#this has been in my drafts for a week haha

[softzosan]

silly little zosan wip I may or may not finish ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[panthermouthh]

And I said, “Hello, Satan

I believe it’s time to go.”

[machveil]

A reader who unintentionally lets their crush on one Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley slip out to the wrong person, and by the end of the day it’s reached his ears. In order to not die of embarassment, especially because they can barey handle his stare on a good day before all this, they decide to simply avoid him. At the very least, avoid being alone with him.

Making sure to be in common areas with others present, taking on errands to avoid it when they aren’t. It seems to be working, despite his stare that leaves their stomach in knots and their thighs clench, he leaves it at watching. He never brings it up, never seems to act any different, and after a couple weeks of exhaustive panic, they slowly start to let their guard down again, convinced it’s water under the bridge.

It’s not. Not even close.

Most assume Simon of all people wouldn’t hesitate, would know how quickly time is lost and regrets are made, especially with something they want, something they crave. But the other thing about men like Simon? For the important things, they make the time, carve it out of life itself if it means getting a taste. And outside of an immediate mission, this sits firmly, persistently, at the top of his list.

He can wait. He knows the merits of outpacing a target. Watching as they slowly exhaust all that energy jumping at shadows and sprinting from him simply sitting still.

It just makes the moment he gets to sink his teeth in all the sweeter.

-🐸

we’re jumping straight in under the cut - this has been sitting so nice and patient in my drafts

CW: fem!reader, size kink

Simon Riley is patient to a fault - standing in far corners watching you, he can see the way you avoid his hard gaze. when he heard about your crush on him he was absolutely delighted, heart tightly squeezing in his chest. he’s been eyeing you for months, silently waiting to get his hands on you

Simon Riley who likes the hunt - quietly stalking after you when you flee a room. like a wolf stalking prey, he’s content to wait for a moment to strike, to get you alone. Simon’s got the willpower to keep the desire bubbling in his gut down, the restraint to not approach you fully yet. you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for days, it’s impressed him a little admittedly

Simon Riley that finally gets you alone - the sun setting as you retire to the barracks. you nearly scream when his rough hand gently grips your shoulder. he’d come out of nowhere, his deep brown eyes boring into you, “Been dodgin’ me, sweet’art?”, oh— you’ve never heard his voice that low before, gravely and thick. it’s a whirlwind after that, suddenly you’re being guided away from your room, directed towards Simon’s, “Think we need to have a word.”, he grumbles, hand on the small of your back. all you can do is shyly nod, eyes a little wide as you look up at him

“Should’ve tol’ me you wanted this—”, mouth latching onto your shoulder, Simon’s got you face down on his mattress. his broad chest is barely hovering over you back, strong hips fucking you down against his sheets. his pace mind numbingly hard, his right hand messy with your slick from rubbing circles on your clit, “Would’ve done this— sooner.”

he’s struggling to talk, swallowing thickly when you squeeze him tightly. he had trouble nudging himself into you, cooing that he’d fit - he’d make it fit. he’s considerably larger than you, it doesn’t matter if your shorter or taller than him, his massive frame and weight alone has you sinking under him. when he finally sunk into your cunt you knew you were a goner

he had already drawn an orgasm out of you earlier, your legs spasming around his head. he’s still got your slick on his chin, biting at the crook of your neck and sucking. feral, that’s how he’s moving. your composed, familiar Simon’s replaced by a beast, moving on instinct as you cry out under him. “S’good f’me—“, he croons, pulling off your neck to watch you. he can see the patch of wetness under your face - a combination of blissed out tears and drool, and all he can think is how pretty you look for him. fucked dumb on his cock, babbling incoherently, ‘please—’s and a mantra of his name tumbling from your lips

Simon’s made up his mind, you’re never avoiding him again. while watching you squirm around base was amusing, having you writhing underneath him is so much better. he’s hissing out when you orgasm again, so tight around him he has to still for a moment, “Good girl— fuckin’ perfect.”. as soon as you melt under him he’s picking his pace up again, listening to you softly murmur through a haze of overstimulation, words he can’t make out drowned by his own gruff moans

[persephoneggsy]

I’m obsessed with Lae’zel x Gale and I recently found out you can give the githyanki egg to Lae’zel and she raises it as her own so

The hatchling, that Lae’zel names Xan, grows up with a very supportive family. His mom and dad raise him to make his own decisions and be his own man. Inspired by his mother’s battle prowess and his father’s magical aptitude, Xan becomes an Eldritch Knight with a few dips into Evocation Wizard, and he becomes a famous adventurer in his own right.

Though of course, he’s not as famous as “Xan”, the mysterious adventurer who helped his parents (and aunts and uncles) defeat the Absolute years ago, and the man for whom Xan is named. But Xan has never known him, for he disappeared shortly after the Absolute threat was defeated. All he knows is that he was a githyanki, and skilled with magic and blade in equal measure. And Gale has mentioned that “Xan the Elder” resembles him; if he hadn’t seen Lae’zel take his egg with his own eyes, he’d almost have suspected he was Xan-the-Younger’s true father.

All of this occurs to Xan-the-Younger in startling clarity when he is on an adventure and suddenly thrust back in time. He wakes up on a mind flayer ship, just like the one Uncle Wyll always described in his retellings of their old group’s adventures.

And then… he meets his mother. Several years younger and pointing a blade in his face.

Xan-the-Younger realizes he was Xan-the-Elder all along. Now he must save Faerun from the Absolute — an ordeal that, even with foreknowledge, is a difficult task (his family didn’t share EVERY detail, and even so, his memory isn't perfect and he’s forgotten a few things).

He also needs to make sure his mother grabs his egg from the crèche, while also ensuring that she turns against Vlaakith and frees Orpheus, AND that his father doesn’t blow himself up or try to ascend to godhood.

And it would be nice if he could also ensure they end up together. It’s frankly quite uncomfortable that they’ve both flirted with him.

[queer-reader-07]

the worst thing about me being a Gen Z with a Gen X father is that i routinely use Gen Z slang & internet lingo around him to the point that he's able to accurately parse what it all means. AND THEN HE GOES AND USES IT AT WORK TO IMPRESS HIS TWENTY SOMETHING COWORKERS

[drones-of-innocence]

With the Mario movie still on my brain and that reunion scene melting my heart that I now have fallen down the rabbit hole. Do you think you could you do some headcanons with Mario and Luigi with each? Their relationship is just so pure 😭😭

Sure!! I adored the bros' relationship in the movie, and I love writing about them too 🥺 Here are a few of my headcanons about them, some are well established in my writing and others I've never really mentioned. Some will be in my upcoming WIP 👀

I like to have Mario and Luigi lean into the Italian part of their Italian-American identity, so in my head they speak with more of an Italian accent than a Brooklyn accent like they do in the movie.

That being said, Mario speaks slower than Luigi and has a little more trouble with correct grammar in English, which he's a bit insecure about. Contractions in particular are hard. But in Italian, he's a much more rapid and animated speaker. Luigi is pretty clear in both languages and is very comfortable with both.

I adore Mario calling Luigi "Lu" in the film! His nickname for Luigi in my stories is "Coniglio," which means rabbit. Italians use "rabbit" the same way that English speakers use "chicken," so it's affectionately teasing Luigi for his skittish demeanor. It's a childhood nickname that just stuck.

In the same vein, Luigi's nickname for Mario is "Capo," which means boss. It reflects how Mario is the one "in charge" between them, but also it's sort of teasing because often when Mario makes decisions on their behalf, he almost always heavily considers and goes with Luigi's preference/advice, so it's like Luigi is making the decisions anyway.

They both have high anxiety, but for different reasons. Luigi is a people pleaser by nature and will do anything to mediate and keep the peace, even if it means sacrificing his agency or energy. Mario is a giver and provider by nature, and often frets about not doing enough, so he overworks himself in trying to protect/feed/care for others and doesn't really know how to stop and let himself be taken care of.

Coming to the Mushroom Kingdom had the effect of easing Luigi's anxiety; it's a less chaotic world and a (mostly) peaceful place to call home. There are rarely emotional conflicts that he feels responsible for regulating, and it's overall better for his health. His stress went down significantly despite the occasional heightened dangers. Coming to the MK unfortunately only escalates Mario's anxiety, though; now he is thrust into this protector role with an entire Kingdom relying on him for its security.

Luigi (being the more emotionally intelligent one between the two of them) clocked the exact moment that Mario fell in love with Princess Peach. He knew it before Mario did. And though he was hesitant to fully trust her at first (being that she's a gorgeous woman in a position of great power and he doesn't want his brother to get hurt), he eventually learns her nature is truly kind and gentle, which he comes to admire her dearly for. And he figures out that Peach reciprocates Mario's feelings pretty quickly, too. He leaves it unspoken, but he teases each of them with nudges and meaningful looks when the other isn't paying attention.

Mario had no idea that Luigi was in love with Princess Daisy for a while until Luigi started showing more obvious signs of a crush, but the thought occurred to him after meeting her for the first time that she would be a wonderful partner to his brother. He came to this epiphany when Daisy was able to beat him in a competition, and he was so amazed and impressed that his immediate thought was that a tough lady like her is exactly what Luigi needs. He considered her to be like a little sister even before it was ever a possibility that she might actually become his sister-in-law. It was a conversation with him that sparked Daisy's romantic affection for Luigi, listening to Mario speak so tenderly about him.

The brothers have a very playful relationship. There's banter, teasing, and sometimes even a little roughhousing. They have inside jokes within inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. Even times when they were very deeply hurt in the past, the other brother finds a way to reframe it so they're both able to look back and laugh at the things that hurt them. It's easier now that they're in the MK; Mario was beginning to lose some of his spark in Brooklyn.

The movie never specifies that the brothers are twins I don't think, though that's usually a pretty common understanding. I personally HC them as two years apart just so I can bring out that older/younger sibling dynamic a little bit more.

They are inseparable 🥺 Both of them will do anything to make sure the other is content. But both of them also can never shake the feeling that they can't possibly give the other everything he wants and deserves. Nothing Luigi does will ever be good enough for Mario in his own view, and Mario can never do enough to assure Luigi's peace and security in his view. They might never admit it, but on some level they know and try to compensate anyway.

Their tempers are scary. Both of them are extraordinarily patient and understanding even to the most frustrating people and situations, but there are limits. Mario's end point is more easily reached. Where his anger is often fiery and passionate like in the heat of a fight, his unhindered rage is sharp and cold. He speaks quietly, never raising his voice except to be heard. It's scariest when he's moved beyond words into dead silence. It is Luigi's pure rage that is loud and aggressive, but it is much harder and rarer for him to reach his boiling point.

Firebrand and Thunderhand!! Their powers manifest in many ways that they've adapted to their practical lives. It wasn't easy learning how to control them, but once mastered, they almost couldn't imagine their lives without them. Mario's Firebrand makes him a very comforting presence (exuding warmth 😌) and able to traverse many different climates without problem due to his ability to control his body's preservation or release of heat. Luigi's Thunderhand regularly halves the time spent on his various engineering projects, as well as being potentially medically useful.

Luigi doesn't quite have Mario's strength or control, but he is much more meticulous and observant. He's more likely to come across the secret passages or hidden objects that can be helpful on the journey. Mario's more likely to fixate on the objective (e.g. Rescue the Princess! Save the world!) and do whatever it takes to accomplish it as efficiently as possible due to his imperative to serve, even if it sometimes means missing some details.

The movie characterizes Mario as a kind of misunderstood visionary, and he's a bit like that in my stories as well. He has some big ideas, but his motivations are purely based in the comfort and safety of others. He just wants to help people. Luigi is the one who can really assist and realize Mario's ideas, and he often has several projects going on because of how fast Mario can jump from plan to plan.

[comfymoth]

What would a conversation between Milo and Quinn be like(I imagine them awkwardly sitting across each other lol)

it honestly depends on when exactly in the timeline you place them. pre-mall horrors? for sure, things would be a little awkward. milo was embarrassingly jealous of her friendship with leon as a teenager, so he’s still getting over that, and quinn was wildly exasperated by his Whatever it was he had with leon, so she’s still waiting to see if he’s pulled his shit together.

the thing is, though, their personalities actually do click really well! on the flip side of that jealousy, milo also really admires quinn, and she thinks he’s really funny. once they break through that initial awkwardness, they get on like a house on fire

it’s just a shame that it happens to be the mall horrors that break that ice for them

they’ll be fine though! mayhaps eventually even a little better than fine. mayhaps a little aromantic about it

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

32. say please for the WIP Ask Game

Send me an ask from my WIP List and I'll post a little snippet or tell you something about it!

This one is slightly nsfw-ish

A present from Christian may be new but the Duke is often bringing Satine all sorts of treats: new hats and gloves, shiny earrings and sparkly bracelets, stick candy and pretty baubles and silly little trinkets. But of course, such things are never freely given. No; they always, always come at a price. Presents have to be earned. Satine drops to her knees, not wanting to wait any longer. She reaches for the zipper on Christian’s pants, fumbling it in her eagerness, delighted for the opportunity to show him that she deserves to be gifted presents, to be treated with affection. That it isn’t wasted on someone like her, that she will make it worth his while.

[alitgblog]

lewie brunch date when???

--

for some reason I thought there were brunch dates in s6 but I guess not lol

[kingjasnah]

im so drunk @ spock SPOOOOOOOCK 😭😭😭

[wikiangela]

I've obsessed over many characters over the years, but tbh I don't think anyone comes close to Eddie Diaz

he has such a hold on me fr lmao

[saja-star]

I've had a hard time articulating to people just how fundamental spinning used to be in people's lives, and how eerie it is that it's vanished so entirely. It occurred to me today that it's a bit like if in the future all food was made by machine, and people forgot what farming and cooking were. Not just that they forgot how to do it; they had never heard of it.

When they use phrases like "spinning yarns" for telling stories or "heckling a performer" without understanding where they come from, I imagine a scene in the future where someone uses the phrase "stir the pot" to mean "cause a disagreement" and I say, did you know a pot used to be a container for heating food, and stirring was a way of combining different components of food together? "Wow, you're full of weird facts! How do you even know that?"

When I say I spin and people say "What, like you do exercise bikes? Is that a kind of dancing? What's drafting? What's a hackle?" it's like if I started talking about my cooking hobby and my friend asked "What's salt? Also, what's cooking?" Well, you see, there are a lot of stages to food preparation, starting with planting crops, and cooking is one of the later stages. Salt is a chemical used in cooking which mostly alters the flavor of the food but can also be used for other things, like drawing out moisture...

"Wow, that sounds so complicated. You must have done a lot of research. You're so good at cooking!" I'm really not. In the past, children started learning about cooking as early as age five ("Isn't that child labor?"), and many people cooked every day their whole lives ("Man, people worked so hard back then."). And that's just an average person, not to mention people called "chefs" who did it professionally. I go to the historic preservation center to use their stove once or twice a week, and I started learning a couple years ago. So what I know is less sophisticated than what some children could do back in the day.

"Can you make me a snickers bar?" No, that would be pretty hard. I just make sandwiches mostly. Sometimes I do scrambled eggs. "Oh, I would've thought a snickers bar would be way more basic than eggs. They seem so simple!"

Haven't you ever wondered where food comes from? I ask them. When you were a kid, did you ever pick apart the different colored bits in your food and wonder what it was made of? "No, I never really thought about it." Did you know rice balls are called that because they're made from part of a plant called rice? "Oh haha, that's so weird. I thought 'rice' was just an adjective for anything that was soft and white."

People always ask me why I took up spinning. Isn't it weird that there are things we take so much for granted that we don't even notice when they're gone? Isn't it strange that something which has been part of humanity all across the planet since the Neanderthals is being forgotten in our generation? Isn't it funny that when knowledge dies, it leaves behind a ghost, just like a person? Don't you want to commune with it?

[sleepingdeath-light]

Death Idk what you're planning but hopefully it's good 👀

Well technically it’s two requests but they’re both for one of my side blogs 😂 and they feature every character I write for on there so… at least they’ll be interesting? Hahaha ^^

[bipercabethrights]

i read your username and I thought it said bipercabeth thighs

HAHAHA I LOVE YOU

that's a new one for sure

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 NOBODY ELSE // JJK

genre: fwb, fuck buddies😼

note: guys i just want jungkook.. this has been sitting in my drafts for way too long haha sorry for spelling mistakes or anything i got too lazy to proofread it lol! enjoy tho💕

word count: 4.3k

being invited by jungkook’s mother for a dinner was normal for you and your family. you and jungkook grew up being neighbors, attend to the same high school and college later on — which he dropped out of.

it wasn’t because he’s dumb, he’s nowhere near that. he got bored, tired. his mother didn’t like the news when he told her, but she didn’t have a choice, other than to support his dream. jungkook always wished to be a singer.

some of his closest friends joked about it and laughed at the idea of jungkook being a worldwide celebrity. we could say that affected him a lot, he felt zero support from both sides: family & friends. he would often spend his days in his house, sitting on a particular part of his couch.

maybe you know him too well, you know that when he’s writing a song he would get a glass of beer, place it carefully on his coffee table, get his black notebook with his pen that he would click continuously when he’s deep in thoughts.

you know he would knee on the soft mattress beneath him, sitting on his feet like a cutie, focus on the lyrics with his big doe eyes.

you also know he would obviously play with his lip piercing, licking it, turning his tongue around it and what not. oh what that tongue can do.

the amount of times he had eaten you out on his couch, — on that spot of the couch — you wouldn’t even be able to count on your ten fingers. your friendship with him was different.

different, because you support him and understand him in a way nobody else had yet. but different because he fucks you, like crazy. he had fucked you in every way possible. fast, rough, deep, gentle, slow, anal. the last one was just once, though.

it all started at your birthday party, when you turned 25. you got wasted, he got tipsy, he knew about his whereabouts unlike you. he knew what was going on when he fucked you first, but what was he supposed to do when a woman like you, was literally begging to fuck you.

he felt guilty, he felt like he took advantage of the alcohol in your system. but when you woke up in the morning, with jungkook next to you, cuddled up, you didn’t freak out. you knew what happened, and you didn’t regret it. nor did he.

you know it shouldn’t be right, that it shouldn’t feel that good to get fucked by your best friend but god, you can’t help it. he admitted it, he finds you attractive. you find him it too.

but you both talked it out, no feelings. he told you he’d never want anything else from you other than your friendship and pussy.

and now, you’re sitting at the dining table with jungkook in front of you, his mother next to him and his father at the end. your mother on the other end as your father is next to you.

it’s normal, the atmosphere was comfortable and funny. the adults discussing work related stuff, your and his mother had already gossiped about someone else too.

it was a perfect night, except that jungkook hasn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire dinner, except when he got asked a question. you scolded him, non verbally with your eyes.

he’s a jerk. he just fucked you the night before, not on his couch this time though. it was in his kitchen, where he got too turned on by seeing you cut a cucumber. yes, a dang cucumber.

“so ___, i heard you finished college.” his mother spoke to you, your gaze turned to her and you smiled. “oh yes, last week actually.”

“what major were you in?” his father joined in. “psychology.” your mother interrupted and reached over to rub your back, feeling extremely proud of her daughter. you smiled, “i’m thinking about going back, i’ve been researching a lot on nursing lately.”

your eyes stopped on jungkook once again. he’s leaned back in the chair, one arm resting on the back of his mother’s chair, the other resting on his thigh. his chin is slightly lifted, looking at you as he plays with his lip piercing. fuck.

the parents continued the conversation, telling different stories about nurses as that came up. jungkook leans back to the table, resting his chin with his hands, elbows on the table.

he stares at you, not uttering a single word. you give him a small frown, not too noticeable. his eyes drop to your neck, then your chest or atleast what only was visible, then back to your eyes. you chuckled and shook your head in disbelief, he’s seriously thinking of sex right now.

you’ve tried to keep your ‘let’s fuck’ relationship with jungkook private, not going around and telling every second person that ‘hey i fuck my best friend!’. the only person who might know that you and him slept together is one of your friends from college, she saw you and jungkook that one night. the first night.

she hasn’t asked about it though, thankfully. it’s not like it was her business, so she dropped it. you knew he wouldn’t try anything with you in public, especially not in front of your parents. so that’s why it caught you off guard when you felt his leg touch yours, slightly nudging it.

you cleared your throat as you jumped a little from the surprise, a smirk on his lips as he stared at your flustered form. you cussed him out in your head, ‘fuck you’ you mouthed and he just raised a brow at that.

you rolled your eyes as you realized he wouldn’t mind that, his eyes still devouring the sight of you, almost fucking you with his eyes at this point. you don’t even wanna know what he’s thinking about at the moment.

“jungkookie, have you found yourself a girlfriend?” your mother asked, catching his attention. he fixed his posture and shook his head, “no, i’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”

“he’s such a liar!” his mother pointed at him, “i know he’s seeing someone.” she said and took a sip of her wine. “am i?” he raised his eyebrow, his voice laced with confusion. “deny it all you want, but i found a lipstick in your pocket when you came home.”

his expression changed, his eyes somewhat turned nervous, scared even. you stared at him with a small smirk, taking a sip of your soda. he glanced at you, “must’ve been ___’s.” he chuckled and shook his head.

“and why would her lipstick be in your pocket?” his mother asked, obviously she didn’t believe him. “we came here together, i believe she put it there so she could use it if her makeup gets smudged.” he shrugged.

he was right, that was in fact the reason you put it there. “oh yeah, it’s mine.” you said, a small smile appearing on your lips. his mother nodded and with that the conversation was over. thank god.

as everyone finished eating, your and his mother disappeared into the kitchen, your fathers went outside to have a beer while ‘man talking’ or however they called it. leaving you and jungkook alone.

“you wanna die?” you scolded him, your voice was quiet not to get caught. “i swear junkook, i’ll choke you.” he grinned and rested his head on his hands, smiling at you like a child. “what?” you asked.

“choke me? is that your new kink?” he teased, his foot finding yours again under the table. you clicked your tongue and crossed your arms, “do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

“nope. impossible when you’re around me, babe.” there he goes again, he always somehow finds a way to get you hot. he just knows what to say every time. “you’re unbelievable.” you can’t help but to smile with a shake of your head.

“what? you’re acting like you didn’t just strip me off with your eyes.” he teased and you gasped, “i did not-“ you stuttered, you got caught. “you’re the one to speak.” you argued back.

“i’m not denying it, i did wish to rip that pretty blouse off you.”

“i dare you, it was expensive. the only thing ripping will be your balls when i beat you up.” he scoffed at your words. “c’mon, you wouldn’t do that.”

“you think so?” you raised an eyebrow and he hummed in response. “how would i fuck you without balls?” again, he just knows what to say to drive you crazy.

“touché.” you mumbled and raised your glass to take a sip again.

✩•.𖣠°˙★

the evening came to an end as you both bid goodbye to your parents, you thanked his mother for the delicious meal. he offered to take you home and you agreed, assuming you’d end up at his place anyways. but your parents didn’t have to know about that.

and it happened just like that, the moment you stepped in his home you were pushed to the wall with force. you gasped, jungkook didn’t leave a single second for you to react as he attacked your lips, kissing you.

he held your face in place by your cheeks, your small reticule dropped from your hand as you hugged him close, kissing him back with just as much force and desperation as he did.

his right hand went to grab your ass, then holding your thigh as you lifted it up. he immediately pushed himself closer to you, grinding his growing erection against you.

not wanting to fuck you right at the front door, he dragged you to his living room, pushing you on the couch. he grinned at you and he dropped to his knees, the loud thud must have been hurtful, but he didn’t waste a single second.

he eagerly gripped the hem of your jeans, undoing it and pulling it off you, lifting your hips to help him. “hm, good.” he praised you for that small action of yours, his voice enough to create an ocean in your panties.

he touched your knees and thighs, caressing your skin while he leaned in to plant kisses on your inner thigh. he pulled you a little down, holding your legs tightly and he spread them. “don’t close.” he demanded, his voice hoarse and it sent you shivers down your spine.

you gasped once again when you felt him kiss you on your panties, he pulled away to take off his black turtleneck sweater but went right back in, pulling off your panties in a second.

the cold air hit your core immediately, but soon replaced by the heat coming from his body. he licked a stripe down your pussy, getting a hum out of you at the familiar feeling of his mouth working on you.

your mouth fell agape when he sucked on your clit, your hands finding their way to his black hair, getting a great hold of them. he groaned at your action, he knows you like to get a hold of his hair, so he hasn’t cut it in some months now.

he pulled away, you almost whined about him stopping but then he spread your folds with his fingers, spreading your wetness on his digits. he glanced up at you when he brought them to his lips, licking them.

he hummed, “love it.” he said, his voice a low growl. one of his hand rests on your thigh, gripping it softly. the other goes to your core again, inserting his finger in you. his head goes back down, disappearing between your legs once again as he starts sucking again, his finger pumping into you.

your back arched, unintentionally. “oh, fuck,” your breath hitched, he smirked against you. he added another of his long digits, curling them inside you, he pulled away as he stared into your eyes, then his gaze dropped to his hand working on you.

he groaned at the sight, he’s slept with girls before you, it was obvious he was experienced, but he could swear on his life your pussy was the prettiest he has ever seen in his whole life.

“so pretty,” his voice was teasing and you gasped his name, pulling his head up. “shut up,” your voice was a low murmur and he raised an eyebrow at your sass.

“what? can’t i call what’s mine pretty?” he chuckled and shook his head, secretly adding a third finger. “i don’t want your fingers,” you whined, your hips moving on their own. “i need to get you stretched, babe.” he grinned and he continued, his three fingers now going in a slower pace.

“no,” you stopped his hand, “i’m okay, just-“ you licked your lips, his gaze dropping to them. “shit, just fuck me already.” your voice was more like a whisper, full of need. “you’re tight, i don’t want to hurt you.” he argued back, but his fingers were already out of you as he wiped them in his jeans.

you sat up straight on the couch, closing your legs. “c’mon, you fucked me enough already. i can take you,” he couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh and he nodded, “love that you speak your mind.”

with that said, he got up from the floor and leaned down to kiss your forehead, “i’ll be back,” that one small action of his is why you trust him, how you know that he is the right guy to be fuck buddies with.

he can be rough during sex, there’s no doubt in that, but you had experienced gentle sex too with him. roughness isn’t always necessary to get rid of the sexual frustration, and maybe, maybeeeee, you like it more when he’s gentle with you.

you like it more when his body is pressed against yours, slowly moving with the rhythm of his deep thrusts, you love it when he goes to hold your hand, either above your head or next to you, it doesn’t matter. you love it when he stares in your eyes with every thrust. unlike during rough sex, when his eyes are either closed or focused on your tits.

soon he comes back, a pack of condom with him, some tissues and a towel. “what’s the towel for?” you ask, he never brought one before. he smiled at that and when he got to you, he plopped down on the couch. “just in case.” he shrugged but you felt suspicious, he was up to something.

he put everything aside and leaned in, crashing his lips on yours once again. “how do you want it?” he asked when he pulled away, but he still managed to give a soft peck on your nose.

you frowned because he usually wasn’t like this, wasn’t so affectionate. sure, in other ways he was, especially after sex. he always takes care of you, but he never just pecks you in random places and asks how you want it.

“however you want me.” you shrugged. “you’re up to something, you’re suspicious.” you narrowed your eyes at him and he grinned. “suspicious?” he asked as he started to unbutton your blouse. you hummed and leaned back, letting him do it.

“i’m not suspicious.” he said and kissed the skin just above your breasts, he pulled the clothing off your shoulders when he finished with all the buttons, leaving you in your bra.

“you’re very detailed tonight, aren’t you?” you sighed and reached behind, undoing your bra with a smooth move. “detailed?” he frowned and reached to his belt, unbuckling it.

you hummed and reached to unzip his jeans, with a lift of his hips you pulled it down, his dick begging to be freed from his white underwear. you could feel yourself throb by just the thought of having sex with him again, when in fact you just did it yesterday too.

“it don’t bite.” jungkook chuckled when he saw you were just staring, god, almost drooling at this point. you rolled your eyes, holding the hem of the underwear. you pulled it off, his dick sprang free.

you could let anyone call you stupid, you don’t care but for sure you know that jungkook’s dick is pretty. of course it would be, that whole man is a god. he sighed in pleasure when you wrapped your fingers around him, his head thrown back.

you started off slowly, stroking him with smooth, unrushed moves as you watched his face. his eyes closed, mouth open and eyebrows knitted together. soon you picked up your pace, earning low groans and sometimes even moans from him.

you started to kiss his neck, nibbling on his soft skin. he cursed, it was his favorite when you kissed his body. his breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with every breath he took.

“shit, ___.” he uttered a low groan, “don’t stop, oh- please..” you hummed at his begging, jerking him off as fast as you could. he was close, you know well enough to see when he has an orgasm.

you see the way his thighs occasionally stiff, his grip on the pillow that reached his hand first is tight. and then you see his eyes staring down at you, sometimes rolling back and closing, then opening them again. you see how his mouth is agape, his low groans turning into soft moans and cries, his brows crashed together on his forehead.

he was just straight up mesmerizing. sometimes you felt like the luckiest woman on earth that you could capture him in this state. which he was in because of you, nobody else.

“please plea-“ his voice cracked, ending it with a louder moan as he reached his orgasm, spilling his white juice on your hand. you didn’t stop there, you slowed down your pace, but you just couldn’t stop.

he hissed when he started to feel sensitive, bringing his head straight back up from the backrest to look at you. “___, don’t,” he whined. you cupped his chin, pressing a soft, feather-light kiss on his rosy lips.

he lazily responded to it, barely moving his lips. he brought his hand on yours, stopping you from jerking him. you pulled away, “just give me a second, babe,” his voice came out hoarse, your heart skipped a beat and your pussy throbbed by the nickname.

he licked his lips, clearing his voice. “you still with me?” you smiled, your hand reaching to his hair, gently pulling a few strands of them. he scoffed and fixed his posture, his hand grabbing your thigh.

“you gotta do more than just a handjob to lose me.”

“more? i can do more.” you mumbled, your face already in his neck, kissing his skin once again.

“i know you can,” his hand went from your thigh to your hip, helping you straddle his lap. you both moved naturally, riding him is definitely in your top 3 positions.

you quickly handed him a condom from the box which he put on in a second and just like every time, your arms went around his neck, grabbing onto his shoulder while he hugged your body close to his with one of his arms, the other hand holding his cock, he carefully entered, stretching you good like he always does.

he sighed in content, enjoying your warm walls clenching around him. you hummed, letting yourself down completely on him, only to go back up, then to smash back down.

his hands grabbed your ass while you did that, helping you keep the steady rhythm. his head was now thrown back once again, you watched his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed, his mouth fell open.

you kissed his neck again, wherever you could reach. for some reason, it was your favorite spot to kiss, under his jaw, behind and under his ear, just right above his collarbone, you loved it.

oh how much he loved it too, your kisses were always wet but never to the point to leave his skin covered in saliva. you were always so gentle with him, maybe that’s what he loved the most.

he had been with a few girls before who would stupidly and harshly just bite down on his skin, leaving ugly marks all over his neck and shoulders, but with you, never. it could be to just avoid any attention by giving him hickies, or it could be because you found it too intimate, too romantic.

whatever the reason was, he knew he sometimes wished, maybe even prayed that this time you would mark him, even if it’s the smallest spot on his skin. of course, he would never tell you to do that, though. marking really does feel too intimate, and he was afraid he would cross a line with you.

he realized what he was missing out on, so he held his head up, looking at you move. your breasts moved just enough to catch his eyes. his fingers dug in your asscheeks as your own hands explored his body, from caressing his chest, then slightly brushing your fingers over his nipples, down to his ribs, and to his abs.

he felt you slowing down, “s’okay, take a break,” he whispered and you did so, stopping your movements. your chest was rising rapidly, sweat forming on both of your foreheads.

he softly pecked your cheek, lifting you up by your ass just enough so he can start pushing upwards into you. he didn’t rush anything, going slowly at a comfortable pace. “you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours.

you sighed, giving him a nod but he shook his head. “words,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your skin just above your breasts.

“i’m okay,”

he groaned when you clenched around him, he felt himself slowly slipping down on the couch with each thrust he made, so he held you tightly, switching positions.

he made you lay down on your back, your legs wrapped around his waist without slipping out of you. he picked up a slow pace at first, his hands roaming around your body, mostly your sides.

you held his hand, “stop,” you whined, your sides are hella ticklish. “hm? what? can’t handle a little caressing?” he teased, moving his hand so slightly over your skin you got goosebumps.

you tried to push his hand away but you failed, his touches made you giggle and he smiled, glad he could still have moments like this with you in the middle of literally fucking.

all of that stopped when he suddenly smashed himself deep into you, a little harder than he did before. you couldn’t help but to moan, he straightened his posture and he spread your legs, holding your knees.

just like when you were riding him, your breasts bounced again, drawing the attention on them. he picked up the speed of his thrusts, sweat dropping from his forehead, down to his chest where it slowly dripped down his body.

“so a nurse, huh?” he suddenly said, referring to the conversation you had at the dinner. “would love to fuck this pussy in a nursing costume.” a low moan left his mouth when you clenched around him, “ya like that?” he laughed. “you want it too, yeah?”

“shut up- oh my!” your mouth fell agape in pleasure when you felt a finger pressing down on your clit, moving in every way possible. up and down, side to side, making circles. he wasn’t too rough, he knew it was one of your most sensitive parts of your body.

the top of his thighs slapped against the back of yours with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping on each other got mixed with the noise of your wet folds taking his dick, the couch slightly creaking along with heavy breathing and occasional quiet moans, whines.

you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the familiar feeling already in your stomach. you felt like you were going to explode, your eyes shut tightly as you bite down on your lip, your body ready to let go.

after a few more of his thrusts you let go, but oh! turns out it wasn’t just your usual orgasm, no, you squirted under him. he pulled out, watching your body shake and then slowly relax. “fuck,” you breathed heavily, you could have sworn you saw stars.

“did i s-“

“yes. you squirted.” he said, like that was something casual. you thought it was over, that he was done but then he did the unexpected, he pushed back in. “just a little- longer,” his words came out in gasps, pounding into you to reach his own climax too.

you whined, you felt extremely sensitive and it was slowly turning to be the opposite of pleasure, “i know, just a little more,” his voice was soft, he knew it was too much but he needed that orgasm.

then, his thrusts suddenly stopped, staying still inside you as he filled the condom, a low groan leaving his lips. he licked them, feeling like his mouth just turned drier than a desert. he pulled out and leaned down to peck your lips, “you did good,” he whispered.

you hummed, your fingers already touching your core, the wetness surprising you. “dang..” you both chuckled, you sat up and looked down, feeling uncomfortable. there was a wet spot on the towel under you, “you bitch, that’s why you needed the towel.” you shook your head in disbelief, “scared i’ll stain your sofa?”

he smiled and tilted his head, resting his ass on his heels. “actually, yes. you know it was expensive.”

“then, maybe you shouldn’t fuck me on it?”

he chuckled, “maybe, but i don’t care. you’re worth it all.”