Delicacies Of The Season (m)

delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just… suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Keep reading

pilot seokjin😭😭😭

Senior Captain Kim Seokjin has the honor of initiating you into the Mile High Club.

You’re on your way to some vacation spot, one of those tropical islands that are flooded with visitors this time of year. These flights are always the worst, filled with rambunctious children and snobby young adults. It’s noisy and it’s demanding, two traits that make your job as an air stewardess all the more difficult. Between rounds, you take cover in the tiny kitchen on the airplane, gazing into the mini whirlpool inside your coffee mug until someone knocks their hip against yours. “Oh,” you blurt, “hello, Captain.”

Seokjin smiles, that same sparkly grin he’s given you every time you’ve had the opportunity to fly alongside him. “Hello,” he greets, and the only thing more shiny than his pearly smile are the metals that decorate his left breast. “Everything okay?”

Among all the flight captains you’ve had the pleasure of assisting, Seokjin is definitely in the top three, maybe even number one himself. He’s on the younger side, very polite despite his title. He doesn’t treat you like a maid, which is a pretty low standard, but you’d be surprised how many airline captains do. “Oh, just terrible,” you groan, offering him a tired smile that he takes as in invitation to stay for conversation, leaning against the kitchen cabinets beside you. He’s too tall for this area of the cabin, has to duck forward just the slightest bit to keep from bumping his head.

Anyway, after ranting for a couple minutes, he offers you an apologetic look, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. “Sorry I can’t do much,” he laughs sheepishly, “but if there is anything I can do, just let me know.”

It’s not really much of a disappointment, considering there are very few things Seokjin can do, Captain or not, when the flight is already in the air. “Don’t worry about it, sir,” you shrug, “there’s not many ways to relieve stress in the air after all.” At that, Seokjin tilts his head, pouty lips cutely quirked to the side. You raise a brow. “Unless you happen to know any?”

“Well,” Seokjin hums, and then, carefully peers behind you at the open door leading out of the kitchen space. “I do know one way.”

Which is how you find yourself squished uncomfortably inside the cockpit’s bathroom, the skirt of your uniform hitched up over your hips as Senior Captain Kim Seokjin pounds into you from behind. “Fffuck,” you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head from the intensity of his hips.

“Shh, shhh,” Seokjin warns from behind hou, his big hands clutching at any part of you he can reach— your breasts, your waist, your throat. “Gotta be quite, baby,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, teeth nibbling along the curve.

As much as you want to, you can’t contain the whimpers and cries he draws out of you, lower lip trembling with each ram of his cock inside of you. One knee is propped up against the sink, hands flat against the mirror. You’d be embarrassed by your own reflection had you not been zeroed in on Seokjin’s. Sweat crawls down from his hairline, leaves him glistening under the artificial bathroom lighting. “Oh— oh, fuck,” you sob, “faster, sir— please.”

Seokjin groans, the hilt of his cock flush against your folds. “Of course, baby,” he exhales, hands wrapped around you, clutching at the inside of your thigh to hold you open. “I’ve got you.”

begging for some DILF seokjin action bestie yami

The door clicks shut behind you. “The kids are asleep,” you whisper, and Seokjin nearly falls face first into the hardwood floor on his race to remove his pants. You muffle a giggle behind your palm, slowly sinking into the mattress beside your husband whose drowsiness completely wore off the minute he heard the words ‘kids’ and ‘asleep’ in the same sentence.

He wastes no time guiding your hand over the subtle stirrings beneath his briefs, your wedding bands knocking against each other on the way. “Sorry,” he sighs, has already begun to kiss a trail of wet kisses down the side of your throat. “Just really need this.”

He’s been stressed this past week, beyond tired as he wrapped up some projects at work. Between that, the kids, and his nosy parents, it had been difficult for him to find any time to unwind. At times like this, you’re all too ready to take care of him. You squeeze his bulge, reveling in the trembling exhale that escapes Seokjin’s lips. He’s hard by now, his long member curving up towards the waistband of his underwear. You bypass the elastic easily enough, trail your fingertips over the soft skin of his tummy, through the coarse hair at his base, and finally, his cock.

He’s warm to the touch, flinches cutely when you grip him too tight. “Your ring,” he mumbles, sucking a harsh kiss against your jawline. It’ll bruise tomorrow, make your skin tender to the touch. For tonight you’ll let him carry on like this, kissing and touching you like he’s starving for the taste of you. “Take it off.”

You snort, turning just the slightest to land a peck against his forehead. “Never,” you retort, tightening your hold around his member until he’s hissing, reaching for your wrist as if to pull you away. He doesn’t, which only emboldens you to carry on, carefully dragging your hand up his length until your thumb is swiping over the tip of his cock, coating your thumb in the glossy substance that oozes from his slit.

“Oh, fuck,” Seokjin shivers, lips against your throat. Flicking your wrist, you let your inner palm graze his engorged tip until it’s slippery with his pre-cum, running it back down his length with newfound ease. “Shit,” he curses, hips raising off the mattress just a bit as he slowly falls victim to the steady pumping of your hand against his cock.

He always comes the hardest when he’s pent up, like he’s physically and mentally incapable of holding it more than is necessary. Your hand runs up and down his length, squeezes at the base and rolls over the tip. Seokjin’s breathing becomes labored against your skin, the wet patches from his kisses fanned by his rushed breathing. Your name tumbles from those flushed lips, punctures every downward tug the closer he gets.

Eventually he comes, hips unconsciously jumping forward one last time as his cum dribbles down his length, over your knuckles. “Wow,” he exhales, flopping backwards onto your shared bed. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, trying to compensate for the way he’d whimpered and gasped just moments before. He flicks his gaze back over to you. “You need to sit on my face, like, now. Before the baby monitor goes off.”

pups oc trying lingerie for the first time and she’s shy and joon is like ;&:$:?M AL);!:!FU(2?/?/NC):)TIOn bc she looks so hawt :3

>//////<

Also no actual sex in this but like very uh. Horny lol. As is wont to happen

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You hate lace. It chafes and doesn’t offer your cooch good ventilation most of the time. But you get an automated email about holiday specials at La Senza, and what’s a little self-care in the form of retail therapy? You’ll sacrifice comfort for the sake of good discount deals, you decide, and before you know it you’ve got an 8-pack of cute pairs of underwear and three colour-complimenting bras shipped to you.

It was Sunny who texted you to sign up for the newsletter. Gets the best deals and the best head, your neighbour/girlfriend since you were toddlers so eloquently explained. It’s actually kind of amazing seeing you go from high school hermit to self-proclaimed cum lover.

(Safe to say you withheld from replying to her for a good seven hours before sending back a very venomous FUUUUUUCCCCCJJJKKKKK YYYOOOOYUUUU!!!!!)

At least she’s nice enough to receive the package discreetly for you because your mom is nosey like that. You spend the day with her in her room, picking which underwear pairs nicely with which bra. And when you ask her which combination would best impress Namjoon, Sunny sits you down on her bed. She stares at you like something very serious has happened, and says:

“You might actually die from dick if you show him this.”

You squirm under her gaze. “What?”

“Oh don’t act so surprised. You tell me so much about how your boyfriend who happens to be massive also likes to make you cry from his pumping and that’s when you’re wearing granny panties,” she explains.

“I do not wear granny panties!”

Sunny pats your shoulder empathetically. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Sunny.” You fall over onto her blankets. “Pick for me, this is too overwhelming.”

“Fine. Seriously if your uterus isn’t absolutely broken after this then I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Sunny!”

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.

This is how you find yourself at Namjoon’s on a Thursday night trying to fight the urge to rip your fancy underwear out your butt crack while making out.

You both reserve Thursday after work-hours for each other because it’s the only viable schedule option you could agree on. There’s also something really hot about knowing you’ve got one night of the week strictly scheduled for Namjoon and only Namjoon, brain unwrinkling from anything that isn’t the touch or smell of your boyfriend. Putting the world on do not disturb as you indulge in whatever activities you have planned.

Tonight’s plan: getting your uterus destroyed as per the wishes of your dear friend.

Namjoon pins you up against the inside of his door, leaves wet kisses in hurried lines across your throat. Before he can get a sneaky hand up your shirt, you breathe, “Um.”

“Mm?” He sucks on the spot behind your ear. 

“I—um. I kind of? Have something to show you first. Uh. If that’s okay.”

Namjoon moves back, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. Oh—please don’t tell me you got that buttplug with a tail, I was just joking—“

“No!” You heat thinking about that very interesting conversation you had last pillow talk. “Just—ew. No. You wanna give me a second?”

So you make him wait patiently, sitting at the edge of his bed while you scamper off to the bathroom to get undressed for some pep talk in the mirror, because you promised yourself you wouldn’t be like Bella from Breaking Dawn when she tries to pose for Edward on their honeymoon night in her nightgown and it was awkward and you didn’t want Namjoon to laugh at you even though he wouldn’t do that because he’s a nice boyfriend and fucks you in your granny panties and—

You take a big breath in. Look at your boobs sitting nicely in a shiny bra, the fabric of your cheeky underwear stretched over your hips. You can practically hear Sunny now. You’re a weirdo if you think you’re not sexy. Look at you! So scrumptious! Like a sexy little cupcake. (She earned a slap on her arm for that.)

You walk back to Namjoon’s door, and steel yourself.

“I’m coming in now,” you say. You open the door and slot yourself inside against it, trying to fight the urge to make yourself as small as possible so that he doesn’t see, but. He sees, alright.

He doesn’t say anything though. Just keeps his eyes staring a little too long at your cleavage. You swear you see his knuckles twitching.

After another ten seconds of silent ogling, Namjoon starts with: “Please—” his voice cracks— “please come sit. On me. Or my face. Or whatever you want. Oh my god. Come here fast.”

“You like it?” Your feet patter against the floor quickly to make a home out of his lap. “I feel weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Like. Do you think I’m hot?” You whisper.

“I know you feel my boner right now,” Namjoon whines. “Of course I do.”

“Because Sunny thinks I’m obsessed with your cum and that made me feel weird.”

He snorts, tracing the patterns of the lace on top your ass. “I mean—is that such a bad thing?”

“Of course you’d say that, it’s your jizz,” you justify.

“Yeah but I jizz for you, it’s different. Anyway you’re distracting me,” Namjoon says, burying his face in your tits. “One second from busting. Let me eat you out first.”

You don’t refuse. 

When you text Sunny after fucking for two hours, it’s a picture of an ice pack resting on your crotch.

Consensual somnophilia with jk?

Jungkook had mentioned it a few weeks ago, over dinner. “Well, I’m tired sometimes,” he had said, foot tapping loudly beneath the table. “And I feel bad that I can’t help you out.”

“Help me out?” you had repeated, fork halfway to your mouth.

A hum. “Like, you know”— he waved a hand around —“getting you off.” He grimaced at his own wording, a light pink shade dusting his cheekbones. “‘Cause I fall asleep before you get home.”

“Oh,” you replied, carefully setting your utensils to the side as you wondered where exactly this conversation was headed. “That’s fine, honey,” you assured him, placing a hand over his. “I get that you’re tired sometimes, and—“

“Use me.” It had been so sudden. Jungkook’s own eyes had blown wide at the statement that escaped his lips, as if he hadn’t meant for it too. Similarly, you had blinked owlishly at him as you mulled over the meaning of that phrase. At your silence, Jungkook pressed on. “Just— I’m yours,” he stammered, “if you need me, I’m there. You can use me. Um, if you want.”

And then that topic had gone untouched for weeks. You’re not anywhere near as ravenously horny as Jungkook thinks you to be. At least, not normally. There’s about one million reasons why you love Jungkook— sure, your sex life is one of them, but again, it’s only one out of one million. After a while, you come to the conclusion that Jungkook’s suggestion had been more for his sake than yours, and it makes you laugh a little when you recall his flushed cheeks that night, the courage he mustered up to say that.

It remains buried in the back of your mind until one night, one fateful night, when you come home late— yet again —and find Jungkook sprawled across the couch in nothing but a pair of boxers. It’d been hot all day. Sitting beside him, you find yourself placing a palm over his chest. Jungkook’s skin is warm to the touch, glistening with a thin layer of sweat.His heartbeat is slow and monotonous, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Out of habit, you give his pec a squeeze, only mildly startled by the quivering exhale that escapes your dozing lover. At that very moment, Jungkook’s suggestion from all those weeks ago comes rising from the depths of your mind, rearing it’s audacious head.

You bite your lip as you carefully begin treading into this unknown territory. Another gentle squeeze receives a similar reaction, a long sigh as he shifts against the cushions. Emboldened by your minor success thus far and the knowledge you had Jungkook’s permission, you find your hand creeping down his abdomen, fingertips ghosting along the skin until your palm finds its new home over the front of his boxers.

The beginnings of arousal stir beneath the fabric, and you nervously coax that desire out of Jungkook with a squeeze to his bulge. This time, Jungkook groans, a low and steady sound that has you on edge, amazed by the way he quickly swells to full mast despite his unconscious state. “Oh,” you marvel, running your fingers along his clothed outline, in awe of the way the muscles in his stomach contract, the way his brows furrow together.

Pushing your palm against his hard cock, you nearly jump into the air when Jungkook writhes, one of his legs hastily jerking to the side. “Mmh,” he moans, his lips slowly parting.

The more you touch and squeeze him, the more Jungkook falls apart, soft whimpers filling the air, mingling with the quiet drone of the television. He doesn’t say anything— he can’t —which allows you to play and touch him to your heart’s content. No whiny pleas to hurry up, no desperate hands alongside your own. Just Jungkook, completely pliant beneath you, as your hands venture over his body.

Eventually, he comes. You’re both saddened that it ends so soon, and proud at the state you managed to reduce him to. All the while, he’s asleep. Even when his dick twitches, drips cum down your knuckles and onto his boxers, he remains asleep.

It’s fascinating.

pls some sexy yoongi 🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽

“You’re staring again,” Yoongi says, and how he could tell, you’re not sure.

As far as you know, his eyes have been zeroed in on the Sudoku book on his lap, the one he bought last week and has been carrying around like a newborn ever since. He hasn’t looked up once, too preoccupied with his stupid brain games to catch you ogling him. So it’s with the utmost conviction that you lie your ass off. “Nuh uh,” you huff, hiding your pout behind the rim of your coffee cup.

At that, Yoongi does look up. You’re immediately drawn in by the endless galaxies that hide in his irises, the swirling nebulae and cosmic dust behind that solemn gaze. “What’s so nice about them anyway?” he asks, breaking your little staring contest to glance down at his hands instead, turning his pale fingers over as if it’ll somehow give him the answer you withhold.

“They’re hot,” you deadpan. Yoongi seems rather unimpressed. Had this been anyone else, you would’ve left it at that, not bothered enough to explain yourself in the slightest. But Yoongi’s got this look about him, one that draws the truth out anyway. “I want them in my mouth.”

Immediately, you clap your own, less sexy hand over your mouth, surprised by your forwardness. Yoongi says, “oh,” and then, “I mean, go for it.”

“Really?” you splutter, too loud. Yoongi shrugs.

He makes you wait, says something about how doing that kind of thing in the middle of a park would get the both of you arrested. So it’s in his car, carefully tucked along a side street, that he lets you. He sanitizes first, always hygienic, and then ever so graciously stretches out his arm towards you, offers his hand like a princess awaiting a kiss.

Yoongi’s hands are soft, is your first thought, heart hammering away like a snare drum in your chest. And his nails are pretty. You move slowly, nervous that you’ll scare him off. His pointer finger goes in first, pushes past the plushness of your lips to rest against your tongue. You’re too scared to look him in the eye, barely flicking your gaze up enough to properly see him. All you do see is that pink mouth, practically mimicking your own, a perfect little circle. Your tongue curls around his digit, torn between memorizing the feel of his finger in your mouth or the pucker of his lips in front of you.

Before you, Yoongi exhales. “You like that?” It’s so quiet, quiet enough that you almost think you’ve made it up for a second. But then Yoongi is shifting closer, as close as he can over the center console in his car. “Open,” he says, and you do, lips hurriedly parting at his command. Another finger joins in, and together, they forcefully push down against the flattened surface of your tongue. It makes you gag a little bit, forces you to finally meet his gaze in surprise.

Yoongi’s eyes are half lidded, focused like never before. “Is this what you wanted?” he murmurs, head tilting to the side as he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, sinks them in until the knuckle, tears springing behind your eyes. A sound catches in his throat and it has something sparking within him.

Soon, his fingers aren’t the only thing shoved past your lips.