him like a koala.

His head looping at your shoulder with sleep and you embrace him in a hug instead letting him sleep peacefully.

Your arguments would be too funny to hear since you're besties and the fights would be over the silliest thing or your favourite football teams, "Fuck you!" You'd scream frustrated at his smugness, "Later you little shit –- " Then the war starts ending into a hot make out session on the couch.

You picking your food or candy from the floor according to the five minutes rule being very sneaky and he'd yell from the other corner, "I saw that!" +

"Oh shut up!" You'd blow him off and he'd yell back, "Make me!"

Calming and comforting him when he wakes up from bad dreams, snuggling him and showering him in kisses to assure hime you're there.

"Mine." He'd murmur against your lips out of blue while doing the most random thing.

The word that'd run shiver down your spine when he growls it out because you're being batty or too greedy to chase ecstasy while riding his thigh, "Behave."

Exchanging jewellery, he'd choose from your collections and give you one of his most precious meaningful ones (sobs) +

Stealing hoodies and he's too accustomed with it that he has his hoodies dipped in his scent, tucked into a safe drawer only for you.

Sneaking inside your changing room to steal a single glimpse of how you're looking in a certain dress/lingerie/pair of cute silk night pyjamas and doing live commentary on it.

Love eating food with you. Becoming this happy baby with rosy cheeks when you'd turn all chirpy and utterly gooey on the sight of greasy cheesy food.

Him baking for you and writing the most funniest thing on top of it that make you roll your eyes but nevertheless kiss him it.

Bringing teas from different countries he went to.

Farting and blaming some non-existent ghost in your house.

His godchildren loving you and always asking about you when you couldn't visit them for some reason.

Clumsy affection and infatuation.

"I love yous." Anytime, any moment. Everytime with same sentiment he held when he told you the first time +

You never failing to make him blush returning it with same affection, "I love you too." +

The soft warm morning I LOVE YOUS in bath robes while brushing teeth standing side by side infront of the mirror, with hair ruffled and states dishelved +

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Six / Frappe

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, kissing, pining lol. this is pretty fluffy before things become... decidedly unfluffy! oh Javi’s got dirty thoughts here too

A/N: HI! Thank you thank you @sanchosammy for the idea for this date :) and thank you to my pals for editing and reading for me!!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

iced beverage that has been shaken, blended or beaten. It is served cold, often with whipped cream and toppings.

Javier is not a man extremely accustomed to cold temperatures. Most of his life has been spent in Laredo, Texas, or Colombia, both places known for their heat. Snow is a luxury, something to get excited about. Meanwhile, in D.C., the slushy cold is all too common and annoying.

The falling snow enchants Javier. You’ve noticed this, watched the way his eyes glimmer as the dense flakes drift from the clouds to land on your head or jacket or his own hands. He brings his dark jacket sleeve close to his face to admire the unique little crystals, only to melt it with his warm breath seconds later. Javier is a stoic man, generally stone-faced and tense. The little wonder behind his eyes melts your heart.

You told him you loved him two days ago, when you sped away from that fancy bar Javier would never return to again. You meant it, you think. You look at the man and it makes your heart race, makes you melt just like a snowflake under his warmth. You love him.

You’ve always been quick to fall in love. It’s never taken long, but it’s never happened so quickly. You suppose the process was helped along by the many hours of close proximity. It reminds you of one term you’d studied so hard in Psych 101- the mere exposure effect. It’s a simple concept, one you’ve seen mirrored many times in your life and are now living: the more one is exposed to a certain stimulus (in this case, Javier), the more you like it. It’s that easy. Human beings love familiarity, and something about Javi simply feels like you’ve known him your whole life.

Javier leans against your windowsill, staring through the frosted glass. Your plants look shrunken, the cold radiating from the glass into their roots. You’ll have to change that pretty soon, but now you just admire him.

As always, his mustache is neatly trimmed. His hair is a little messy, slept in and wavy. He wears a t-shirt and jeans, slung low over his hips without a belt. You sit on your couch, curled into the corner with a blanket draped across your lap. Your head rests on the arm of the sofa as you watch him, watching the snow.

He turns and looks at you after a few moments. You smile and close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of your radiator and the blanket. He takes his turn to admire you, the way you watch him with such adoration. Between the snow and your love, he never wants to go back to Colombia. He doesn’t want to go back to the loneliness, to the endless beat downs his health and brain take from hours upon hours of work. He wants this, but this isn’t him. This isn’t who Javier Peña is, is it?

He’s a new man. He’s starting over, new job, new love life, he reminds himself. He comes and sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your temple. He can be whoever he wants, and what he wants most to become is the man you see in him. He wants to be something you love, something for you to be proud of. He wants to be better for you.

You lean against him, and he wraps both arms around you. His chest is warm and steady beneath your head, and you sigh and cuddle in closer. “Do you like the weather up here?” You ask him quietly, knowing the answer.

“I’m always hot,” he admits. “It’s nice to feel cooled down for once.”

Smiling at that, you pull your knees into your chest and fully relax against him. “I don’t want you to leave, Javi. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“We’ve got plenty of time, abejita,” he murmurs and nuzzles his face into your hair. “Three weeks or so left. Enjoy what we have now, right?”

You sigh. You’ve always been a planner, laying out the foreseeable future so that you can have something in mind, goals. Javier certainly threw a wrench in them- you didn’t expect to have someone to spend your time with, someone to be completely infatuated by. And you can’t plan what will happen when he goes back to Colombia. Will he want to put up with a long distance relationship? He’s told you about his past; he rarely went a week or less without fucking a prostitute or informant. He certainly wouldn’t want another problem on his schedule, making time for long-distance dates. And it’s a permanent job, isn’t it? He’s not coming back on a schedule. There’s too much in your head, too much fear, and it makes you bury your face into his chest. “What’s wrong?” He asks, stroking your back.

“I just… want you in my life.” You murmur, nudging your nose into his neck. “Whatever it’ll take.”

“We have time to figure that out,” he reminds you, and you sigh and give a soft nod. You just snuggle in closer and hope that his warmth and affection will take away your worries. “I do like the weather here,” he muses as he looks out at the frosty glass. “I never got snow growing up. Never in Colombia either. It’s a special thing.”

Lifting your head to look out the window, you pull the blanket tighter and rest your head on Javier’s shoulder. “I have an idea for what we can do tonight, since you like the cold.”

“Hit me.”

-

Balance is not an essential skill as a DEA agent, and therefore, Javier doesn’t have much of it. He wobbles nervously as he steps along, the blades of the ice skates holding up his feet.

“You got it,” you laugh, walking along as the blade covers press into the ground. “It’s just like wearing heels.”

“I don’t do that,” he reminds you with a frown, trying to make his way to the ice rink a few feet away.

Giggling at the way he stumbles along, you remove the guards and step onto the ice. The glide beneath your feet is familiar. You’re good on the ice, somewhat skilled at it. You do a little spin in a circle, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. “Come on. You’ll be- no, stop,” you laugh as he tries to step on the ice with the guards on his skates. “Take those off.”

Javier balances against the edge of the rink as he removes them, leaving them on a pile of them nearby. He wobbles through the entrance of the rink, finally standing on the ice. His long legs knock together and quiver at the balance. “Good,” you smile at him. “Come skate to me.”

You’re a few yards away from him, and he continues to frown, trying to take a step forward- a rookie mistake- and slipping as he puts his skate down. He catches himself on the guard rail, cursing loudly.

It’s late at night; you’re the only ones on the outdoor rink. You’re not ashamed as your laugh rings out into the dark, the floodlights illuminating the sheet of ice. “Oh my God, you really are a beginner,” you laugh, pushing off and into a peaceful glide around the oblong shape.

“No shit,” he calls out to you, standing up straight again with both hands on the edge of the rink. “This isn’t exactly my wheelhouse.”

When you stop next to him, a cascade of snow flying out from beneath your blades, you take his hand in his. “Alright. One hand on me, one hand on the rink,” you tell him, daring to push forward just slowly enough for him to have time to react.

He pushes off, mimicking what he saw you do earlier, and the two of you glide along for a moment. “There we go, now push again, a little harder,” you tell him, and you both push along in sync, sending you floating across the ice. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m concentrating,” Javier grumbles. How the hell did you rope him into this? When you’d suggested something outdoors for tonight, he’d wholeheartedly agreed, eager to spend some time in the cold. This, however, a physical activity that doesn’t end with a gunshot or an orgasm, is not something he’s used to.

You kiss his cheek and his frown lightens, instead falling into a neutral expression of focus. His eyes stay on the ice, and you cup his chin in your hand to lift his head. “Look ahead, not down. You’ll keep tripping if you keep looking down.”

He nods at your orders, trying to focus on the boards around the rink as they approach. His legs remain shaky, but he’s doing well. “There you go,” you grin at him, letting go of his hand. With the other on the boards, he does a good job, and in hardly any time, you’ve made a full lap of the rink. You stop and he does his best to do so, though he nearly flies over. Smiling, you take his face in your hands and kiss him gently. “If you don’t like this, we can be done,” you remind him as you break away, keeping your face close to his.

Javier smiles softly at you, just enough to show the little dimple in his cheek. “I’m going to figure out how to do this if it kills me.”

“It might,” you tease, patting the ass he’s already fallen on several times. “That’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” you laugh and Javier kisses you again, one hand steadying himself on the wooden boards.

Breaking away, he kisses the tip of your freezing nose before leaning back. “I learn best by watching. Why don’t you just… do a couple of laps?” He asks.

You nod and skate backwards away from him. “Sure.” You hug your jacket tight around your body as you glide across the ice, doing a few little twirls and loops. The breeze is cold, even on your legging-covered shins.

You’re graceful on the ice, the opposite of Javier. He gives a half-smile as he watches you, admiring your grace. Those damn leggings cup your ass, showing the curve and the way it moves. God, he’s always noticed you for your beauty, but this is something else.

The bulky winter coat covers your torso, but your expression is so peaceful and free as you move, your momentum pushing your hair back as wind seems to curl around you. You look astonishing. Javier wishes he brought his camera with to capture this.

“Did you tell me to do this just to stare at my ass?” You tease from across the rink, skating forwards and looking over your shoulder at him.

“Would you be mad if I said yes?”

You laugh and cut across the rink, no longer circling the perimeter but taking the quickest route to him. “Not in the slightest,” you laugh and kiss him again. His lips are addictive, making you crave his kisses more and more the longer you go in between them. “Okay, come on, hot-shot,” you say and take his hands, pulling him out onto the ice.

Dropping your hands, Javier’s arms stick out parallel to the ground, wobbling and trying to balance. He pushes a little, remembering your advice and looking up, and sighs as he lets himself slide across the ice, his feet unintentionally pointing in then out then in again. “Look at you!” You laugh proudly, skating next to his side.

When you’re next to him, Javier takes your hand and chuckles a little in amazement at the movement. It’s like riding in a car with the windows down, the air rushing past. Your hand feels warm, even despite the cold air, and it anchors him as he picks up speed and the two of you fall into a steady rhythm.

He even dares to try skating backwards at one point. He succeeds for a moment, earning an astonished laugh from you, but it ends as one would expect: on his ass. You help him up and kiss his cheek. “Want me to kiss it better?” you flirt, smiling jokingly at him.

“Mm, I’ll pass,” he shakes his head then kisses you on the lips, his hands finding your waist. The two of you stop in the middle of the rink, kissing slowly under the bright lights of the rink.

Javier leans in a little, desperate for more, but he rocks too far forward on his skates. “Fuck, fuck!” he shouts as he loses his balance and falls forward, taking you down with him as he falls onto his knees.

“Javi!” you squeal as you fall backwards, landing on your ass this time. “Goddamnit,” you laugh as you look at him, his palms pressed to the ice on either side of you in an attempt to break his fall but not to land on you. He hovers over your body, and you can’t stop giggling with the adrenaline of the moment.

Javier’s laughing too, a genuine laugh that puts lines in his face. Such genuine laughter is rare for such a serious man, and you feel warm inside with the honor that comes along with bringing that joy to him. “You know, I do, I think so.” He looks at you in confusion. “I really do love you, Javi,” you have no choice but to admit.

He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He can’t bring himself to say it back, even if he knows deep in his heart that he would mean it if he said it. He does love you, but there’s a lump in his throat that refuses to budge.

Just a second before the silence would become awkward, he brings his face to yours and kisses you, slowly. It’s sweet and longing and he forces his emotions through it, transmits them through his lips and into yours. I love you too, abejita. Really. I just… can’t say it.

It’s alright. You can tell from the way that he kisses you that this is his way of saying it back, that he feels the same flutter in his heart when your fingers lace through each others’, when he wraps his arms around you and his arms flex tight to pull you as close as he physically can.

You stay like that for a moment, kissing, Javier hovering over you on the ice. It doesn’t last too long before you break away. “Not to ruin the moment, but this is deep-freezing my ass,” you admit with a chuckle. You get up and help him up, and the two of you take one more lap around the rink before getting off the ice.

The drive home is filled with comfortable silence, Javier driving with one hand on your thigh. He knows his way to your place by now. You don’t even have to direct him. You park on the street then walk into your apartment with him, appreciating the warmth of the building.

The little nightly routine you’ve assumed works itself out. You both get into your pajamas, readying yourself for sleep. Javier’s spent two nights on the couch and he’s fully prepared for a third when you stop him in the doorway to the bathroom, a hand flat against his chest. “Sleep with me tonight, Javi. Please.”

He’s spent the entire night admiring your ass. If you sleep in the same bed, he won’t be able to take it any longer. He shakes his head. “It’s for the best that I sleep on the couch, bee.”

The words make you frown, but the nickname makes your heart tingle. He translates it from abejita to little bee when he’s lazy, and shortens it from little bee to just bee when he’s tired. Well, you suppose you’ve worn him out tonight with the ice skating. “Please,” you beg of him, fingers finding their way to the muscle protecting his heart. “Can we at least snuggle?”

Javier sighs but gives you a tired little smile. “How can I say no to that?”

You find your way to the couch together. It starts with you both sitting up, your head resting against Javier’s shoulder as you watch the late show on the TV. As you both grow more tired, Javier begins to slump to the side, and you follow him down, fully leaning against him. Then more and more until Javier lies down on his back and pulls you on top of him.

“Mm. You’re comfy,” you hum as you lie on him, head in the curve of his neck. His skin radiates warmth, and he pulls the blanket over the two of you, too sleepy to comment back. He just kisses your temple and watches the TV with half-open eyes.

A few minutes later, his breathing slows, and you can feel his breathing switch from his nose to his mouth, his warm breath on the top of your head. He’s fallen asleep. You smile as you nuzzle in closer. The couch isn’t ideal, but you’ll take any chance you can get to fall asleep with Javier.

The late show drones on in the background, then changes to infomercials that run the course of the night. Neither of you are awake to see it, too deep in a perfect sleep, nestled in each other’s arms, Javier using you as his blanket and you using him as your pillow.

-

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