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chryblossomjjk · 2 years

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practice | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | college au, fwb, smut

⇢ WC: 8.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: mentions of bad sexual experiences, nickname you guys might find cringey (sorry babes), praise, a little degradation, a little manhandling, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, very brief mentions of anal play, brief mentions of sex toys and masturbation, spitting, titty sucking, protected sex (hes a hoe but not a dummy), jk is kinda a himbo (scratch that last side note), jk running through twice members lmao sorry girlies, pining, maybe unrequited love, maybe not, ill let u decide, oc is in denial in the beginning, oc has that lemon water coochie!!, daddy kink + daddy kink slander (not seriously!), slight corruption kink

⇢ SUMMARY: you usually spend friday nights on your own. tonight, however, your friend and campus fuckboy, jungkook, decides to pay you a visit.

⇢ NOTES: hi friends!! i’m back with my second fic!! i posted this last night but miss ting had a bad case of the typos rip. so I had it beta'd by @kookstempo pls go give her love >:((( ! i found the smut a little easier to write this time. still not that good lol but not as mentally taxing! oc is totally definitely not a little bit of a projection of me haha thisficwassexuallycathartictowrite i hope you guys like it! i would love to know your thoughts! also would be v cool if you checked out my masterlist. love u bye!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s 10 p.m. on a Friday.

The night of the week that lures college students out of their suffocating dorm rooms with the promise of parties and alcohol. After days of classes, hours of studying, and minutes of sleep, most people your age spend their weekends unwinding, hopping from frat house to frat house.

One of the many perks of living on campus is the social life. Being surrounded by young adults is exciting. It also means that everyone is horny. Ravenously so. Seriously. Anything with a hole or phallic-shaped appendage is a prime candidate for getting fucked.

Anything and everyone, except you.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t get fucked, per se. Although abundant, your options were limited. Given the environment, it was difficult to find a guy you actually felt comfortable with. He didn’t have to be in love with you, but he did have to respect you if he wanted to get anywhere near your sugar walls. With that being said, it was slim pickings.

You coped well, for the most part. But it was hard to shake the lonely feelings that bubbled in your chest from time to time. And the feral ones. Nothing a quick rub from your petite, manicured fingers couldn’t satisfy, you suppose…

Besides, all men do is disappoint you. The only two sexual partners you’ve had thus far were subpar, to say the least. Greedy. Disgusting. Selfish. Not an ounce of concern for your pleasure. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you’ve never orgasmed from sex. Not even close. That left a sour, lemony taste in your mouth. Ever since then, your pussy was on hiatus, locked away in the highest room of the tallest tower, until a worthy knight came to save it from this tortuous dry spell.

You sigh, peeling the honey-drenched sheet mask off your face and tossing it into the trash with vigor. You eye yourself in the mirror with a scowl. Fluffy, freshly plucked brows knit together as you examine your appearance. You’re wearing a cropped white tank top, nipples poking through the little animated cherubs printed on the front. The baby pink Sailor Moon pajama shorts on your thighs left little to the imagination. White kitty ears headband keeping those annoying baby hairs out of your face.

You’re cute, right?

Atleast you tried to look cute.

Your roommate, Mina, was visiting family for the weekend, leaving you the dorm to yourself. Without your extraverted lifeline, you decided it was the perfect opportunity to stay in and pamper yourself.

You’ve already waxed your body, head to toe, with that expensive sugaring wax Mina begged you not to get. ‘It was worth it,’ you thought to yourself when you had spread your peach-scented lotion on the smooth canvas of your legs after the shower.

You even gave yourself a facial. Extractions and all. Much cooler and more productive than partying and getting laid.

You take your headband off, ruffling your thick hair until it falls into place. You reach for your candy-flavored Laneige lip mask, spreading it across your plump pout with your middle finger. Another overpriced purchase.

You exit the bathroom, shuffling towards your twin-sized bed and then falling face first into the plush, ivory duvet. So comfy. It wasn’t even midnight and you were ready to hit the hay.

You had planned to study a bit before knocking out, but the warm shower left you sleepy. Plus, the past week has been hell. Two papers and an impromptu quiz from your least favorite professor. You were a good student. A great one, even. But you were an overachiever to the core, and still found yourself stressing over assignments you knew you aced.

You let out a small yawn, squinting at the brightness around you. Along the wall beside your bed were vine garlands, embellished with little fairy lights and pink roses. They were such a pain in the ass to put up. It took you and Mina nearly three hours, and a mental breakdown on your behalf, to stick them against the drywall in the right position. High maintenance, but cute, nonetheless. Kinda like you.

The lights dim as your mind turns hazy, eventually turning into a silent black as sleep clouds your vision. Sweet, blissful sleep. You were teetering into the REM phase when-

Knock. Knock.

The booming noise startles you awake, rattling the brittle wood of your cheaply built door. The wall hangings flutter in its wake.

Maybe you were being dramatic. The knocks were actually soft and melodic. Almost cheerful as they followed the rhythm of a made-up song. But you were pissed. Even the most heavenly sound would ring demonic and evil in your ears at the moment.

You shove yourself off of your bed with an exaggerated groan, stomping towards the door and yanking it open, fully prepared to yell at whoever was behind it.

Jeon Jungkook.

His expression is blank, doe-eyes widening as he takes in your expression. Your body language radiates hostility and violence. The silver barbell glimmers as his thick, dark brows twitch in confusion. He blinks before opening his mouth. “Hey,” he utters hastily.

Under different circumstances, you would be ecstatic.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jungkook?”

“Woah, someone’s cranky,” he laughs hesitantly. “I was bored. Figured you were, too. Mina is gone, right?”

“Are you drunk or something?”

“What- no,” his plump lips form a pout, the matching silver ring on the bottom corner shining as well.

You sneer at him, pupils darting over his outfit. Oversized gray hoodie, white t-shirt peeking from the unzipped portion at the top. Gray sweatpants. Your gaze lingers on the tight pull of the material in the front. He doesn’t seem drunk, and he isn’t dressed in his usual party attire.

“I just want to hang out with you. Why are you acting so sus?”

You roll your eyes, doing everything in your power to exaggerate your irritation. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, come on, Bambi. Don’t be like that.”

Bambi.

That stupid nickname.

You and Jungkook had met at a party after you were peer pressured into a game of beer pong. The super boisterous, super attractive stranger ended up being your partner by default.

"What do you mean you’ve never played before?" He questioned you, voice laced with devastation when he realized you were about to cost him his undefeated streak.

Despite Jungkook’s best efforts, Mina and her boyfriend, Taehyung, mopped the floor with you.

"You know what, I like you. You’re a little bitchy but-,” he slurred at the end of the night, helping you gather the discarded solo cups, "Also innocent. Kinda like a baby deer. What the fuck was that movie?"

You answered him curtly with a scowl.

"Bambi! Right… I can’t wait to ruin you." He was so wasted that night he ended up vomiting off of the second-floor balcony and onto the class president’s Honda Civic. Not drunk enough to forget the awfully humiliating, yet adorable nickname he had bestowed you.

“Give me one good reason why I should let you in.”

“I have pancakes,” he beams with pride, bunny teeth peeking out. He raises both arms, showing you the crinkled takeout bags in his hands. “Chocolate chip-”

“That’s disgusting,” you scoff.

“And blueberry,” he retorts with a squint. “Please? I won’t be annoying, I promise.”

You let out a contemplative noise. It wasn’t what you had planned for the night, but you guess company wouldn’t hurt. Especially his company.

If only you could mute your evil brain.

“I thought you had plans with whatsherface,” you question, stepping aside to let Jungkook enter your room.

He kicks his slides off at the door, something you’ve drilled into his head with violent words and empty threats. You remember him texting the groupchat a screenshot of his calendar, tonight being marked ‘PUSSY APPOINTMENT’ with the woozy face emoji next to it. The same one that was inked on his middle finger; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Tonight was one of many slots in his month with the exact same title. That picture was deleted from your phone as soon as you received it.

“Sana,” he corrects, face unimpressed like he expected you to keep a mental catalog of all his flavors of the week.

You did. Every time a new name was added to the roster, your heart sank. You would never admit it though.

“I did, but I guess she has a boyfriend now or some shit?” He plops down onto the baby pink area rug beside your bed, immediately digging through the takeout bags.

“How dare she?” You gasp sarcastically, taking the styrofoam container that he held up for you and sitting criss-cross on your bed.

“I know, right? That’s what I’m saying,” he laughs, opening a syrup packet and pouring it over his pancakes.

You cringe, foreseeing a sticky, impossible to clean mess all over your floor. “Please don’t fuck up my rug, Jungkook.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles halfheartedly, bringing the pad of his thumb to his mouth. The tip of his tongue pokes out to kitten lick at the sugary liquid before wrapping his plump, pink lips around it.

He sucks gently and then pulls off with a tiny smooch.

Wow.

Are you really that far gone? There was no denying that Jungkook was attractive. But were you really that touch starved that you were drooling over every minuscule, minute movement he made?

“Maybe she was sick of you stringing her along,” you comment, trying to cover up the fact that you were totally just gawking at him.

“Nah,” he murmurs through chubby cheeks, mouth full of pancake. “She knew it was just sex.”

“Did she though? What about Dahyun?”

“Well aware.”

“Jihyo?”

“Yep.”

“Nayeon?”

“Are you slut-shaming me?” He points his plastic fork at you, bringing the opposite hand to his chest in feigned offense. “Because I feel very attacked right now.”

You playfully nudge his shoulder with your thigh-high sock-clad foot, deciding to drop the subject. To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. Jungkook had a reputation on campus. Every girl who involved themselves with him knew what the outcome would be. He was very blunt about his desires and disinterests. Sex being the prior. Commitment being the latter.

But you suppose remaining detached was easier said than done. Something about him was… magnetic. He was bold, yet soft. Obnoxious, but endearing. A sweet talker for sure. And easily the freest person you’ve ever known. Add sex into the equation, and it must be nearly impossible not to fall in love with him…

Hm. That’s enough thinking for the night.

You need background noise to keep intrusive thoughts at bay. He peeps an ‘I don’t care’ when you ask him what he wants to watch. You take it upon yourself. Sailor Moon it is.

The pancakes keep him preoccupied for a while. You glance down at him every now and then. His eyes sparkle as he watches the cartoon on your phone screen. There’s a little speck of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. His tongue makes an encore appearance, licking it away before fidgeting with his lip. How sinful.

He starts getting squirmy about halfway through the episode. Antsy hands pull at the strings on the border of the carpet below him. Every now and then he draws a shape and erases it. One of the shapes is a penis, something you’d see on the back of a middle school textbook.

He scoots with a sigh, pressing his spine against the edge of your bed, and then bending his head back. Fluffy dark strands tickle your legs as he peers up at you. “Can you play with my hair?”

“Why would I do that?” You huff, hot and bothered by the sudden contact.

“It helps me stay still. Please?”

“Oh, um- okay,” you oblige, gulping like you’ve dry swallowed a huge pill. You cautiously card your digits through his hair. It’s so soft and healthy.

He purrs and closes his eyes.

He's silent once again, enjoying your touch, even pushing into it a bit. Very cat-like.

That lasts for about three minutes. His inability to not speak every single thought that enters the void of his mind takes over.

‘I just realized they’re all named after planets.’

‘Wait, the moon isn’t a planet, is it?’

‘Why are they dressed so sexy to fight space monsters?’

“Jungkook, shut up!”

“But I’m bored,” he whines. “Is this really how you spend your Friday nights?”

“Excuse me, I’d like to see you take STEM classes for a week and then tell me how you feel,” you contend, leaning over to grab your phone off the nightstand. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on your nipples. It makes your palms clammy. “Sometimes, it’s nice to just chill.”

“You don’t masturbate?” He asks calmly as if he had just inquired about the weather.

You give him an exasperated look.

“What? That’s how I destress,” he continues, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t you have a vibrator?”

“I- no! Why are you asking all these questions?” You shriek, absolutely mortified.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” He lifts his head off of your lap, craning his neck so you can see his appalled expression, your answer leaving him equally as mortified. “Damn, that’s wild,” he tuts in disapproval.

“I would rather not have to smuggle a sex toy into my dorm room, Jungkook,” you retort.

“You can borrow mine,” he smirks, turning his body to face you, obviously relishing in the reactions he’s pulling out of you. “It’s a Hitachi. It’s really strong too, like, most girls don’t even last five minutes.”

“Why do you have- you know what, nevermind actually!” You clench your eyes shut, poking your fingers into your ears and shaking your head dramatically. Your reaction is mostly out of embarrassment and partly because the thought of him pleasing women who aren’t you hurts for whatever reason. “I’m done with this discussion!”

“Seriously?” He wheezes, thoroughly enjoying your tantrum. He wraps his long, nimble fingers around your wrists, pulling your hands away. Your skin burns under the touch. “I want to get to know you more.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to know-,” you rip out of his grasp, flailing your hands around in circular motions, “-those things.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” he frowns.

“About?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, um...” you look around the room nervously, searching for the right thing to say. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black. What’s your favorite position?”

“Jungkook!”

“I think missionary is my favorite. Very underrated,” he says, tapping his chin like it’s an answer only an intellectual would’ve given. “The kind where her legs are pushed alllll the way back,” he emphasizes the ‘all’ by balling his hands into fists and lifting them up by his head, showing you exactly where he likes them. “You hit the g-spot perfectly that way.”

You level him with a scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Unamusement written all over.

“Why are you so mad?” He laughs. “What? You’re embarrassed to talk about sex?”

A pause.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“Jungkook, no…” you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration. “I’m just not like you, okay? I don’t like sex as much as you and everybody else on this fucking campus does!”

He hesitates for a moment as he processes your sudden outburst. The first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless. You can picture the cogs turning in that thick skull of his.

He inhales sharply, eyebrows raising up to his hairline as if something clicked. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, cute dimple peeping out from the pull. His head drops as he huffs out a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Jeon?”

“Ah, I see now.”

“See what?” You groan, bothered by his vagueness.

“Here's what I think, Bambi,” he mumbles in a low tone, sitting up from his spot on the floor so his gaze is aligned with yours. His palms are on either of your crossed legs, fingers curling into your white blanket. Forcing you to make eye contact with him- his pupils are black, nothing like the soft brown you’re accustomed to. “You’re so uptight because you haven’t had sex in a while- good sex, at least.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You say nothing.

“The guys you fuck don’t know how to treat you, am I right? They can’t make you cum?”

Crickets.

Your lack of response tells him the answer.

When you do speak, your words come out shaky. “Well, what makes you any different?”

He shuffles closer, knocking his forehead right against yours, invading your space. He’s so close that you feel claustrophobic. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“I always make the girl cum.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hums through curled lips as he nods, silver hoops swaying at the motion, nose brushing against yours. “More than once.”

His dilated pupils scan over your body, pausing at your chest for a moment, and then continuing their descent. A hand slides up your bare thigh, the warm touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He grabs the hem of your shorts between his index and middle fingers, tugging gently. “These are cute.” He licks his lips, making them pink and glossy, like he’s ready to eat you. “I’d like them better somewhere else though.”

“Jungkook…”

And then he's kissing you.

It’s soft, like he’s afraid to scare you away by putting too much pressure into it. Little does he know you’ve been thinking about this for a while.

All your protesting and fighting up until this point was futile. Your hands unconsciously make their way to his cheeks. You swear you feel him smirking. It’s like he can read your mind, knowing exactly how bad you’ve wanted this.

He prods his tongue against your bottom lip, urging you to let him in. You do. He wraps an arm around your waist and guides you down, hovering over you.

“You taste like candy,” he whispers against your lips, hot and needy. Take that, Mina. A sneaky hand cups you through your shorts, right where he knows your clit is. The thin material does nothing to conceal how wet you are. “Do you taste like candy here too? Can I try?”

You’re anxious, but you can’t stop. Not when he’s so enticing. Not when the rumors of his sexual prowess are swimming around in your mind. Jungkook could ask anything of you and you’d gladly obey. You give him a small nod.

“Don’t be nervous,” he teases through an airy laugh, breath fanning across your face. It smells like chocolate and syrup. He turns his head and presses a gentle kiss on your fingertips. You swoon.

Hooking his thumbs into the sides of your shorts, he pulls them below your butt. He dips his head down, biting into the side of your thigh. A predator sinking its teeth into its prey. Not hard enough to hurt. It’s just enough to rip a whine from you. “Fuck,” he grumbles, pulling your shorts completely off. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

He’s been wanting this, too?

“Let’s leave these on though,” he sighs, speaking in reference to your socks. It was something you knew he found sexy, overhearing a graphic conversation with Taehyung about kinks and other filthy things. That may or may not have been the motivation behind your purchase.

You cringe. Being naked in front of someone for the first time in a long time was nerve-wracking.

“No panties?” Jungkook asks, looking at you quizzically. “Dressed so skimpy, Bambi. All for me?”

“I didn’t know you were gonna show up...”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” he chuckles, caressing your legs with his large thumbs. You appreciate the gesture.

Cool air brushes against your exposed core when he parts your thighs. His gaze locks onto your dripping center. You whine and cross your arms over your face. Maybe if you squeeze hard enough you’ll revert back into yourself and escape this dreadfully vulnerable feeling.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” he starts, words dying out because his attention is elsewhere. Jungkook has seen a lot of pussy throughout his life, but yours has got to be the, “prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. So fucking wet.” He settles back onto his knees, hooking his limbs around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

Jungkook watches in awe as he spreads your lips open with his thumb and index fingers, stealing a peek at your shiny center. He takes a long, languid lick from your pussy to your clit. He moans when the wet muscle dips between your folds, eyes scrunching as his feature contorts into a scowl. You recognize that face. That angry face he makes when he tastes something he finds incredibly yummy. It’s the same one he made when he ate his pancakes.

Have you really studied him so much that you’ve picked up on his subtle habits? Nevertheless, the fact that he actually seemed to be enjoying going down on you was jarring. You’ve never experienced this before. It felt so fucking good. You were already close and he has barely touched you. You let out a whimper.

“Mm, you’re so responsive,” he notes, absolutely loving the little sounds you’re peeping. Much different than the blaring moans and screams he is used to. Despite the ego boost they give him, your shy whimpers are a welcomed change. Each one makes his cock twitch, forcing him to bring a hand down, palming himself through his sweats. “When’s the last time someone ate you out?”

“Never…”

“I don’t see why not,” he coos sympathetically, shaking his head in disapproval. He gives you another lick, tongue pressed flat against you. “You taste like lemonade, so sweet.”

That had you absolutely drenched.

You move up onto your elbows, watching as he throws your legs over his broad shoulders. He licks the pad of his thumb, this time actually sinful. He presses it right to your bud, rubbing it before pulling the sensitive skin taut, lifting the hood and exposing your clit.

He tuts his tongue, whispering something so quietly you barely catch it, only making out a breathy iteration of the word ‘tiny’. Heavy eyes flicker up to yours as he places two soft pecks on it, then blows delicately.

“Jungkook, please…”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, “I won’t tease-,” sentiment interrupted with an open-mouthed kiss, “I know how bad you must want it.”

He circles the tip of his tongue on your clit before suctioning his lips around it. You gnaw onto your lower lip, face twisting up in pleasure.

This is easily a far better form of self care than what you had planned.

It’s obvious that this is something Jungkook does a lot. He is a photography major, and has never struck you as someone who is incredibly bright, but the way he touched is strategic. He has spent the better part of the past decade perfecting his craft, studying the way women move their bodies when he applies a certain amount of pressure. The beautiful noises they make when he stimulates them in certain spots. He has the exact equation to make you fall apart.

There is a pattern to it. He latches onto your swollen nub, cheeks hollowing with a few harsh sucks, before licking over it, letting his tongue dip into your entrance. You can’t help the subtle thrusts into his mouth with every glide of his tongue. The consistency had your stomach doing somersaults.

He sinks further down, lapping at your folds, never straying too far from your clit, burying himself so deep into your pussy that the tip of his nose nudges against it. A big palm slides up your torso, reaching under your tank top to grab at your chest, thumb flicking over your hardened nipple.

“Jung- fuck!” You croak, high-pitched and desperate. “I’m close.”

You expect him to pull away. He, instead, acknowledges you with an ‘mhm’, nuzzling even further into your cunt.

You can’t help the instinctual, or more so learned, shame bubbling in your stomach. Your hips jerk away. Legs close tight around his head, attempting to save him from the brunt of your orgasm. He simply pries them back open, nails digging into your inner thigh. You grasp onto his hair, tugging it back as you curse under your breath.

He doesn’t like that.

He pops off of your clit with a sharp, annoyed growl. “Can you stop?” The stern edge in his voice makes you flinch, releasing your grip immediately. “You don’t have to control every situation. Just relax.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeak.

His gaze softens immediately. He didn’t want you to apologize and he definitely didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. “You can touch me, Bambi,” he grabs your hands and places them back on his head, encouraging them to tangle in his tresses once again. “Keep me here, though. Wanna make you cum in my mouth.”

It’s strange, being pampered during sex. Taken care of.

You peer down at him. His mouth and cheeks are dewy, covered in your arousal. Even the tip of his nose is wet. He’s not uncomfortable in the slightest.

You push him down, giving him the green light to continue. The descent is quick. Starting in your stomach before it shoots through the rest of your body. You throw your head back, teeth digging into your lip as you desperately try to stifle the lewd moans threatening to escape.

Jungkook guides you through it, slowing down towards the tail end of your orgasm. He pulls away with a satisfied hum, standing up from his spot on the floor. “Taste?” He asks, squishing your cheeks with his big hand. His tongue licks right against yours when you stick it out, lips closing into a sloppy kiss. “Good, right?”

You don’t really taste anything, but you nod anyway. Maybe a slight hint of citrus. Or maybe you were delirious after the best orgasm of your life. The only partnered orgasm of your life.

His eyes are scrunched, but you can still see the stars in his dark pupils as he smiles down at you. You mirror him with the opposite expression, irises wide and blown out. He giggles, nuzzling into the side of your face and then nipping at your cheek. “You’re like a space girl,” your heart melts at the Sailor Moon reference. “So clueless. I wanna do everything to you. Teach you everything.”

“Like what?”

“Have you ever squirted before?”

You freeze. “No… I don’t think everyone can.”

“That’s not true. Everyone can squirt with a good partner and the right mindset,” he proclaims enthusiastically, shooting you a thumbs up. The tent in his pants on full display.

“Right mindset?” You giggle, raising a brow at him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty intense.” He grabs a half-empty water bottle, your water bottle, off the nightstand, taking a big sip. “I can get you there,” he states, a droplet of water dripping down his chin. “You have to listen to me, though. You can continue your ‘girlboss’ bullshit after I’m done with you.”

You roll your eyes. If any other man said that to you, you would be livid. You would literally rain hellfire upon them. But it’s Jungkook. You know he’s joking, and the soft spot you have for him prevents you from ripping him a new one.

He smiles when you agree, pecking your cheek before unzipping his hoodie and shrugging it off his shoulders. You watch his muscles work. Toned, firm biceps exposed for your viewing pleasures. He recently recolored the tattoos on his right arm.

You remember him venting about his parents’ disapproval of them, and his major, when he walked you to your dorm after a party a few weeks ago. It was the only time you’ve ever seen the fun-loving, jovial man feel melancholic. You coin that night the night you developed... whatever it was that you have for him now.

“Alright,” he gestures to the cotton sweater, now spread out on your bed. “Lay here.”

“Why?”

“I mean…” he looks at you like you’re stupid. “You don’t want to get this wet, right?” He counters, pinching your blanket.

Cockiness just oozes out of him. It makes wetness ooze out of you.

You comply, laying down on the soft material. It’s warm and smells like the delicate linen cologne he normally wears. You bask in the scent.

“I usually use lube for this, but…” he clicks his tongue, knowing you don’t have any. “We can make it work.” Leaning down, he lets a string of spit land on your clit. It tickles as it trickles down your folds. He’s quick to collect it with his fingertips, smearing the moisture all over.

“Take your top off, please. I wanna see those pretty tits.”

It’s barely a top. The jagged, raw hem only conceals half of your perked nipples. How ironic is it that you’re wearing an angel print tank while being absolutely defiled. You sit up, taking it off easily and tossing it on the floor before laying back down.

“It’s not going to hurt, is it?” You wonder, reflecting on his earlier statements.

“Why, you nervous?” He teases with a lopsided grin. It drops when he sees the apprehensive look on your face. “It shouldn’t hurt, but if it does you’ll tell me, right?”

“Right,” you moan, another drop of saliva hitting your pussy.

“Hold your legs up, keep them open,” he orders, sucking back the extra spit with a hiss.

Pink nails curl under your thighs, bringing them up to your chest just as Jungkook instructed. He pops his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, bringing them down to tease at your entrance before slipping in, palm facing up.

There’s an adjustment period, his fingers being much bigger than your own. You’re so aroused that the tenderness subsides quickly. “Fuck,” you yelp when he starts gently petting at your g-spot.

He doesn’t jam his fingers into you carelessly, an unpleasant sensation you’ve been subjected to in the past. His digits never leave you. Instead, they move in a sensual curl that makes you purr. Every touch is focused, intricately placed on that delicious spot.

“Pussy so wet,” his voice comes out as strained as his pants. He sounds so turned on and filled with lust. It makes you clamp around his fingers. He lets out the tiniest moan, using his free hand to grab yours, sucking three fingers into his mouth. “Touch your clit for me.”

You bring your hand down, rubbing side to side. “Uh-uh, circles.”

Immediately, you follow his command. You look so delicious he can’t help himself, bending at the waist to latch onto one of your nipples.

“Please, Jungkook, more…”

“Yeah?” He mumbles against your chest, sending vibrations through the sensitive skin. You nod frantically. “I usually don’t give in this easily, but I think you deserve it. Been such a good girl. You can have more, Bambi.” You know it’s just sex talk. A stream of consciousness fueled by his horniness. All the blood leaving his head to fill his cock, making him more dumb than usual, but you can’t help but feel special.

“It’s going to build up fast, okay?”

You mumble a small ‘mhm’. How bad can it really be?

Jungkook starts moving his hand rapidly, fingers thrashing up and down. There's so much force behind his movements that your hips lift and dip.

You’re overwhelmed. Constant, vigorous stimulation right to your g-spot. A strange swelling feeling starts pooling in your lower stomach. High-pitched whimpery moans and wet squelching noises fill the room.

“J- daddy, fuck!” It is so intense you can’t form a coherent sentence. There’s faint laughter in the background. “No, no, no…” you plead, wrapping your hand around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. It’s too good. So good that it made you scared.

His movements halt. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, too much… fuck!” You shout when he continues at the same intensity, your body thrashing wildly. You feel out of control.

“Shh,” he whispers softly. “You can take it. Just let it happen.”

You inhale sharply, doing your best to calm down. It’s difficult when he keeps touching you like that. Your fingers curl into his sweater, bracing yourself. As soon as you stop fighting that full feeling, as soon as you loosen the tense muscles, it’s going to hit you.

You relax and a wave of the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt ripples over you.

There’s an intense, world-shattering, euphoric release.

And then nothing.

Your head is empty. Your ears ring. Your vision is distorted by white splotches.

Complete solace.

Your senses come back after a few minutes of heavy breathing. It’s fuzzy, but you can see the ceiling fan swirling above you.

There’s a metallic taste on your tongue.

You can feel droplets trickling down your inner thighs, a damp puddle under your butt, and a warm set of lips on your temple.

“Welcome back to planet Earth,” Jungkook jokes, pushing away the wispy flyaways that stick to your forehead. You blink absently as you slowly make out his features. You swear there’s a glowing aura around him. “You good?”

“So good,” you confirm halfheartedly. “You’re so good.”

“You came so much,” he hums in satisfaction, placing a few pecks against your jaw. Jungkook was actually surprised at how much wetness he coaxed out of you. You just kept on cumming. The prettiest waterfall he’s ever seen. Damp fingers brush up and down your bicep, a comforting gesture. “You called me daddy.”

“Shut up,” you groan, covering your face. “Don’t talk about it.”

“I won’t, it was fucking gross,” he laughs, smiling down at you so genuinely that it reaches his eyes. This was just a hookup, you assume, but he’s just so pretty. You can’t stop yourself from pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He reciprocates. It feels so intimate. Too intimate for a pair of friends. You’re so tired but you want more. Everything.

“Take this off, please,” you ball the white fabric of his shirt into your tiny fists, mimicking his words from earlier. “Let me see those pretty tits.”

He quirks a brow at you, standing up straight and pulling his shirt off by the collar. It’s discarded onto the floor, with all the other useless, bothersome items.

His tits are pretty. Chest flushed red from exertion, nipples spiked and tiny. His body is fit, but not overly muscular. Lean and toned. Just what you like.

You snake your legs around his cinched waist, constricting his pelvis flush against yours.

“Is it my turn now?” He says, loving your sudden burst of confidence. His jaw goes slack when you start grinding on his clothed cock. There’s a slick spot where your bodies meet, heather gray turning dark as the fabric dampens. Jungkook lets you play with him for a bit, rutting against you until he physically cannot stand it anymore. “I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so bad.”

“Then do it,” you whimper, growing impatient. He sighs, hand coming down to fiddle with the sweater underneath you. You crane your neck, watching curiously as he pulls a square packet out of the pocket.

There’s a sharp pain in your chest when you see it. “Did you plan on us hooking up?”

“Maybe,” he contends playfully. All the amusement in his face disappears when he flicks his bangs back and sees yours. Hurt and disappointed. “I always keep condoms on me, you know that,” he explains, voice soft and wary.

It makes sense. He was sexually active. Very much so.

That scares you. You could possibly be just another girl he’s sexually active with. A last ditch effort to get laid because the first option bailed. The puzzle pieces start coming together.

You look him in the eyes. His pupils are brown again. They look pleading, concerned for your wellbeing. Afraid they’ve tarnished something so delicate. You can’t tell if it’s just your delusions, post-orgasm bliss. All you know is you never want him to stop looking at you the way he is right now.

“Can I put it on?” You ask, pointing at the condom in his hand, desperate to break the tension.

“I- sure,” he retorts, exhaling deeply like he was holding his breath, relieved. He gives it to you, using his other hand to pull his pants by the waistband, stopping mid-thigh. Too rushed and eager to take them off completely.

He didn’t have underwear on either.

You squint, trying to read the white font on the packet. Large.

You glance up, eyes bulging out of your skull when they land on his cock. It’s big. So aroused that it points straight up, resting on his abdomen. The tip is bright pink, standing out against the background of his smooth milky pelvis. It’s shiny with precum, a little bead sitting right at the slight. Your gaze trails up the veiny underside, following the acute upward curve. You gulp.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you say, jittery hands tearing open the foil packet. You cautiously wrap your hand around the shaft. It’s so firm. Rock solid and touch starved. It jumps in your palm as you slip the sticky rubber down, making sure to stroke him along the way. “Big, thas’ all.”

He nods, the corner of his lips pulling up in a smirk. He can tell your words are equally as worried as they are complimentative, though. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises, holding on to your ankle to lift your leg, kissing it through your white sock. Gaze locked on you, making sure you’re watching and that you know he can be soft with you.

He bends both of your knees up to your chest, tapping your outer thigh, indicating he wants you to hold them again. Tattooed knuckles wrap around the base of his cock, laying it flat against your pelvis. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath when he sees the tip reaches just below your belly button, knowing exactly what to envision when he’s inside you. His cock so deep it’s in your stomach.

He smacks the shaft between your folds. Filthy, wet slapping noises overpower your coos and purrs. The tip tickles your entrance, rubbing up and down your folds, before he brings it to your abused clit again, flicking it up and down like a light switch. Watching your face intently to gauge your reaction, looking for any prick of discomfort.

“Put it in,” you frown, growing impatient.

“So needy,” Jungkook teases, gripping his cock right under the crown and pushing in. Only the tip. He uses his fingers as a buffer, trying not to give too much too fast. Pulling back agonizingly slow and then diving back in, giving you a little bit more length this time. It was only an inch or so, but the stretch burned. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill.

He repeats this process, working you open little by little until he’s buried to the hilt. He lets out a pained grunt, overwhelmed by the way your warm wet walls just suffocate him. “Fuck, tightest pussy ever.”

You clench your eyes shut, trying to ease the feeling of getting impaled. Jungkook is so big. The veins that run along his shaft, the thickness, the curve. He leans down and pecks your nose sweetly. His thumb, rubbing tight circles against your clit, provides a decent distraction. You focus on the pleasure instead of the pain.

“Feel okay, Bambi?” He coos, feeling you relax under him. “Can I move?”

With furrowed brows, he pulls out a few inches before thrusting back in slowly. Heavy eyes glued on the way your lips petal around him when he gives you more. The way they resist when takes his cock away. “Good girl,” he praises, voice raspy as he tries his best to maintain a slow, shallow pace. “You take it so well.”

Any pang of discomfort is gone. He prepped you so well that there’s no friction, just seamless glides in and out of your leaking cunt. The upturned tip of his cock tickles that sweet spot in you. You moan, digging your almond-shaped nails into your thighs, arching your back for more.

Jungkook sees your body language. He knows what to do in this situation. One of the most useful sex tips he’s ever learned. He leans forward, pressing his chest against yours, swollen lips latching onto your neck. They suck a sore spot that his tongue quickly soothes over. “Hold on to me,” he commands, wet pout smushed to your skin.

You let go of your thighs, leaving little crescent indents on the surface, and throw your arms around his shoulders. Hooking your knees into the bend of his elbows, Jungkook hoists you up effortlessly, supporting your weight with his large palms on your ass. The change in position spreads you even further, slides him in even deeper.

“Mmm, f-,” you moan, words cut short when he starts bouncing you up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Mmm, I knew it,” he chuckles sadistically, right into your ear. “I knew you were just waiting to be ruined. So fucking high-strung and- fuck!” He can feel your arousal dripping down to his balls. “Controlling.”

Arguing is pointless. You swear he's in your head, the tip of his cock scrambling your brain around so that you can’t even think straight. All you can think about is him.

You cling to him, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he lifts you in the air. Letting him have his way with you. You’re never felt more alive.

‘Orgasms are the pinnacle of the human experience,’ you recall Jungkook telling you one day at the library. At the time, you rolled your eyes. Now, you know exactly what he meant.

“You just needed some dick, huh? My dick?” You nod, drooling against his skin. “Doesn’t it feel good to let go?” All you can get out is a little moan.

A glint flickers in the corner of your eye. Mina’s mirror. It’s leaning against the wall right in front of you. You can see the expanse of his back. The taut skin on his shoulder blades. Biceps bulging as he moves you. His pants slid down to his knees, so you can see his cute butt dimpling when he thrusts up. Muscles working to make you cum.

“Okay,” he huffs, more to himself than you. Your pussy was so good that it derailed his original plan. Jungkook tosses you up a little, getting a more secure hold as he wraps an arm around your waist. The motion makes his cock slip out, the loss of contact makes you whine.

His free hand tosses his soiled hoodie out of the way. You cringe, making a mental note to mop tomorrow morning.

He places one of your fancy, cooling-gel pillows on the edge of the bed, laying you down on top of it. Your hips are elevated, tilted upwards. Giving him a clear view of your glowy core. He catches a glimpse of the only place he hasn’t destroyed.

“What about this?” He coos, pressing the pad of his thumb right against your clenching hole.

You squeak, shaking your head. Baby steps.

“Alright,” he chuckles, hand retreating promptly. “Maybe next time.”

He wants to do this again. Your heart flutters.

You watch as he guides himself back in, stuffing you to the brim in one swift motion. Much less cautious than earlier. His cock hits your g-spot perfectly. The pillow and his curve doing wonders. Your eyes roll back as your head hits the bed. “Like that, right?” He laughs, snapping into you.

“Yeah, Jungkook,” you moan out, gripping your ankles and bringing them up by your head, just how he likes. “Don’t stop.”

He could’ve busted right then and there.

“Fuck, keep saying my name,” he groans, eyes glancing up to your perky tits, jiggling freely with every snap of his hips. His pupils sneak down further, watching his cock plow into your tight, wet cunt, leaving it dewy.

You call his name like a metronome, ‘Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook’. Voice airy, following the rhythm of his hips. It makes him move harder and faster, feeling that familiar pooling at the base of his shaft.

Just like everything about him, his strokes are fluid. His hips aren’t locked and stiff. They move in a dip and roll that makes your toes curl. His pelvis mushes against your clit when he thrusts all the way in, balls smacking against the curve of your ass. It feels delicious. Your third orgasm of the night is approaching fast.

“You cumming, Bambi?” He hums, already recognizing the way your thick brows pull together when you're close. The way your hips rut a little, naturally guiding you to your orgasm.

“Mhm, make me cum Jungkook,” you mewl.

He hovers over you, placing his hands on top of yours, bending your legs back farther. Taking long, violent plunges into you. So close to a piledriver. He’s basically fucking you into the mattress, bed frame cracking against the wall beside it. One of your vine garlands falls down, but you’re so close you can’t even bring yourself to care.

Your climaxes blend together. You first, clenching and unclenching around his length. Moans coming out sporadic and your shoulders off the bed. Legs trembling in his hands.

His orgasm is stunning.

“Ah- fuck. I’m cumming,” he croaks through snarled teeth, head dropping to watch where you connect. Something he does often, you notice. He doesn’t stop, even after he spills into the condom, fucking you until he’s completely drained. You whimper, sensitive from the overstimulation.

“Damn,” Jungkook huffs out a laugh, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You fist the wavy strands at the back of his head, a little damp.

“Thank you,” you speak shyly.

“I know you’re new to this,” he lifts up and looks at you quizzically, amusement tickling his features, “But that’s kinda a weird thing to say after someone fucks you.”

You laugh with him, eyes darting over his face. He has a small scar on his cheek, something you’ve never noticed before.

“No, I just mean-” you cringe when he pulls out of you, feeling empty. “You’re the only guy who’s ever… I don’t know. You’re just different.”

He smiles with twinkling eyes, tying a knot at the end of the condom and tossing it into the pink trash can beside your nightstand. “You’re different, too,” he mirrors, plopping down onto the bed next to you. “Special.”

Special.

You sigh into his lips when he gives you a soft peck, thumb brushing against the newfound mark of his face. “I’m sorry that I made you do all the work.”

“Nah, don’t worry. Making you feel good makes me feel good.” His words are sweet but there’s a naughty glint in his eyes. “Besides, you can think of this as a practice round.”

“Practice round?”

He hums in conformation, tapping your ass lightly, making it ripple against his hand. “Alright, go take a leak before you get a UTI.” He laughs when you push his shoulder. The same old blunt, shameless Jungkook.

He stops you before you disappear into the bathroom. “I hope this won’t make things awkward between us. Like, we’re still friends, right?”

Friends.

It takes all of your strength to give him a nod. You ponder over his words as you clean up in the bathroom. Why did you feel so... conflicted? You’re so happy, but you’re also kinda sad. It’s like your mood solely depends on Jungkook. His words have the power to pull you in whatever direction he pleases. You stare at yourself in the mirror.

All these emotions must mean you have a crush on him.

You sigh, flicking off the light and then heading back into your room.

Jungkook is hunkered down in your sea of pillows, soft snores leaving his parted lips. Chest rising and falling steadily. Hair messy, fanned around him.

He looks so beautiful and peaceful.

You tilt your head at the sight. He always told you that he never spends the night after a hookup.

The blanket is only covering his pelvis, strong legs poking out from underneath. His sweats are still on his ankles. You giggle, attempting to slide them off without waking him.

“Bambi,” he mutters sleepily, opening his big arms. “C’mere.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. You shuffle into bed, throwing the covers over both of your bare bodies.

He wraps his arms around you, pecking your forehead before drifting back into slumber.

Fuck.

What have you gotten yourself into?

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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

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Repose

—

Time written- 10:51 p.m.

Jason Todd/fem!reader (Credit to Irenne on Pinterest)

—

The sting in his muscles when Jason so much as lifted a finger was nothing new to him. The healing bruises decorating his knuckles, the constant burning ache in his knees.

You’re getting old, Todd. You’d say to him.

Ouch, straight in the heart. He’d reply before cornering you against the nearest surface, giving you that cheeky smile that always made your cheeks rosy. Tell me I’m getting old again, see what other kinds of things I can get ya to say.

He liked to tease back, to push those tickle spots. adoring to make you laugh whenever he had the chance. Any positive reaction he gained from you was another gold star on his chart, a positive outlook on his conscience so grand, the galaxy would get jealous in a few months at most.

Watching you sleep enveloped his mind in a calm serenity he believed he couldn’t obtain anywhere else. A satisfaction of seeing the person you love committing such a simple action as sleeping was…

He wasn’t sure how to describe it.

All he’d know is he’d watch for hours without interruption, a content little smile remaining permanent on his face.

The comfort of your presence nearly allowed Jason to ignore the ache in his joints, the healing bruises and bandaged cuts you aided him with. His slightly injured, throbbing head slowly soothed from a few rapid release meds, provided by your little stash kept in a cross labeled medical in your dresser.

You made the ‘mistake’ of offering Jason a lollipop, typical pediatric doctor behavior.

He plays into it, asking for a scented sticker instead. Or a kiss.

You didn’t have any stickers, so you’re forced to settle per your dangerous boyfriend’s request. One kiss turned into another, shifting into Jason’s hands cradling your plush, warm hips, sitting you in his lap after a couple of encouraging nudges.

You advised against it at first, due to his injuries, but Jason couldn’t help but insist.

“Jay?” Your eyes squint in the darkness, catching the faint rays of moonlight reflecting off the white streaks in his tussled hair. Your red teddy bear stares down at you, gifting your bare body a warm squeeze against his.

“You okay?” You croak out a whisper, growing a little worried as to why he was awake at this hour. Like your tired brain could fully acknowledge the time, really.

Jason nods once. “Yeah. M’okay, babe.”

“Do you have to go?” Your sweet, tired voice tugs at his sore heartstrings. You never wanted him to leave, dreading laying in bed all alone while watching him get dressed. As much as you admired his physique, it most likely ends with some kind of cut to clean and kiss better.

You wanted him to remain right where he was: in a safe space, a warm meal in his belly, his wounds tended to, his body resting after various limbs grew tangled within each other’s.

Jason was here. He was here, he was safe. His heartbeat usually lulled you to sleep, but tonight you settled for a pillow to keep the pressure off his chest.

“No no,” he replies, trailing a few calloused fingers along your cheek. “No, I’m stayin’ tonight.”

Your tired smile grows when he kissed your concerns away, his nose brushing along yours as his pecks trail from one on your cheek, towards another on the top of your head.

“What’s wrong?” Your exhausted mind remains ever so vigilant on his behalf, feeling both heart warmed and a little guilty. He’s supposed to tend to your needs, but it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it.

He needs to give you a day. A day full of appreciation for all the hours you’ve spent doting on him, taking care of him like this. He wanted you to experience just how much of an absolute cherub you’ve been, kissing his cheek repeatedly while settling your head along his shoulder.

“Shh shhh. Nothing, babygirl.” Jason rasps, pressing a warm kiss to your temple before reinforcing his hold, rubbing soothing circles along your back, gently cradling your head against his good shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #dc jason todd #jason todd x plus size reader

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monstersmashorpass · 2 months

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SMASH OR PASS: Biblical Angels: Cherubim & Seraphim, Abrahamic Religions

[Art credit, left: unknown, please let us know] [art credit, right; peregapsinar on deviantART]

Note from Mod Ghoul: Yall I learned a bit searching for credits for this one. SO. Cherubs were described to have 4 faces; a man, an ox, an eagle, and a lion. Straight legs but feet with hooves like a bull.

Seraphim were six-wings - 2 to cover their eyes (Im assuming the "face" eyes, given there's supposed to be a bunch on the wings??), two to cover their body, and two for flight. Like I knew the 6 wings thing but didn't realize there was like. Reason/logic lol

Anyways. thought that was neat and wanted to share. Esp the Cherub stuff. Wild.

Please reblog for greater sample size, as per usual!

#monster smash or pass #smash or pass poll blog #monster romance #monster lover #monster fucker #monster x human #tumblr polls #poll blog #tumblr poll blog #the polls #suggested polls #biblically accurate angel #biblically accurate Cherubim #biblically accurate cherub #biblically accurate Seraphim #Seraphim #cherubim #cherub #angels

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shares-a-vest · 7 months

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Prompt: Horse (Discord Drabble) haven't done one of these in like a week. i'm back with a very silly Fruity Four-centric one. aaand it's too long, as per usual.

When Nancy agreed to accept some help with packing up her room for college, she didn't think that meant refereeing Robin and Eddie fighting over the contents of her wardrobe.

Thankfully, she'd already set aside the clothes she would be taking with her.

Exactly why Eddie (whose lightest coloured piece of clothing is a Hellfire shirt) and Robin (wearer of only the most oversized clothes) are snatching a baby pink cardigan back and forward, she'll never know.

Steve isn't helping, either. He isn't helping at all, really. In fact, he is currently mimicking the incoherent squabbling via Nancy's favourite teddy bear as he lounges on her bed.

"Why would you need this?" Robin demands, taking the cardigan back.

Before Eddie can answer, Nancy decides to dump the bottom drawer of her dresser on the end of the bed. The mattress bounces and Steve yelps as his silly pantomime is interrupted.

"How about you actually help me with this one?" she says, forcing a smile.

The pair turn their attention to the drawer and Robin tosses the cardigan at Steve, who hasn't so much manned the clothes as he has gradually scattered the separated piles.

"Can I have this one, please?" Eddie soon asks.

He unfurls a pastel purple t-shirt emblazoned with a white horse. The animal is surrounded by silver clouds, a rainbow and pink sequins that have loosened from extensive wear years back.

He shoots a glance at Robin, who is busy tossing old t-shirts she likely doesn't want from the drawer off towards the doorway.

"Sparkles," Eddie hisses, giving a far too cherubic smile.

"Fine," Nancy says, waving her hand.

At least he bothered with some manners this time!

"Were you a horse girl?" Robin grins, now paying attention as she lazily points to the image Eddie is now smoothing over his front.

"Major horse girl," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he slumps back on the bed and sends a bag of old shoes toppling onto the floor.

Eddie moves to the desk, the only spot in her room Nancy is waiting to pack up at the last possible moment and retrieves a pair of scissors.

"What are you doing!" she whines.

Can't he save the tailoring for when he gets home!

"I don't want this for the sleeves," Eddie snaps over his shoulder, sounding utterly offended as he continues cutting, "Or the bottom, really."

And so he rips the bottom off, tosses it on the desk and removes his black t-shirt, hurling it at Steve's head. Steve doesn't catch it as he gawks at the sight of Eddie wrestling on his too-tight, new-old (and now, mangled) horse shirt.

"Keep it together, Dingus," Robin quips, launching herself onto the bed which tips the drawer over.

#this is so silly #idk i just think nancy had a horse girl phase #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #the fruity four #lilys drabbles #stwgdailyprompt #platonic edancy

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unholyevilness · 2 years

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Peace (Zeke x afab reader)

Summary: You're a successful athlete and life is good, but your career is not what brings you true peace. Your boyfriend likes to remind you.

cw. Afab genitalia mention, praise and degradation, choking, blood, squirting, dirty talk, rough sex, breeding mention, dubcon because wine, knife and carving mention, maybe don't read if you disassociate easily? Idk but reader almost yeets unconscious here

"All the cheers to you, love." Zeke sang happily while clinking your glasses together, the soft breeze of icy evening air blowing cherubic hair out of his face. He was overreacting, like the dork he always has been, and probably got more excited over you winning your tournaments, than you. It's been around six months since you got into a relationship with him, and Zeke's every word leaked the adoration he caught inside his heart, big as ever with a special weakness meant for you, and you alone. Even though you didn't consider yourself a possessive person, Zeke made it hard to not crave for you to claim him, get him on his knees in every philosophical, physical and metaphorical aspect. Hunger navigated his teasing nature whenever you reminded him of it, that he belongs to you.

That you belong to him. That you never wanted it to be different, ever again.

"It wasn't even that great of a win, I barely won. Have you seen how much I was sweating? Shouldn't have been. I'm ashamed I even had to put so much effort into it," You mumbled with knitted brows, watching your boyfriend gently swing the wine inside his glass. Zeke rolled his eyes as he listened to your venting. "The most important thing is that you did win, in the end. And that I'm proud of you, that's what matters."

He gulped down his red wine greedily, little drops sloping into the fabric of his pullover. Zeke still managed to look elegant, you wondered how that was possible everyday, with that monkey of a man.

Then, he rolled up his sleeves carefully, eyeing your lips. "Aside from that.. The concentration in your face was pretty sexy. Your expression looked delicious."

You were so taken aback that you failed to notice how he towered over your sitting silhouette, suddenly a lot less goofy and a lot more intimidating. Instead of the usual smug grin, he gifted you shivers, torturing your skin with excitement as radiant as the living room ceiling light. "Let me find out just how delicious you may be."

With that, he pulled you onto the couch, ignoring the shattering of your glass as it met the floor and setting his aside. Wooden parquet. You would kill him the next day.

The sensation of his tongue mixed with the strong taste of alcohol lowered your lids almost automatically, it was intoxicating in the most literal way. Addicted to his scent, you buried your nose in the crook of his neck, the need to calm down very apparent. You could already feel the heat pooling inside your abdomen, and you knew you'd be staining his pants with your juices if you didn't took a breath.

"I need you to let loose already," Zeke complained with a vocal sigh, it was clear that he grew sick and tired of your everlasting need to control yourself so you wouldn't spit the most obscene and disgusting dirty talk. It embarrassed you. Once you got rolling it was impossible to stop, with the way he always pleased you. Skilled, long fingers. As per usual, the first noise you failed to control dominated the silence of the apartment only as he made use of them, pressing and digging into your soft skin all pliable like you were nothing but a doll. Zeke simply traced his fingertips over your belly, and yet it felt like he was burning you up with need and desire, scratching possessively over the skin of your hipbones. You're sure he would cut his initials into your skin if you just allowed it, that was how much he lusted after you.

"Why do you love hurting me so much, Sir? You want me for yourself so bad. Do you want me to bring you a knife so you can slash it into my skin?"

You hadn't planned for your thoughts to escape your mind, you swear. Zeke's following gasp and tightening grip made your bones feel like pudding, "Yes, Yes, Yes."

You would not have hesitated to do so if he didn't embrace you sensually, occasionally rubbing the tip of his big nose over your throbbing clit and you could feel yourself leaking, running down your ass crack. "I bet you're dying to lap up both our cum after you filled me up. Isn't it funny how now one will ever find out how much of a breeding bitch you're turning me into? No matter how many tournaments I win,"

You knew you were testing his patience, but Zeke surprised you today. With a rich laugh he pulled your folds apart, stretching your hole ever so slightly, looking well entertained. Other than that, he kept his intentions dubious, until you felt his index finger intruding your ass. The shame of it all, your boyfriend very thoroughly examining your warm, squishy guts with his skilled hands, eager tongue sucking you off as he freed his moans, finding genuine enjoyment in practically getting you heart eyes. The depth of his voice compared to the great pits of the deep sea, the rough vocal encouragement alone was enough to soften your knees. At that very point, you couldn't deny your own body any longer, legs continuing to spread in a hearty welcome. Giggles squished themselves in between your moans as his beard tickled you unwillingly, yet finding himself too lost in eating you out to actually care.

You did not have it in you to ask for his cock, far too fucked out in exhaustion from barely any action, even though you knew you needed it. The image of your boyfriend's drooling dick, straining his pants heavily as he blessed you with the warm walls of his mouth brought you to a mental collapse and you caught yourself loving every second of it. Being fucked thought-empty by Zeke was an experience everyone else was missing out on, you couldn't believe how lucky you were with that blonde, scratchy beard and cozy sweater wearing Gremlin.

You wanted him to make you regret the seduction, all of it, you would be perfectly fine with him breaking both of your legs so you would stay in bed for months for him to plunge his cum inside you over and over again. Only on your deathbed would you give up on the pure satisfaction, exquisite in it's state rotten by lust and a mind willing to be broken.

As if on command, or maybe it was your hips pushing up eagerly to meet his tongue, Zeke turned you around like a toy that weighs nothing, leaving you empty for not too long. You would have liked to see his face, but the humiliation of the position satisfied something very deeply within you. It made you feel like a cheap hooker, the way he positioned himself in front of your creamy hole as he held your legs up. You were purely allowed to balance your weight with your arms, perhaps out of pity. More likely just to see you struggle. "Oh my God," he laughed, slapping your clit in fascination of the wet sound. "Getting this messy with you has always been an honor to me, you know," he whispered into your hair whilst inhaling the grapefruit shampoo you've used earlier that day, bent over your flushed limbs. The heat of his breath on your ears felt enticing. His cock was inside of you entirely before you even registered it.

"Maybe I'll make you lick up the mess this time, bet the poor couch will be sad if you drown it like a starving cockwhore."

Zeke put on a pout for good measure as he spoke, that bastard, meaning to actually sound sad as he was fucking you. Internally, you cursed yourself for liking the concept of his words, trying so very hard not to start begging. Instead, you gifted him a bratty snort, and your boyfriend's rough treatment made you feel like he was destroying you from the inside, gooey and bloody all over. At one point, you even lowered your head to check if there was blood on his cock. You were surprised to see none with how he penetrated you so sinful it almost felt like a confessional.

"That's okay. If you don't feel like cleaning the couch, how about the ground I walk on?" Zeke teased, a little out of breath, and you never heard a better idea of his. "If you keep fucking me like this you can scrape my guts off the ground you walk on," you croaked out, it was ecstatic. You knew how much he liked it when you talked back.

"Odd way of asking me to fuck you harder, but I'll accept it."

Little white dots filled your vision without remorse, now you were sure the sticky leaking out wasn't only your wetness. You knew your boyfriend liked to have his way with you nice and merciless, but you didn't expect to be on the verge of losing the willpower in invitation of staying awake. No matter how hard you tried to lift yourself up, your consciousness was slipping right through your grip with Zeke's tightly controlling your oxygen intake, cruelly mounting you, dominating you. True peace, that's what it felt like if you had to describe it, being at a loss of control over your own life and wavering state, leaving it all in the loving hands of your sweet divine other half. The orgasm hit you like a shock wave, squirting all over his cock in a messy, intense stream.

Sorry for the delay! I'll post more regularly, promise 💌

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lampmanliveblogs · 7 months

Text

”I must go now. My planet needs me.” -King, probably

(what's that under the collector's bed? i freaked out a little bit when I first saw it, because I thought it was philip, but nah, it looks like another stuffed animal. but can you imagine the kind of damage philip could do if he managed to possess the collector??)

As the space cherub and his island-in-training best friend take a break from their game of pretend, we cut to Boscha, who’s right in the middle of her own game of pretend. She is playing at being emperor. The school is her castle, and the gym is her throne room, complete with masked soldiers standing guard. She’s even got a special guard standing by her side, one with a shoulder pad on only one shoulder.

You know, when Kikimora said she wanted to be the new Golden Guard, I don’t think this is what she had in mind.

Because that’s Kikimora, right? It’s got to be, and the big guy is her Abomatron.

Speaking of Kikimora, I was cleaning up my desk a little while back when I found a note I had written and then completely forgot about, I think it might’ve been in response to an ask I got but never answered. The note read as thus:

”It’s ironic that Kikimora wanted to be the Golden Guard, seeing as the only privilege afforded the Golden Guard is that Belos will kill you personally, a courtesy he did not extend to Kikimora… and it came back to haunt him.”

(except with more misspellings)

I gotta admit, as far as false names goes, Miki and Roka are kinda funny. We love a good word scramble. Actually, I don’t, I’m no good at those. This one wasn’t so hard because I knew the answer.

The thing I’m wondering though is how Kiki managed to fit that weird hand on her head under that wig.

The idea of Boscha taking them in after ”the incident” is reminiscent of the false backstory given the Golden Guard in season two.

I should probably also mention that Kiki-I’m sorry, I meant ”Miki.” When Jerbo was putting forth his plans to make things not suck for everyone, Miki interjected, saying that doing so would take up her time… and implying that without the constant protection of ”Miki” and ”Roka,” Boscha would be turned into a puppet and collected as well.

YO, is she gonna try to recreate the teleportation circle Philip used in Elsewhere and Elsewhen?!? See, I told you guys, I told you! I told you it’d be so cool if Luz or Lilith memorized it and used it, and no they’re doing it!

I mean, hopefully. Weeeeell… aside from the possibility that the teleportation circle will just outright fail (there was what, some twenty glyphs to it?), Kikimora might also have some objections. She might still have a grudge towards Hunter, for one thing. Or all the kids, for all the trouble they’ve caused her.

I dunno about you guys, but this is giving me Hollow Mind vibes. In the sense that I’m gonna spend way too long squinting at paintings in the background. I’ll be somewhat brief, because as per usual, I’ll probably get a better look at at least some of them in a sec.

Let’s see, what do we have here…

On the right side of the screen (King’s left) it appears to be mostly depictions of various space-related things. There is one with a shooting star or meteorite about to hit a planet’s surface, which might be the Collectors arriving at this world

The left side of the screen (King’s right) is where things get interesting. Going from closest to the screen to furthest away, we have…

A painting of three Collectors looking at what I assume is a depiction of the Demon Realm planet. There is a wee little collector coming up to them. This one is, aside from being smaller than the others, purple, where the others are blue. The little one is obviously supposed to be The Collector, our little Lord of the Fireflies.

The next painting shows two collectors holding and trying on Titan skulls. In the background is either a Titan, a Titan trapper, or the third collector disguised as a Titan.

The third painting looks an awful lot like the mural we saw way back in Echoes of the Past. If we go by the ”collector dressed as a Titan” theory in the previous paragraph, then this painting might be depicting that collector in combat against a Titan. At the feet of the Titan is an egg, and we can see the head of a smaller Titan. So far, this seems to fall in line with the theory I put forth a little while ago, about the Titan Trappers worshipping not THE Collector, our Prince of Plastic, but another collector. One who gave them the idea of dressing up like their prey.

The fourth painting shows the three big collectors throwing away the littlest collector.

The fifth painting shows the little collector surrounded by baby Titans. D’aw!

The sixth… I really can’t tell, but I think I can see the three faces of the three tall collectors. Maybe it’s them leaving this planet and choosing to abandon the little one.

#the owl house #liveblog #the owl house liveblog #for the future #toh s3e2

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benotafwaid · 1 year

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In your world do angels do this sort of thing all the time, or is it only while on vacation? Also what's the heaven like? Do believers get to spend eternity smashing angel pussy, or is it a more normal take on heaven, and the angel-fucking is relegated solely to the mortal realm?

The Celestial Realms have a certain level of disconnect with the Mortal Realm, and so, either periodically or when someone notices something weird happening, an emissary must be sent to study various aspects of mortal life.

34 Rides has been sent on the regular schedule, and their duty chosen by the wild uptick in freaky porn over the course of the last century or two.

34 Rides just likes to say they're on vacation because they were literally told to go down to the Mortal Plane and have as much sex as possible for a couple of decades. While they themselves do not normally crave carnality, they are aware that most mortal species do, and that this would help them seem relatable.

As far as heaven goes... I have never thought about that so that means I gotta think about it now... As per the meme.

It's not really about belief, because in this universe the Divine is demonstrably real in the form of 34 Rides A Cowboy To Save A Horse and their constant mention of their Superiors. Religion is actually irrelevant to this fact.

There is a Heaven and a Hell, and you go to one depending on how much harm you knowingly caused to others(and where you'd actually enjoy yourself the most. Masochists get to go to Hell if that's what they're into, that sort of thing).

As far as smashing angel pussy in Heaven.... Uh, yeah sure. I mean most of them do NOT look conventionally fuckable, but if you get consent, you can totally dick down that mess of wings and eyes and fire.

The thing about Heaven is that it is the quintessential 'Paradise'. It has what you want it to have. Physics don't really apply unless you need them in order to feel comfortable. Over time, and we're talking a very long time here, Eons, that sort of thing, you will gradually lose all sense of connection with your Mortal life and when you no longer recall what you did, you don't really feel entitled to a reward anymore, so you usually get reincarnated or promoted to a cherub, which is like a baby angel/angel intern.

This is NOT how most angels came into being though, but you'll have to send a separate ask for that...

#ooc #worldbuilding #on the spot style

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flowers-and-fichte · 1 year

Text

FOUR - MAGDA

A/N: We meet a new character! I hope you enjoy her. By the way, Sophie's faceclaim is Hayley Atwell.

Warnings: as per usual, not a whole lot here

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

I whip my head around at the sound of the woman's voice and pull away to examine her. She is middle-aged, probably in her thirties, with a somewhat square face, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and brown hair. She is wearing a blue overcoat, a pair of black velvet gloves, and blue heels. A white scarf is tied snugly around her neck. She appears to be in a hurry.

"You want us to..." I begin, but she interrupts me.

"Come with me, yes. We must get you out of here." Without a warning, she grabs my wrist and yanks me towards her as she hastily marches through the streets with me and Sergei in tow. I don't even ask for her name, focusing instead on the people around us, watching as this complete stranger pulled us past them.

I eventually gain control over where I am going and let go of her hand to walk beside her, but it's nearly impossible because she's nearly running. I eventually catch up with her and whisper, "Who are you?"

She turns her head and answers quickly, "Sophie. Sophie Schmitz. But you must not make it clear that I am not related to you, yes?"

"What am I supposed to say-" I begin, but Frau Schmitz cuts me off.

"Just say that you are my children."

"Your children? But we don't look anything ali-"

"You are henceforth my children when we are in public, got it?" Her harsh tone combined with her thick German accent intimidate me slightly.

I swallow. "Okay."

"Gut."

We weave through the crowd until we arrive at a well-kept, tan brick house next to a bakery, which in turn is sandwiched between this house and a slightly taller apartment. Frau Schmitz unlocks the rust-colored door and leads Sergei and me in before closing the door and announcing, "This will be your new home from now on until the war is over. Any questions?"

Sergei and I shake our heads. We all take off our shoes before setting foot on the hardwood floor, which creaks under our weight. In front of the door is a wooden table with a porcelain vase containing an assortment of wildflowers, and on the wall, which is painted a brick red color, is a golden-framed painting of a rather heavenly setting, filled with cherubs and a bright sky. I don't take the time to examine the work, but I can tell that it was painted by a very experienced individual.

Frau Schmitz beckons us into the living room, which is quite large, with an enormous window taking up most of the left wall. This room is mustard-colored, with a long emerald green couch pressed up against the wall with the window, and a wooden table shaped like an oval on the floor beneath a white rug. A potted plant rests on the table, along with a stack of books. A sofa the same color as the couch, with a flower-print blanket draped over the top cushion is adjacent to the couch, and a tall wooden bookshelf is against the opposite wall. There is a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a large record player sits on a wooden table beside the sofa. I marvel at the sight, not having seen such a grand place since my family and I were deported to Dachau. The setup of this room reminds me of how our neighbors, the Joswiaks, who were very wealthy, had every room in their home decorated like this.

Frau Schmitz sits on the couch by the window, and Sergei and I join her. She explains, "Do not be afraid. I despise Hitler. All of his flags, his yelling, his big parades, his speeches, everything. It's nothing but garbage to me. That is why I devote my life to protecting people like you."

Before I ask her what she means by "protecting people like you" (with "you" referring to Sergei and myself), she gets up and gently taps part of the wall, which has a slight opening as though there is a secret door there. The wall opens up, and two children and a woman come out. My eyes widen at the sight. This woman had brought us here because she's hiding people in her house. People like us.

Frau Schmitz turns to face us. "There are more, don't worry." She lets out a chuckle. "I hope you don't mind sharing a home with them."

"We're going to hide in the wall?" Sergei asks nervously. Frau Schmitz shakes her head, smiling.

"No. Of course not."

"But those people are in the walls."

"That is because they want to hide there. I didn't make them. I gave them a choice."

"Where can we stay?" I ask.

"Well..." She ponders for a moment. "I have room in the attic. You can stay there, no?"

"Sure," I answer. "Is that all right, Sergei?"

The boy nods and replies, "Okay."

I look at the woman in front of me. "Thank you very much, Frau Schmitz."

"Bitte. And please, call me Sophie."

"Right. Sophie. Of course."

And with that, Sophie leads us out of the living room.

#historical fiction #part 5 #novalis writes

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lightsovermonaco · 2 years

Text

Attention

Masterlist

I have once again been struggling with writers block so I decided to try a song fic. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit as per usual 🥰

Word Count: 3.1k

Song: “Attention” by Charlie Puth

Pierre only agreed to come to George's party because he was promised alcohol. Two hours in, his throat is drier than a desert, his hand is empty, and he was starting to regret his decision.

He scans the party for some sort of out. This conversation was starting to grate on his nerves and he wasn't sure he'd survive without whatever fruity cocktail George had cooked up tonight.

Parties bored Pierre. What little free time he had was better spent working out, in a car, or at home wrapped in someone he cared about. He had little patience for small talk, which is half the reason he had forgotten about the woman to his left until she breathed word of his profession.

"...heard you're some sort of driver and I had to ask."

Pierre's head snaps up. He smiles automatically at the blandly pretty woman, "yeah, I'm glad you did. You saved me from a slow, boring death."

He meant it sarcastically but she laughed anyway. It was too forced, her head thrown back and her chest pushed towards him like she wanted him to notice her low-cut top. Pierre did notice, but didn’t care to linger.

He didn't linger on much these days.

A laugh rises above the music, carried to Pierre on cherub's wings. Everything inside him stretches and pulls until he's not sure which way his organs are actually supposed to be arranged.

You're here. Somewhere in his hellscape of strobing lights and pounding bass, you slip through the crowd.

Pierre blinks hard, wildly scanning the crowd, begging the fates to grant him some semblance of luck.

The fates have other plans. Pierre catches a glimpse of your sun-kissed skin and he can picture your dazzling smile even with your back turned.

"Fuck." Pierre's stomach drops to his feet and he shrinks, desperate to disappear into the tropical-printed cushions.

"Um, are you okay?" His conversation partner tips her head, her wide smile not matching her otherwise perplexed expression.

Pierre yanks at the bracelets on his wrist, desperately trying to ground himself. His heart beats wildly, breath coming quick like he'd just finished a marathon. Fucking hell, he was gonna lose it. George promised Pierre he didn't have to worry.

That laugh grates against his eardrums again. Pierre is amazed he manages to keep his blue and white Nikes from being painted blue and green.

Memories surface through rose-tinted glass. Your fingers carding through his hair, stretched atop him in a barely there bikini at a deserted beach. Pierre begging you for one more kiss before getting on a plane. Your lips at the shell of his ear, whispering promises you had no intention of keeping.

He was obliviously happy then. Love came easily under the heat of the summer sun. But hearts freeze over with the first fall frost and shatter like the petals of a flower caught unaware by the sudden cold snap.

A hand brushes his arm and he jolts. "Do you need some water? You look like you're going to be sick."

"Uh, I'm fine." Pierre fights to arrange his features into a smile. "I spotted my ex and I don't really feel like talking to her."

Understatement of the century.

"Oh, I know what that's like." The woman- Lana, maybe? Pierre can't remember her name though they'd spent the better part of the last hour together- slides closer to him. Her hand lands on his knee, light as a feather. "I'm guessing it didn't end well, huh?"

Pierre scoffs bitterly. "If you call dragging my name through the mud and effectively banning me from all events that aren't hosted by my closest friends not ending well, then yes."

It'll be a miracle if you don't spot him. Pierre prays his lightened hair and poor posture are enough for you to skip over him.

Maybe-Lana clicks her tongue. "Poor baby." Her lower lip juts out in a little pout at the same time her hand slides up Pierre's thigh, applying pressure as it travels. "You wanna get out of here? She can't bother you if you're not around. And I bet I can help you take your mind off it."

Flirting, he can tolerate. The occasional suggestive touch or chaste kiss, fine. But he can't imagine taking anyone to bed and subjecting them to the embarrassment of being called by a name other than their own.

Pierre fumbles to string together words. His jaw moves but a voice that isn't his own speaks oh his behalf.

"He'll pass. Right, Pierre?" Pierre feels your heat radiating a hair's breadth from his neck. "I can tell you're trying to find a way to let her down easy. No worries, I've got it."

Your hand lands on Pierre's shoulder, giving it a quick pat. Neurons cease firing, your simple touch short circuiting his brain.

Please don't move your hand, he begs silently. He's not sure if the pitiful sound he makes is audible or not when you lift it and break the connection.

"Excuse me?"

Pierre doesn't have to look to see your red-painted lips cut a wicked, beautiful grin. God, he wants to kiss it off your face. "He's not interested, in case you haven't picked up on that. Actually, he never was. B-list actresses aren't his type."

The woman's mouth hangs open. She glances between you and Pierre, clearly expecting him to say something in her defense.

He would've chosen softer words, but you get the point across. The poor girl never had a chance. Pierre lifts his shoulder in an apologetic shrug, "she's right. Sorry."

"Wow. Okay then." Lana laughs harshly and snatches her phone and purse off the chaise. "You two make a lovely couple. Real winner you chose there, Pierre."

A tight smile stretches his cheeks. "Preaching to the choir."

You wait until the woman is out of earshot before chuckling. "I don't know why you try with those girls." When you finally hedge into Pierre's peripheral, he does his best to keep his eyes locked dead ahead. You stop directly in front of him, knees inches and oceans apart. "You know they only want you because you're semi-famous."

Like his favorite dog-eared novel, Pierre remembers your plot. Reading it a thousand times doesn't change the ending. When the final chapter comes, the same blood is shed. Crossing his fingers does not rearrange the ink on the page or stop the hero's defeat.

Twenty fingers beg to touch. Two sets of lips yearn to explore. One heart screams to run.

"Hey, Pierre."

He blows out a long, shaky breath and turns his eyes to the sky. It isn't fair for you to say his name with such reverence when it was never a holy thing to you.

"How have you been?" You tip your head and your hair falls over your shoulder. Pierre can't describe the scent of your perfume as anything other than regret.

You're as beautiful now as you were the first time you ripped out his heart. He hates that his pain doesn't change how badly he wants you.

"Don't you like my dress?" You run a hand down your side. He does. You already know that.

"That dress is karma," Pierre mutters. Misty blue velvet clings to your body, flowing over your curves like water until it stops mid thigh. He knows exactly what it'll feel like under his palm if he follows the trail yours blazes. No gesture from you was devoid of meaning; the exact shade of blue to match his irises you said were impossible to equal.

Pierre digs his nails into his palms because if he doesn't, he won't survive the night. And he knows that can't end in anything other than an hour of euphoria followed by weeks of silence.

"What was that?" When Pierre stays silent you lean forward, slow and sensual, and curl your pointer finger under his chin. "Speak up, I didn't hear you." Pierre counts the freckles on your brow to keep himself from counting the lashes brushing your cheek. "It's rude to avoid eye contact when speaking with someone. I know your mother raised you better than that. Should I call her and tell her how her son treats women?"

Pierre wonders how many parties you dragged your friends to tonight until you found him. Did you pay for all their cab rides? Had you bribed them with the promise of free drinks and ample desperate men to fawn over them? He doesn't understand why they are drawn to you in droves.

A heart so black, not even a mother could love you.

"I'm waiting, mon ange."

Maybe the answer is simpler. Maybe you own them the same way you own Pierre.

Pierre swallows his pride and prays he keeps his composure. Butterflies erupt in his stomach when he works up the courage to meet your lustful gaze. The soft light from the pool paints you in a ghostly bluish hue and tosses a halo around your figure.

Halloween isn't for another three months, he thinks. And yet here you are, a devil masquerading as an angel, wrapped up in a pretty bow, his death disguised in a beautiful smile.

He doesn't dare allow his gaze to venture further than your plump, glossy lips set in the same smile that reeled him in. But when you smile at him, because of him, it is enough.

"Good boy," you purr, running your finger under his jaw. He curses the shiver that runs down his spine. "Did you miss me?"

"No." Yes. "I've moved on." No he hasn't. "I haven't thought of you in forever."

"Oh, is that so?"

Pierre nods. "It's so."

Lying to you around the broken glass in his throat is one of the hardest things he's done. He thought about you five minutes before your laugh forced him to question reality. The sweatshirt you loved to steal from him hangs at the back of his closet, untouched and smelling faintly of you. Your favorite blanket remains folded neatly on the arm of his sofa, like the faded blue and white pattern might summon you back to him.

Your lips twitch upward and you sink into the recently vacated cushion next to him. Your dress rides up to expose a torturous amount of soft skin. You make no move to fix it. Pierre prides himself on keeping his hands to himself.

Pierre breathes deep and focuses on the two guys at the tiki bar downing shots, the couple fighting by the fence, the dog standing at George's feet waiting for scraps- anywhere but on you.

He was so screwed.

"Nice night." Under the guise of getting comfortable, you sling your bare legs over Pierre's lap. "Reminds me of the ones we spent together causing along Mulholland Drive." You tip your head back and laugh. The curve of your throat is a threat to his health. "You remember, don't you? I'm sure you remember fucking me on the hood of that NSX. By the way, did you ever get in trouble for that?"

The weight of you is too familiar, too welcoming, for him to be remotely comfortable. Pierre bites his cheek to keep from groaning as your toes dip between his thighs. "Can you not?"

Your laugh is light and airless. "Not unless you come clean and tell me the truth. Trust is a two way street."

Pierre isn't sure how he's drowning on dry land. He's nowhere near the pool but chlorine burns his nose and water rushes into his throat when he tries to breathe.

Your fingers graze his shoulder, setting five thin forest fires in their wake. "Why don't you relax, mon chou? You look awkward. It's not like you've ever had a problem touching me before."

Pierre flexes his hands where they hover a foot above your skin. He stares at your legs like doing so will magically make them move.

Fuck, he couldn't survive this again. George already dug Pierre out of one hole; he's fairly certain the Brit's kindness only extends so far.

But oh, how wonderful it would be to fall from heaven unto hell if you are the one waiting to walk through the flames to greet him.

You whisper the words that are his undoing. "Am I still someone to you?"

Pierre sets his hands on your shin. His thumb moves of its own accord, stroking lazy lines over your calf.

Fucking weak.

"Now say you miss me."

He almost does. Pierre always does what you ask. The words creep up his throat but he rushes to replace them with his own, untainted by your floral-scented manipulation.

"You just want attention," Pierre says, stronger and more convincing than he expected. "You don't care about me, you never have. It's my fault too, because I let you. But shit, I deserve better than this, don't I? You don't want my heart. You don't love me."

"So what if I don’t?" You lean close enough for him to taste the champagne on your breath. "It'll still be more fun than with anyone else."

You both know it's the truth. No one holds a candle to the way you move and you've lived in his head for months. He sees your silhouette on the street, in the drug store, at the gym. In his dreams, his name falls from your sugar-coated lips like candy and chases him from sleep.

"Come on, baby. Kiss me and I promise I'll make it go away."

He will never be free of your ghost, so why should he try?

Pierre's heart cracks when he breathes, "One kiss."

Your snare tightens around his neck the moment your lips touch and rips him to shreds. Hungry and needy, your nails scratch the base of his skull and you pull him closer. You blow past his defenses and he opens his mouth when your tongue prods his swollen lip.

This time will be different.

When you straddle his hips the lie deflates and settles in his hollow chest.

"One dance," you murmur. Pierre can't bring himself to answer. Impatient, you nip at his lip.

"One dance."

The last bit of himself breaks off when you haul him to his feet. Pierre avoids George's observant glare and follows after you like a lost puppy. He pretends he doesn't care when you refuse to let him thread his fingers through yours.

Sweat trickles down his back as you grind on him, one of your arms flung back to curl around his neck. Pierre dips his head to your shoulder, letting the beat take hold as he sucks a mark on your skin. He hopes you see it in the mirror and remember how you refused the moon when he pried it from the sky and offered it to you with bloodied, broken nails.

"Let's go to yours." You slot your mouth over his to swallow his answer. Pierre's whine mingles with your laugh as his stomach ties itself in knots.

Everything in him screams to cave, to call an uber and stumble into it with you glued to his lips. He wants to be intoxicated by your moans as he fucks you the way only he knows how. He wants you to carve red lines down his back and taste himself on your tongue. He wants that little sound you make as you come to linger in his consciousness forever. He wants to crawl inside your heart and get lost for so long that you finally let him stay.

The thing about dreams is they very rarely come true. Being signed to a semi-professional racing team probably met his lifetime quota of wish fulfillment. Short of stumbling upon a magic lamp, the rest of Pierre’s will indefinitely remain fantasy.

You will never want anything more than sex from him, and Pierre should come to terms with that- has come to terms with that.

But you draw him in with your siren song and he is powerless to resist. When he grows close enough you will lash out and drag him into the sea. You'll whisper that you love him as the water rushes in and his heartbeat fades, and he will thank you for doing it, just as he always does.

Your fingers carding in his hair, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come back to mine, then. I’ll wear that green set you like so much.”

Salt bursts on Pierre's tongue when he kisses you. It's the last time he ever will and he wants to carve it in stone. His hands wander in hopes of memorizing the shape of you. Strawberry shampoo assaults his nose and he'll never be able to smell it again without thinking of you.

Pierre steps away before he breaks the kiss. He draws a breath bristling with knives. Cold floods him in the absence of your body pressed against him and he regrets it immediately, but his only chance at freedom is now.

"No," he says with a sad, knowing smile. "You already won, what more do you want from me? I'll be chasing your high for as long as I live, and I think that's punishment enough."

Your face twists with true confusion and he almost crumbles. "Pierre, I won't leave this time. I swear, I want this, I want you-"

Pierre shakes his head, chest rattling. "It's okay. I knew from the start that there was only ever one ending to us." Pierre pinches a stray curl between his thumb and forefinger. He tugs on it a little as crocodile tears spring to your eyes. "You've made sure I'll never get over you. You'll always own a too-big piece of me, and I know that's what you've always wanted. Congratulations."

Pierre withdraws his hand before you can latch onto his wrist. "No, Pierre don't. Please don't."

"I wish I didn't have to."

Your tears become a mirror, magnifying and reflecting the heartbreak into his soul.

He feels it setting in. Ash coats his taste buds; he will never taste another meal as sweet as you. Exhaustion grows roots in his bones in preparation of years spent lying awake and wondering if he was always destined to be the consort to your unhappiness.

You are a hangover that will never end. You are the disease that will inevitably consume him.

Pierre leaves you to cry alone under the party lights, his lungs filled with the thick black tar of grief.

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 one shot #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic

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sumsebien · 3 years

Text

by design pt. 3// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: friedrich and y/n’s arrival in prussia! ft. frederica ;))

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

a/n: apologies for the long wait darlings. here she is though. and she is a long one. also a side note for those who love symbolism as much as i do 💐 ;) also, my banabaer @milkbaer this one is for u baby. thank you for all of your help!!!

a german lesson: Gänschen means goose🦆 (that’s a duck but we can pretend) and schloss means palace/chateau/mansion

The massive railway station stood proudly as the gateway to Potsdam, located right where the forest met the city. Three archways made of worn bricks welcomed old friends and strangers alike. There was something in the slightly tinted mossy green that offered you an odd sense of home. Like you had been here before.

Friedrich stood next to you near the exit. You had had breakfast together, then got ready separately before meeting each other again here.

“I had a lot of memories with this train station,” Friedrich said as the train finally passed the great archway.

You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath the entire time, waiting for the wheels to come to full stop. You had been storing information from Lea and Ilse about Friedrich’s mother all morning. Anything that might help you strike up a decent conversation with her from her favorite flowers (gardenias) to her pets (a schnauzer named Fifi). Since then, you had been a little preoccupied by your own imaginations of her as a mother.

From the way Friedrich talked about her, your first guess was that they were extremely like-minded. Aside from that, there was the fact that she was a Queen to consider. She obviously must be extremely elegant and poised. Even her dog sounded posh-Fifi the Schnauzer...

You were still listening to Friedrich though, just not closely. “Really?” you asked, your eyes following the platform numbers as they passed by.

He nodded proudly. “I ran here from the Palace and caught the train to Berlin for a boxing match.”

You laughed, now entirely engaged in imagining little Friedrich fleeing from his guards. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. I skipped a dancing lesson.”

“Shame. You could have become a ballerina and outdone my stunts at your Christmas party.”

“Who’s to say that I did not? There are still many shocking things that you don’t know.” His plan to distract you from your own nerves had worked wonderfully well. You two continued to discuss his boxing match up until you were escorted out of the station.

There, you were greeted by a great spectacle of carriages and a horse parade. Everywhere you looked there were men in uniforms. They were on horses, in open top carriages, on the streets, all waiting for you and Friedrich.

Back in London, your family frequently had two to three carriages to accompany you to social functions. It was already considered excessive for the ton. You would have laughed at the idea of this. Or to be honest, wouldn’t have even been able to imagine having an entire parade to accompany you a couple of blocks down the street.

And of course, you could not forget the icing on the cake-the largest carriage you had ever seen. The one you saw in France could not compare and certainly not the one in England. This one was completely enveloped in gold from top to toe-or rather from roof to wheels. On the top of the roof, there were golden cherubs holding up an olive branch and flowers.

It was a harsh reminder that Friedrich, someone who you had grown to identify as your friend over the last several hours, was also the firstborn son of the King, heir apparent to the throne. And you were his wife. Whatever agreement you had made with each other in private was not valid in the public eye. Here, you were a Princess. The Princess.

As Friedrich watched you marvel in the magnificence of the royal parade, he turned to Heinrich with a last minute decision. Well last minute for his father and valet but not for him. Friedrich had wanted to visit his mother for ages.

“I’m heading to my mother’s. We’ll catch up with the staff afterwards and meet you at the Berlin Palace.”

All of this was not on the schedule his father had drawn out and Friedrich was well-aware. He had even cancelled the state train that Friedrich specifically ordered to Potsdam just to make sure he would not take you here first. But Friedrich was not one to lose.

At the same time, however, he knew that his valet was absolutely terrified of his father, as did most people. Soon enough, when his father found out that his son was not on the train to Berlin and was nowhere near the Royal Palace, he would definitely not be happy.

“But your Highness, we really must get going now or we won’t reach Berlin by noon.”

“If he asks, just blame it on me. I’ll be in and out in one hour.”

Heinrich didn’t say anything after that, just nodded. For that, Friedrich was thankful, he did not want to ruin this magical moment for you. It was not going to be this magical for long.

As Heinrich left with your staff, Friedrich turned back to you. “Y/N?”

“I-Is this for us?”

The look on your face made him laugh. Your jaws were grazing the floors, your eyes slowly sweeping across the scene then glanced at him and back to the carriages again.

“I believe it is,” he smiled, offering you his arm.

…

The entire ride back to the Palace was essentially just for you to fathom the welcome wagon.

You could barely string a sentence together, nodding along as Friedrich picked out places that he mentioned in his stories last night, especially enthusiastic about the candy shop he was never allowed to go in.

Potsdam was charming. You could certainly imagine a very fulfilling and peaceful existence here where it wasn't hectic like London but not entirely placid like the countryside.

Just when you thought you could not be more impressed, you arrived at Sanssouci Park.

When Ilse briefly mentioned it, you had expected a park. Like Hyde Park or Regent’s Park or the little garden behind your house that your parents insisted was a park. Whatever you had imagined, however, could not hold a candle to what it was in reality.

“Welcome to Sanssouci Park,” Friedrich said casually, casting a brief look out the windows while your eyes were completely glued to the towering gates opening up for your parade to pass through.

The name was not meant to refer to a park. It was definitely not a park. It was a bloody forest. As you entered the road lined with dense trees, the temperature dropped slightly with the shade, effectively cooling you both from the outside in.

“This is what you call a park? Whatever do you two think of Hyde Park then? A child’s sandbox?”

Before he could answer, your attention was quickly captured by a glimpse of something magnificent as the carriage passed a gap between the tree trunks. You pointed towards the dash of yellow you’d seen. “Is that where your mother lives?”

Friedrich followed your gaze and promptly nodded. “That’s Sanssouci Schloss. Here is the back of it.” Just on cue, the carriage rounded the corner and headed towards the back of the Palace.

Your jaws were officially off now as your eyes feasted on the very picture of splendor.

From personal observations, people usually spent a great deal of time and fortune on making the fronts of their homes as extravagant as possible. It was all in the face, as they said. But not here. Here, even the rear side was grand.

There was a huge water fountain in the middle of the yard, the blue sky printed on the surface. Naturally, your eyes followed straight ahead, past the window behind Friedrich’s head towards the most elaborate set of marble stairs you’d ever seen. On either side were tall walls of hedges and rose bushes that covered the hillside.

“Can we walk up those steps?”

Friedrich turned to look at the steps and then back at you again.

It was not a steep hill. More of a gentle slope but exactly because of that, the steps were long and the landings were wide. Anyone in breeches would find it challenging enough as it was. But you were in a gown, in the sweltering July heat and you were volunteering to walk. “You can. People usually go straight to the entrance though. Are you certain you’d want to walk? It is a long way.”

You nodded, brushing off his concerns. All you cared about was the sight.

Per your request, the carriage stopped right before the grand stairs to Sanssouci Palace. You and Friedrich got out of the carriage.

From where you stood, you had to crane your neck up slightly to be able to see the Palace up the top. The strip of yellow you’d seen from afar turned out to be much more intricate than you’d expected. Beautiful white windows lined the yellow walls, right in the center was an oval shaped room with a cyan dome on top, perfectly aligned with the stairs. Even though it only had one story, its width certainly made up for its height, stretching across the hill.

As you walked ahead, Friedrich decided to stall a little bit. Memories of endless summer days spent on these lawns came flooding back.

He had missed this.

The last time he was here was the summer before he left for England. It was actually here that his aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation to Cambridge-the day that changed his life.

And now he was here with you. Someone he had dreaded to marry a mere few days before. Now a dear friend to him.

Straight in front of him, you were marching up the steps with admirable determination, your hands holding onto your skirt, lifting it off the ground. With sun on your skin and wind in your hair, you laughed and told him to hurry up. For that split second, he wished he was not just your friend. Though he discarded that thought as quickly as it came, it stayed stuck in the back of his mind as he matched your pace.

“These are a lot of steps,” you remarked after the first flight of stairs was behind you. There were at least five more ahead. The excessively wide spaces between each step did not help with the general morale either.

“I did warn you,” he chuckled. “It was too exhausting a trip that Marie Antoinette rode a horse up these steps after her stroll in the garden.”

You paused for a moment.

Friedrich thought you were imagining the French queen trotting up the steps with her stallion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

“Did he invite her over during one of the military clashes between Prussia and France?”

To say that Friedrich did not expect that was an understatement. You had told him you read but he never asked for the specifics on what exactly you were interested in. At that moment, he simply thought you’d be interested in a made-up tale to forget about the stairs. He did not think for a moment you’d be interested in foreign conflicts enough to know the feud between Prussia and France. He knew he certainly wasn’t as a student.

“You can’t fool me. I know,” you said, laughing at the shock on his face.

Pleasantly impressed, he remarked, “Full of surprises I see.”

“You’ll see that in this friendship,” you motioned between yourselves, “you’re not the only one who can shock.”

He gave you a nod, lowering his eyes and watched his steps before he murmured to himself. “Friendship, yes.” He reminded himself of how grateful he was to be your friend. And that maybe pining over you for the rest of his life was better than having you hate him.

If there was one thing for certain, it was that you two would not repeat his parents’ mistakes.

“Darling!”

The voice caused Friedrich’s eyes to snap upwards, slightly alarmed as they weren’t expected on this side of the Palace. Everyone was supposed to be at the front.

The first thing he saw was that you had stopped as well, only standing two steps above him. And then, on the top flight, he saw his mother, waving at him. She wasn’t supposed to greet them outside. At the same time though, he wouldn’t expect her to wait that long for anything anyways.

He waved back with a laugh. She hadn’t changed one bit since the last time he saw her nearly a year ago. A straw sunhat on top of her head, a basket of flower and gardening tools in her hand.

“I-is that-“

Friedrich nodded. “Yes, that’s her. That’s my Mama.”

The nervous jitters came back to you. You knew how much his mother meant to him. She was the true hero of his childhood and you were just excited to meet her. However, you also knew that in no way was this arrangement made by her. And no matter how friendly you were with Friedrich, as his mother, she would not easily trust you.

You quickly masked your nervousness with a gentle smile. It was the safest route after all. Better look like a smiley fool than a grumpy idiot. You thought.

The Queen began to walk down the steps briskly, meeting you halfway up the last flight of stairs. Immediately, she threw her arms around Friedrich, pulling him into a bear hug. “There you are, you Gänschen! You’ve kept your mother waiting long enough!” She said, messing up his hair and only letting go of him once he was shaking with laughter.

When he and your maids said she was very carefree in private, you did not expect her to be this carefree. A lady was not supposed to be out in the sun like this, no less a queen. She was also much more beautiful than you could ever imagine, with her honey blonde curls tumbling down her back in waves and her big blue eyes which were now on you.

“Apologies, Mama,” he stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward. “This is Y/N, my wife. And Y/N, this is my Mama.”

“It is such an honor to meet you, your Majesty,” you said, bending your knees into a curtsy, praying you wouldn’t stumble backwards and ruin the first impression.

You had an overwhelming want for her to like you. And you felt like this first meeting was of paramount importance in deciding that. If it did not go well, she would never see you as anything more than a girl her son was forced to marry. And that was terrifying even in the case where Friedrich remained a good friend.

You were not wrong. Frederica did not expect much from a match made by Louis, a man who clearly did not know his own son or even cared to try. Assuming he did know his son, it would not even be of any matter at all. The only thing he had ever cared about was grooming an heir. This arrangement, no doubt, served that.

But Frederica could not ignore the large smile on her son’s face as he ascended the steps with this young lady.

That? That was not by design.

Frederica shook her head and offered you her hand to help you stand up straight. “I prefer Frederica. At least when we are not in court.”

She gave you a cheeky wink and plucked a gardenia from her basket, tucking it by your ear. “Come on now! I am sure it has been a long trip for the both of you. Let us have some tea before you go.”

...

Frederica led the both of you into the Palace through the doors into the oval room. Inside it was just as spectacular as its exterior. Tall columns held up the painted dome where a chandelier was hung. The three arched windows looking out to the gardens were pushed open by three footmen, allowing sunlight and fresh air to gush into the space, lightening up the entire room.

“Please have a seat, dears,” Frederica said, gesturing to the rounded table in the middle of the room.

You were still too in awe to be able to settle down calmly in your seat but obeyed her anyways. Beside you, Friedrich was glancing around the room, like he was in search of something.

“Is Fifi not here?” he asked as a butler approached the table with a cake stand.

Just on cue, Fifi-his mother’s Schnauzer, shot through the doors. You nearly gasped out of sheer excitement when you saw the ball of salt and pepper fur fly into the room like an arrow. You had always shared a fondness for dogs. Yet you never had one. The only dogs you had were your father’s hunting hounds and he made sure you remained far away from them.

“Speak of the devil...” Friedrich turned to you, “this is Fifi, hated by most but very loved by my mother. Mostly because she smells like fish.”

He kept his eyes on the dog as she strolled around, heading in your direction and getting alarmingly close. “Fifi!” he said, shooing her off. The dog didn’t care, just kept on going forward.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I love dogs,” you said, fighting the urge to pet Fifi who was quietly sniffing at the hem of your skirt.

Frederica was absolutely surprised when she saw her Schnauzer so quiet. Her dog was not friendly with strangers. By this time there should have been an accident.

The delayed accident happened right after that. Fifi bit down on your dress, tugging at it playfully.

More surprising, however, you didn’t seem scared of the feisty little old thing either. You just laughed.

“Fifi! Leave the poor girl alone!” Frederica said, tapping her shoes against the floor.

Friedrich quickly leaned forward and picked her up. Being lifted off the ground, she released your skirt and focused on wiggling out of Friedrich’s grasps instead. When she eventually succeeded, Fifi headed back to you, circling your feet, her tail wagging.

Friedrich clicked his tongue, about to bend over again to shoo Fifi off. Not that she would care. But the dog plopped down between your chair and his mother’s, out of Friedrich’s reach.

She looked up at you with big eyes, begging for a pet, which you were happy to provide. You reached down and scratched her ears. It was all rather brave, if he must admit.

“I know it is hard to believe but she seems fond of you,” Frederica mused, seeing Fifi transform into a whole other dog under your touch. She was not usually this sweet.

Friedrich scoffed. “The devil almost ripped her skirt off,” he gestured to the hem of your dress, and glared at Fifi.

“It’s fine, honestly. I think it was a compliment if anything,” you said with a smile.

He sighed. “Don’t defend the perpetrator! She has a terrible temperament. And you know it,” he turned to his mother.

“Fifi does. as much as I love her,” Frederica nodded. Fifi’s ears perked up at the mention of her name, blinking at her owner. “But you seem like a very experienced animal whisperer.”

“No, actually. I never had one.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You’re great with Fifi. And if you can handle her, you can handle any dog.”

“Any dog is better than Fifi,” Friedrich said under his breath. Nevertheless, he was glad to see the two of you bond. Even if it was over Fifi the Ferocious.

On the bright side, at least she wasn’t coming back with them to Berlin. It was the only thing Friedrich and his father had ever had in common-a dislike for the Schnauzer.

...

Heinrich was being escorted into the Palace towards the audience room. A place he would much prefer not to go to on his own. He had arrived for over an hour and still you two were nowhere to be found and it was only for so long he could hide the train of carriages. Eventually, one of the butlers alerted the King of his presence and he was immediately requested inside.

Heinrich had suspected that you would arrive slightly late. He just didn’t think it could be this late. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. One misstep and off with his head.

When the doors to the room were swung open, the King was throwing a fit. His deafening yell rang across the room and bounced against the tall walls. It certainly did not help with the nerves.

“WHERE IS MY HORSE?” he demanded, rising up from the throne. From where he stood, he towered over the poor footman. “I am late for hunting!”

“Your Majesty, you cancelled today’s hunt.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

Heinrich kept quiet, remaining invisible as he approached the throne behind the butler. He was not about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire during one of the King’s fits.

The footman blinked. Heinrich could see the man debating whether or not to answer, lest it was a rhetorical question.

“B-because the Prince is back from England, sir?”

“Oh,” the King said. His voice quieter than before and sat back down again. The crease between his Majesty’s eyebrows disappeared, his expressions softening slightly. Then he turned to the footman with a quizzical look. “And where is the Prince?”

The footman turned around and met Heinrich’s eyes. And then the King followed his gaze. So much for not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I-“ Heinrich began, his mind drawing a blank.

If he were to tell the truth, Friedrich and you would no doubt be in trouble. However, if he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be in trouble and so would you two. And if he just said he didn’t know, he’d be on the first ship to an island far far away.

“Well?” The King barked.

“I’ll go get them, your Majesty!”

“Don’t just stand there. Hurry along then! Before I chop all of your heads off.”

Heinrich had never walked so fast out of a room his entire life. His heart was pounding as it began to dawn on him that he had just lied to the King. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was going to get them. They just weren’t here yet. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. There was no reasoning with such a powerful man. All he could do was hope that he would still be alive to see another day.

Just when all of his luck appeared to have run out, he heard the distinct sound of hooves against cobble and rushed outside.

Friedrich helped you out of the carriage, still engaged in the never-ending tales of Fifi the Ferocious. You were laughing when you caught sight of the magnificent Royal Palace-Berliner Schloss. It was much boxier than Sanssouci Schloss with towering walls that casted a great shadow over the front lawn.

Household staff lined the steps on either side, straightening up as Heinrich dashed past them. Some had their heads turned, the younger ones especially, their curious eyes on you, trying to catch a glimpse of the new Princess. The more seasoned staff near the top stayed perfectly still, resisting the urge to look anywhere other than straight ahead.

“Your Highnesses!” He said, bowing so quickly you were worried his head might snap off. “Your presences are requested. Immediately!”

...

Through the doors you could faintly hear your titles being announced. Your palms were clammy so you hid it behind you, focusing on what you might say in a couple of moments.

Friedrich was not nervous, of course.

He was the one who planned the detour in the first place. And while you had enjoyed the time with Frederica very much, perhaps a little too much, it had delayed your schedule by well over a couple of hours. It meant that you made the King of Prussia, your father-in-law wait.

The only person more nervous than you was probably Heinrich. Every time you caught a glimpse of his face, he seemed more haggard than the last. You were not certain whether he was really sick or just worried.

"My father will say things. Things that are aimed to test you. Do not mind any of it," Friedrich said quietly.

"Something tells me I should take that as a suggestion. One look at Heinrich and I know what I am in for."

Friedrich sneaked a glance at his valet and gave you a small smile. "Heinrich has always been that way. Worries a little too much."

"Maybe that is for good reason-"

The trumpets sounded, prompting you to straighten up, smooth your dress and put on a smile. In the corner of your eyes, you could see Friedrich cracking up. Had it not been for the fact that you were being presented right then, you would have given him a slipper to the chest. He was still smiling up until you had to walk through the doors.

Then, his demeanor shifted completely. You did not dare to make eye contact with the King. All you saw was brief glimpses of a man, wearing a red cloak on the throne. But Friedrich, he was looking straight down the room, challenging his father.

From the stories he had told you, you knew that Friedrich had a rough relationship with his father. Once he got a chance to break away, he vowed he would allow his father to have full control of his life again. And from the suffocating tension in the air, you knew his father would not make it easy.

“The Prince and Princess of Prussia, your Majesty,” a footman announced.

"Your Majesty," you said, giving the King a curtsy.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope the journey was not too rough for you.”

You smiled and nodded. Not a bad start.

However, it was a completely different story when you saw Friedrich’s face. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced by his father’s concern. "You do, father? Wasn’t it on your orders that the state train never arrived?”

“Now, now, Friedrich. That was none of my doing.” The King turned to you with a small smile. “I must say, you are much prettier than I expected, my lady.”

He had made such an effort to emphasize the last two words that even if you weren’t listening, you still would have caught them. The King was smirking on his throne, his icy eyes sending chills down your back.

“I believe it’s your Highness, father.”

This row was your fault. You could tell.

“No, I don’t think it is. You didn’t get married.”

“We did.”

“That did not count.”

“How? Because you weren’t invited?”

“I see all of your manners have gone out the door since you stepped foot out of this country.”

Friedrich wanted to scoff. It was always going to be about England. If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to do it properly. But not in front of you.

He turned to Heinrich. “Take the Princess to see the chambers.”

You didn’t want to leave. You were responsible for this in one way or another. You should be here to take the blame. But Friedrich shook his head like he knew what you were about to say. “Come with Heinrich. I’ll meet you later.”

“No need for that. Lady Brandt, your chief lady-in-waiting, will take you for a tour. Bernadine?”

You remembered Lea and Ilse mentioning her as well. However, at that time, she didn’t have a name or a face for you to attach her to just yet. You just knew that she was going to be in charge of all of your affairs like Heinrich was doing for Friedrich. Now she had a name and a face.

At the mention of her name, she nodded and stepped forward from the line of staff on your right. She was dressed in a blood red dress, a strand of pearls wrapped around her long neck. She came towards you, giving you an impressive curtsy, tipping her head forward slowly yet keeping her hat perfectly still on her dark raven hair.

When she looked up, you were finally able to see her striking hollow eyes, tall cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned corner of her lips. She looked awfully familiar. Like a much younger version of your mother actually. And she was just as terrifying.

“Come with me, your Highness.”

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chaoticneutralwriter · 3 years

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GD!Jimin Extras: Golden Hour

As they say, taking a picture lasts longer.

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, fluff, romance, angst, slow-burn

word count: 2.2k

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

A snapshot of the days before The Storm

A/N: Shout out to @azulamakesmeblank because this was partially inspired by this ask! As promised, a fluff chapter before the literal shit storm that’s about to take place in the story (butisitreallywhenyoureadthelastlineofthispromptwhat:’)) I hope you enjoy it! it’s kinda half edited dkfhgha I love you guys as always for your support and patience for this story! 💖💖💖💖

Tags: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway @indiesy @disn3yfreak @oerangdoongi @definitelynotshady @youmaiiwasherebeforeu

You arrive at the front door a little too breathlessly in your haste. It should be embarrassing but blaming your increased pulse on your lack of fitness has your mind and, ironically, your heart resting easier than having to think that you're actually half-nervous and half-excited to see Jimin again.

Even though you literally saw him just yesterday.

You really need to pull yourself together better; you'd rather not have a repeat of pouring tomato sauce all over the counter because your hands got too shaky from Jimin watching you cook dinner (and after you insisted on him not needing to do anything too!)

You take in a fortifying breath, appearing to be squaring up to take the final stand in saving the world instead of simply seeing your boyfriend for what's essentially a stay-in dinner date. You punch in the pass code to the lock pad with practised ease, almost not giving enough time for the beep to chime as you push the door open.

“Jimin?” You call out in greeting once you toe off your shoes and slip on your pair of house slippers. Your eyes scan over the vast living room, spotting the head of raven locks peeking out from the end of the couch. Stepping closer, a smile sneaks its way onto your lips when you realize that he's most likely resting, given his lack of response. Quietly, you step into the kitchen area to set down your bags of grocery on the counter before you make your way to peer over the back of the seat. You're instantly smitten at what you see.

The sun is beginning to make its descent below the horizon, dying the clouds in an ombre of fiery oranges, pinks and reds against the remnants of soft pale blue sky. Thanks to the generous amount of window space the penthouse has, the golden glow easily washes over the interior of the living room and bathes everything with its light; Jimin being no exception.

It cascades over his skin like honey, high-lighting the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheeks, and the shape of his cupid's bow. It makes his long lashes stand out so delicately and the equally dark strands of hair that falls gently over his forehead. Your fingers itch to sweep them away yet at the same time, you don't dare risk disturbing this sleeping beauty.

So unconsciously, you silently settle yourself on the top of the couch, resting your elbows on the cushion with your head propped up in your hand.

He looks so completely relaxed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped over his stomach. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, forearms toned and the first few buttons undone to expose a teasing view of his collarbones while black slacks hug his thighs perfectly (as per usual). If someone were to take a picture of him right now and slap on some big fashion name on it, you're pretty sure anyone who would see it would believe it to be a legit advertisement or a cover of a magazine.

Now that the thought has crossed your mind, temptation begins to rear its head. From the beginning, it's a no brainer what you imagine one would do given the opportunity of having a guardian demon that looks like the carbon copy of your favourite idol; do whatever you can to prevent said demon from stepping out into the world and risk slandering the actual person they're parading around as, or indulge in your wildest fantasies now that you have the means.

It's....a rather unique position to be in, with a plethora of mixed feelings to say the least.

After the initial shock of it wore off (which was really just taking three business day to process it all), you've come to the conclusion that this whole thing was, more than anything, weird. Some people might be able to turn a blind eye and though you're grateful that he had decided to look like Park Jimin from BTS, no matter how good of a disguise it was, it still doesn't change the fact that it's not Jimin.

You were grateful, but it made you a little resentful towards him.

With such a stark contrast, it's as if all of the good things you associated with that face had been sullied for something colder and unfeeling. You hated that he had chosen to use someone like Park Jimin – the perfect example of a good human being – to mask his much more sinister nature. You were sure it was part of some sick joke, and it felt...wrong.

Like you've lost part of a safe space in your world to the uglier side of the universe.

So in an attempt to preserve Jimin's good name in your heart, you were adamant in keeping your guardian demon at arms' length, hence why doing something as simple as taking a picture with him was out of the question. Not only would it not be in good faith, you can't begin to imagine what would happen if it got out to the world somehow.

And you succeeded....in the most unexpected way possible.

Maybe it was the deep rooted connection you had for Jimin, but there was always, without a doubt, a part of you that was soft to him. At first it had irked you, however over time, you realized it allowed for you to see another part of him that you wouldn't have otherwise. It made you open up to the idea that....he's not as bad as he seems.

You were afraid of losing a piece to your safe space when really, you ended up gaining an entirely new one instead, one that had become just as important.

So maybe that's why, as the longer you stared at Jimin (who's not Jimin but that doesn't mean he's worth anything less), the more you wanted to preserve this memory of him to keep for yourself. It's selfish you know, but things have changed, you've changed, and this is too good of a chance to pass up.

Your phone is out, hands steady as you pull up the camera and you want to laugh at how the image on your screen does no justice in capturing just how ethereal the sight before you is (of course it doesn't, should you really be surprised?) That doesn't stop your finger from tapping the snap button, because as they say, taking a picture lasts longer. The shot is satisfactory enough, getting him at an angle that show him from the waist up. You wonder if you can get another one, this time a little wider....

Well, you'll never know if you'd ever get the shot because your guardian demon chooses to wake up at that moment, locking piercing eyes with you through the phone. You immediately freeze.

There's a pause on his end before you see him pinpoint exactly what is going and a sly smirk tugs imperceptibly at the corner of his lips. “Cherub....” He greets, the low drawl sultry and irises pools of rich melted chocolate.

You gulp, straightening up while trying to inconspicuously put away your phone, a sheepish grin stretching across your face. “Rest well....?”

Jimin pretends to hum in deep thought, shifting so that he's facing more comfortably towards you. “For a good while yes....until my demon senses started tingling, telling me I was being watched. Should I be mildly concerned that you like watching me sleep?”

You scoff, “I don't always watch you sleep.”

“And you totally weren't snapping stalker photos of me.”

Your jaw drops, affronted but you don't go on to deny the claim. “Hey, calling them stalker photos is a stretch. And I'm just saying this because this was the only time I've ever – oof!”

Without warning, his hand had shot out to grab a hold of one of your wrist hanging over the back and with a strong tug, you fall face first onto his chest, an arm encircling you to keep you in place.

“Whatever you wanna call it, doesn't change that I'm still going to charge you for them.” You hear him playfully chastise above you. When you tilt your head up, you see him quirk an eyebrow at you expectantly. You blink, then roll your eyes, pretending to be inconvenienced by his stinginess, as if you're not ready to give him everything if he so much as breathes a word of it.

“Alright, what do you want?”

Jimin doesn't say anything in response, simply staring at you with those bottomless eyes, a smoulder simmering beneath their surface that it has you drowning in their depths. He watches you, unperturbed by your squirming (actually amuses in it) before you practically hear him purr, “What do you think I want?”

Your heart easily skips a beat (or more) and you're sure he can feel it beating frantically from your chest to his. While you're internally combusting, Jimin remains the picture definition of smug, free arm still propped behind his head the same time the other is wrapped around your waist, your face heating at the way you feel his thumb stroke at the strip of warm skin peeking out thanks to your shirt riding up a bit in the tumble.

He's actually infuriating, you think. Why's he gotta be so damn good at what he does?! You don't think he's even trying. Ugh, get it together, this is nothing new so it's not even a big deal! You can be cool about it too!

Giving yourself a chaotic pep talk apparently is what helps you find the courage to scooch up until you're able to land a chaste peck on the centre of his lips. Before you can fully withdraw, you already see the unimpressed look Jimin is shooting your way.

“I know you can do better than that.”

You puff, chewing on your lower lip into a pout; the deadpan in his voice makes you grumble at being called out, your neck and the tips of your ears burning now. Seeing you so flustered though, Jimin couldn't help but be endeared, then finally decide to ease up on the teasing he's been relentlessly subjecting you to. Slowly, he lowers the arm behind his head to gently take a hold on your chin, bringing your attention back to the adoring smile softening his features.

“Pretty cherub,” He coaxes, “Won't you give a little sweet treat for me?”

It takes everything in you to suppress the small whimper that wanted to jump out from the base of your throat at hearing those words. Whether it's teasing, cocky Jimin or loving, doting Jimin, you really aren't built to handle any of them at all, seemingly defaulting to a blushing mess no matter how hard you try be unfazed. Which is why after a moment of resigning to your fate, accepting that there was no point resisting when your heart and body have already betrayed you, do you close your eyes and give in wholeheartedly.

He welcomes you, carefully lets you mould your lips to his for a proper kiss and you helplessly melt against him. You don't think you can ever get used to the feeling but it's like Jimin doesn't mind one bit, pace unhurried to savour every press like it’s your first. Your mind becomes muddled the longer it goes on, and when you feel the swipe of his tongue, you're nearly gone. But as tempting as it is, you can't get too carried away here – you still have dinner to cook!

You allow yourself a few tantalizing licks before you part with great reluctance. Through hazy eyes you meet Jimin's, the little breath you have hitching from the sight of his swollen, moistened lips and dark brown irises now glowing a muted maroon, on the verge of igniting into full blown desire.

“Can't have you spoiling dinner so early.” You say, then embarrassingly avert your gaze at how your voice comes out raspy and thick.

You miss the way the corner of Jimin's mouth twitch, but catch the mischievous glint that's no doubt from mentioning the word 'dinner'. You put on your best scolding face, smacking his chest lightly in reprimand.

“No.”

“I didn't even say anything.” His incredulous retort is drowned out by the laugh he lets out with it, the sound has you struggling to maintain your 'serious' front.

“You were thinking it.”

“Are you sure it's not you projecting your own thoughts onto me?”

You humphed, about to turn away and get off your personal body pillow but Jimin's hold remains steadfast. He sneaks a quick kiss to your forehead once you settle back down again as a means to placate you, chuckling softly, “Okay, okay, I'll behave.”

You giggle lightly, cheeks pressed into his collarbone as you give an approving hum, cuddling even closer to his person and you both lapse into a comfortable silence, breaths in sync. Outside, the final rays of the setting sun disappears below the city's horizon, taking the warmth of the day along with it.

But you find no lack in that when you're lying here in his embrace, because whereas the sun comes and goes, yours remains unwavering.

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chubbyheroesworthyheroes · 3 years

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How about Silas (Fates) and Raphael (3H)? In Silas' supports with Kaze, Kaze is secretly giving him more food as thanks for saving him (like refilling Silas' soup bowl when Silas isn't looking). I thought this could continue unnoticed until Silas can't fit into his armor. For Raph, I figure he's the type of person whose solution to everything is MOAR GAINZ. So what if Balthus bests him in practice combat, so Raph ups his caloric intake but ends up putting on a layer of chonk (and a big gut)?

editing? dont know em--

After their conversation, Silas believed he had gotten through to Kaze about how he didn’t need to pay him back for helping him against that Faceless -- especially since the other man had similarly ended up saving the Nohrian knight not too long after. As far as Silas was aware, they were even and just helping each other out as comrades.

But, on Kaze’s end, wanting to repay the knight for his deeds was just one part of why he was sneakily adding on to the other’s meals. Yes, he was grateful for the rescue, and he took repaying that debt very seriously, but that had been paid back in full by now. No, there was something else that kept Kaze by the silver haired knight’s side, but it wasn’t quite something he knew how to explain, so he let everyone else simply assume that they’d bonded and become good friends.

Which wasn’t wrong, per se, Kaze did actually enjoy Silas’ company. He just...also greatly enjoyed watching the other man eat to the point of being perhaps a little too full.

In Hoshido, especially if one was in the military, such indulgement wasn’t something tolerated. A soldier must be primed for a fight at all times, so while meals were always nourishing and flavorful, there wasn’t often such excess given to those in their station. From what he knew of Nohr, food was not as bountiful as it was in Hoshido, though it was safe to assume that the higher class was given access to the best regardless. Perhaps that was what drove some part of the ninja to give Silas more. Was it not good to give more to those who had been lacking in the same boons as your country’s riches?

But, even that didn’t ring ultimately truthful. At least, not entirely. It, of course, made him feel good to make sure his companions were all taken care of, but there was something else that lurked behind those good intentions. Some morbid interest in watching -- either from close by or afar, both were simple enough to accomplish with his skills in stealth -- another eat and eat, unaware of how much they were stuffing into themselves until something in their brain finally clicked and told them to stop, only it was too late already and they had to stay where they were, bloated and groaning.

It made Kaze flustered and just a little pent up merely thinking about it.

So, he kept up his activities in secret, adding on extras to Silas’ meals and observing -- both going unnoticed..

---

It had been some weeks now since Kaze’s focus on Silas had started. As someone trained to be both extremely observant and incredibly stealthy at the same time, it was a little baffling to see that the knight...had not noticed anything different about his meals. Kaze knew exactly how much he had been adding -- never too much at once, so as to not raise any unnecessary suspicion, slowly giving more and more when it seemed like the other had unknowingly grown accustomed to the portions -- and he was always cautious not to overdo it, but it was still a bit of a surprise that the Nohrian was still so unawares. It wasn’t a bad thing -- certainly not for Kaze -- and it spoke to Silas’ trust and camaraderie with everyone else in Corrin’s army. If it were anything serious, Kaze would be concerned for the knight’s willingness to so easily trust, but it was endearing all the same, and made curiosity gnaw at the back of his mind at how far he could go and still get away with this unnoticed.

Silas’ obliviousness towards what and how much went into his mouth also seemed to extend towards himself. While diligent in his training and duties, he wasn’t very preoccupied with how he looked. He cared where it mattered, of course; he didn’t want to reflect poorly on his dear friend, Corrin, and always looked presentable. But he seemed to have no qualms about himself.

So, where Kaze noticed the way his riding trousers now clung to the curves of his fuller ass, or how his fine shirts pressed cozily against the slight roll of chub that had appeared at his lower belly, Silas seemed perfectly happy not registering that anything was different. And that knowledge only made the heat inside Kaze grow, knowing that this was something of a perfect storm for him. If he weren’t so naturally mild mannered and quiet, Kaze would almost say the thought of what this could turn into made him giddy.

But, it was still early on in this little game, and there was still every chance that it would end when Silas took note of the changes.

---

“Whew, I must be coming down with something, because I just can’t seem to cool off!” Kaze overheard Silas one day, his attention immediately drawn away from his current task.

It was easy enough to fake taking inventory of their supplies to eavesdrop on the knight’s conversation.

“We do have warm summers here in Hoshido, perhaps you are simply not yet used to them, my friend,” came Ryoma’s sure and steady voice, his tone amused.

Kaze darted his gaze over to the two, who must have been finishing up some early morning sparring before the heat of the day got too bad. Prince Ryoma was, indeed, in good spirits; his expression mirthful as he exchanged some more words with Silas. Where there was some color to the prince’s face from the exertion of mock battle, it was clear he was fairing far better than his partner. Silas had at some point forgone his shirt due to the heat, giving Kaze a fantastic chance to get a good look at the effects his additions were having on the other man. The silver haired knight had never been particularly outstanding when it came to muscle mass, but he was at least a little above your average.

But now, where there had just been a small roll of flesh at his middle, there was a rather proper belly blossoming. That little bit of softness had risen like dough into a chubby midsection, still firm from his activities but clearly showing that he’d been getting well-fed lately. Where his belly curved out at the navel, it had the cutest bounce when he moved. It wasn’t anywhere near large enough to knock into his thighs yet, but it did create a nice rolling slab of chub that pinched in at his sides if he moved a certain way. But, Kaze was sure that when the man sat, that soft curve of his lower belly likely had started to brush the plushness of his thighs. His upper body was still fairly defined, though his pecs were rounding out nicely and there were some softer edges coming in on his upper arms and his face.

Well-fed.

That description sent a wave of heat down the back of the ninja’s neck, his unnoticed gaze burning hot as he took in every curve and rounded edge. Silas’ pale skin was flushed a delightful pink, both from the sun and the physical activity of getting in some training. Kaze wondered, vaguely, if he were to grab hold of that soft, pink belly, how would it feel? If he were to caress it gently, would the other even notice? Would he finally see, if he were to squeeze?

No, that would risk ruining the game when it was just picking up.

---

Kaze decided to add another layer to their little game, even if Silas was unaware that they were playing one. It had proven far too easy to keep adding food to the other man’s meals, so on top of constantly making those meals bigger, Kaze began coming up with excuses for giving Silas food in between the usual meal times.

It was easy enough to convince the other man to eat something after training sessions. After such physical strain, it was best to replenish the body with some food, was it not? Silas never seemed to notice that Kaze himself didn’t adhere to this supposed fact, or that the portions of food he was being given were far larger than needed to replace whatever his body had burned through while training. It was a little more difficult to get him to eat when he was out on patrols, as he stated that he wanted to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice if he needed to, but if he were on late night patrols, Kaze could more easily coax him into taking a small break to eat -- especially if he agreed to keep an eye out while the knight dug into his food.

More and more, any free time Silas had seemed to be taken up by food. He was a frequent face at the mess hall, and even when he wasn’t there at meal times, he always conveniently seemed to have food on hand -- and constantly stuffed in his chubby face.

And it was all because of Kaze. He was there, every step of the way, watching and providing and biding his time. As deliciously excruciating as the wait had been, Kaze was ready to claim his prize.

“Hey, Kaze…,” Silas hesitantly broached, his round cheeks flushed red -- from embarrassment, or from huffing and puffing his way through the camp, Kaze could only guess at. “I have a little bit of a problem. Well...Little is probably not the right word--”

Kaze inclined his head, to denote that he was still listening to the knight ramble on, but he would privately admit, he was more focused on accounting for all the new weight that had settled in so well on the Nohrian’s frame.

For the most part, Silas was very well rounded; it gave him a pleasant, overall plush sort of look. His face was cherubic, with round, red cheeks and a softened jawline that dipped into a double chin that looked all too natural on his kind face. It hadn’t taken too long after Kaze had ramped up his feedings for Silas’ upper body to sort of catch up to the rest of him; his upper arms still clung to a slight firmness, but that also might have simply been from how tightly they were squeezed into the sleeves of the shirt he was currently wearing, his now rather hefty looking moobs similarly looking quite confined in his struggling shirt. He hadn’t even bothered -- or couldn’t, a thought that delighted Kaze -- done up the laces at the front, which left some of that pale, fat titfflesh free to jostle for an escape attempt that was truly only hampered by whatever integrity was left of this formerly well-fitting piece of clothing.

Of course, as his eyes traveled lower, it was clear to see that the shirt was...much less of a shirt, and more of a crop top that was just adequate enough to contain his moobs. Because, really, gloriously, Silas’ gut could no longer be contained by something so trivial. His upper belly was round and almost taught -- likely from the large breakfast he’d spent a good two hours shoveling into his hoggish mouth -- becoming a perfect resting shelf for his squishy breasts. While his lower belly, separated from the upper by a swelling roll of fat, hung lower and softer on his expanded frame. It quite easily draped over the other man’s crotch, even while standing, and almost every heavy breath or lumbering movement made it wobble just so. Stretch mark covered love handles fought for room at his sides, perched precariously atop widened hips that had the most luscious curves to them thanks to plentiful food and all of the horse riding that had given him such a nice form to begin with.

His thighs were nothing short of powerfully built, even with the thick layer of lard that now encased them. And, my...his ass really was something to behold; a beautiful bubble butt, straining the ass of his trousers so dearly, Kaze felt like he could almost hear the seams splitting as they stood there.

“--So, do you...do you think you could help?”

The ninja blinked, coming out of his hungered staring to just catch the tail end of whatever Silas had been talking about.

“Yes, of course. I will do my best to aid you, my friend,” he responded swiftly, not even realizing what he was agreeing to until the other man dragged him over to the neatly organized set of his armor.

Oh. Oh, well now, this was better than he could have hoped, really. Silas had recruited him to do what he’d been desiring for months now.

“I’d do it myself, of course, but...uh, I’ve been having some recent trouble reaching around to some of the straps and buckles,” Silas chuckled nervously, his already flushed face seeming to go a deeper red at this admission.

Ah, so he’d finally noticed just how large his eating habits had made him? Fascinating that it had taken so long, but denial could be a powerful thing.

“It’s not a problem,” Kaze assured in a smooth tone of voice, waiting for Silas to start attempting to put on his armor. The breastplate and backplate came together via leather straps at the shoulders and sides, tightened and held in place by rather standard looking buckles. As Silas held the plate armor in place, Kaze tried to secure the straps. And, truly, he did try -- where was the fun if he didn’t get to see what an absolute mess the other man had made of himself with his lack of control, aided by his own pampering and spoiling with food and treats aplenty? He tugged on the straps as hard as he could, smiling softly to himself at the little noises Silas’ tried to stifle at the jostling and how the knuckles of his fingers couldn’t escape grazing or sinking into the warm flesh of the knight’s sides. If he pulled both sides tight enough, he could get the straps to touch, but nowhere near close enough to actually secure them with the buckle.

Kaze couldn’t resist pinching at the silver haired man’s love handles, apologizing and excusing it off as the metal from the buckle catching him by accident.

“It’s no use, is it…?” Silas sighed, cheeks puffing out just a little more from the simple act.

Kaze gave him a sympathetic look as he helped him remove the much outgrown piece of armor, his hand coming to pat the other on the back. “We can always get you refitted. It might have a slightly different style, but our blacksmiths are quite skilled; I’m sure they could replicate it to your tastes, if you so wish.”

The Nohrian seemed about to say something else, but Kaze chose now to make his kill, as it were. His tone and demeanor not shifting from gentle and comradely, he very brazenly brought a gloved hand to the other’s stomach, his thumb hooking easily into Silas’ navel as he grabbed a handful of chub and gave him an exploratory squeeze. It was just as soft as he’d imagined, but there was a firm layer to it too, if he dug his fingers in hard enough, that he found to be quite pleasant. A nice balance.

Humming softly to himself, Kaze continued his tactile exploration while urging them both forward in the direction of the mess hall. “I would greatly desire to see how long it would take you to outgrow a larger set of armor…”

If Silas could keep from giving in to Kaze’s offerings of food long enough to even have another set made before he ate his way out of it, that is.

Silas, sputtering and doing his best to keep up with the revelation, didn’t object to the idea nor did he fight against where Kaze was leading him.

#male weight gain #male wg #chubby!silas #kaze/silas #it was fun to kinda tap into that voyeuristic/secret feeding stuff #especially since kaze is such a bland good guy sort of character #i could totally see him having this habit of watching people #but hey i hope this is decent!#fates & the more recent games really arent in my wheelhouse #but i know fates better than 3h so i did the silas prompt over the raphael one

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