#stranded was already amazing imagine his vocals on it now..

[axamdotvbs]

the things i would do for a wcgw + another light re-record album with vinnys current vocal talent

#red vox #vinesauce #he has seriously improved soooo much and like. another light is my fav album still #but the vocals are. Iffy at parts bc he still hadn’t rly developed them much #compared to his vocals on visions and afterthoughts which’s re OUAUARGGHHH #but i didn’t rly like many of the songs on v+at #plzzzzz vine sauce. hear me out #stranded was already amazing imagine his vocals on it now..

[mickey-henry]

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic​ for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff​ for the grammar help, and @midnightf​ for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.  

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought.  The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

[cursestothemoon]

😶 ok but like imagine a smut with inexperienced fred and an experienced reader. LiKE I CAN KINDA IMAGINE IT, LIKE HE TURNS FULL ON FERAL MID-WAY LIKE! Anyway if you could do that as a request that would be wonderful, but obviously no pressure😌

Fred the reader is very experienced and Fred’s a virgin and they’re first time:)

I combined these two :)

Feral Instinct

F.W. X FEM!READER

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal penetration, biting, choking, dom!fred/ sub!reader, inexperienced fred, experienced reader, praise, crude language, oral (female receiving), fingering

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

“We don't have to, Freddie, not if you don't want to.” Your voice was soft, thumb caressing the boys cheekbone. 

Fred shifted, his torso in-between your legs, turning his head to place a kiss on your bare knee. 

“I’m sure.” He replied confidently. “Wanna feel you...taste you.”

Your thigh twitched at his response before you nodded your head, unable to find words.

Fred was a virgin.

It wasn’t something he was ashamed of nor something he hid. Fred was confident in his choice of waiting for the right time with the right person. He had grown up with cautionary tales from Charlie and how he felt pressured into having sex and had an absolutely terrible experience.

Fred was a virgin and he was confident in it, however, you seemed to ignite something deep within his metaphysical being- something raw and dirty.

You were far from a virgin.

Your virginity was something you lost early in your teenage years. The ripe age of fourteen had seen your transition from child to young woman- at least that’s how most saw it. You never cared for the label of virginity, so when you felt you could handle the intimacy of sex- both mentally and physically- you did, you also trusted your boyfriend at the time and made the decision all on your own accord.

You were far from a virgin and you were equally as confident in it.

And regardless of the fact that Fred Weasley seemed to ooze raw sex appeal, you’d wait for him to be ready- if ever- to go all the way.

Fred was beyond ready to be as close to you as intimately possible.

Slowly, Fred peeled your underwear from your already sopping cunt. He felt himself go slightly dizzy at the sight of your bare pussy, slick with arousal. Sure he’d seen naked girls before-adult magazines passed down from Bill were a Weasley brother right of passage- but never like this, never in person, never this close, and never had he seen one that he found so pretty.

“C-can I...” His voice trailed off, eyes not moving from your pretty pussy as he spoke.

A high-pitched ‘mhm’ was all you could respond, making Fred look up to meet your eyes momentarily.

He raised his hand carefully, slowly dragging his middle finger down your slick folds, you shuttered at the feeling. Fred was testing the waters, trying to find what made your toes curl and eyes roll back.

After another pass of his finger down your slit, he trailed back up to find your clit, an simple task seeing how it only took him a moment- he was a virgin, not Severus Snape for Merlin’s-sake.

His middle finger circled your sensitive clit whilst the rest of his digits could just barely be felt on the rest of your cunt. Your breath picked up as he quickened his pace ever so slightly, his eyes fluttering from your cunt to your face, gaging your response to his actions.

Your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the feeling of a slow and steady knot forming in the depths of your belly.

What you weren’t expecting was the feeling of a warm, wet, tongue licking a broad stripe up your slit before replacing the fingers on your clit.

You let out a choked gasp making Fred smirk against your cunt. The sound was the best thing he’d ever heard, he’s sure of it. You vocal response also helped build his confidence, you noticed the way he started lapping at your cunt faster with more purpose. He was a man starved, hands anchoring around your thick thighs and pulling you closer to his face really allowing him to fully immerse in your essence.

Fred was relentless as he went down on you, making you let out surprised gasps and loud moans at how good he was. He ate you out like he needed to in order to survive. Something took over him from the moment the taste of your arousal hit his tongue and mingled with his tastebuds- he’d never experienced something so mouth-wateringly erotic.

“F-Fingers, Freddie. Use your fingers, too.”

Fred looked up, mouth glistening with your juices as he spoke, “Wan’ em inside?”

He asked the question so seriously, as if you weren’t just grinding your clit against the tip of his nose while his tongue prodded at your hole.

“Please.” You whined, voice coming out desperate and breathy.

Fred pressed a kiss to your mound, bottom lip adding pressure close enough to your clit to have you squirming, before he brought his hand to your cunt.

With slow fingers he trailed down from your clit to your hole, looking up once his digits started massaging your entrance.

“Tell me if something doesn’t feel right or-or if it hurts.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips at how sweet your boyfriend was, “I will, I promise. I trust you, Freddie.”

Silence fell over the room as Fred carefully pushed his fingers inside of your weeping cunt. He noticed the way your walls immediately gripped around his two digits, making his cock almost painfully hard in his tight black boxers.

Fred attached his lips back onto your clit, sucking on the nub before experimenting with a soft nibble. The action made you jolt, the combination of his fingers slowly thrusting into you and the way he worked your clit had you crying.

“I’ll take it you liked that.” He smirked, pulled away momentarily only to drop back down and continue to lick your pussy raw.

Your moans grew louder as Fred quickened the pace of his fingers, managing to figure out what motion would light your insides on fire. The sounds were beyond pornographic, slapping skin, vulgar squelching, and your uninhibited moans.

Fred was reeling in the power he had over your body in the moment, the affect he had over your body. His confidence was surging and he seemed to just have this instinct of how to make you scream.

He kept going, the way your pussy pulsated around his digits only spurring him on.

“I-I’m close.” You warned him, hand lacing through his hair only to grip onto the strands tightly and draw out a groan from Fred.

The vibrations of his groan on your clit had you gasping, the added in sensation of him giving one last, hard, suck on your clit made your orgasm shatter you from the inside, out.

Fred kept working his fingers in and out of you, his pace staying consistent, as you came all over his digits. The sight of your glistening skin and arching back was one he never wanted to forget, the taste of your cum on his tongue awakening something inside him. Something feral, and wild, and almost barbaric.

The bed shifted as Fred pulled away and you tried to catch your breath, only to be taken back by the fire that burned in Fred’s eyes fueled by his lust. He worked quickly to shed his underwear, your eyes going wide at the sight of his cock. Long, thick, and glistening with precum- his prick was gorgeous.

Fred climbed back up onto the bed, kneeling on one knee and placing his other foot flat on the bed to steady himself. He gripped your hips in a bruising hold and pulled you closer to him.

“You sure you’re ready?” You asked, wanting to make sure one last time- even though the look he had in his eyes was confirmation enough.

Instead of using his words to respond, Fred doubled over and captured your lips in a bruising kiss. Teeth nipping at your bottom lip and tongue immediately dominating your own.

Pulling away, Fred lined himself up at your entrance and pushed in. He could feel each ridge and muscle of your pussy gripping his cock, making him question his ability to last inside you for longer than a few seconds.

The feeling was amazing. Your cunt was warm, wet, and the only place he’d ever want to be from now on.

Fred bottomed out, follow sheathed inside you, emitting a groan in sync with your whimper. He started to buck his hips against yours, losing more and more self control each time.

With his one foot flat on the bed he had enough leverage to ram into you hard, the angle making the tip of his cock hit places inside you that you didn’t even realize could be reached.

For the few seconds you were able to keep your eyes open to watch Fred, he seemed lost in the action. He had one hand firmly holding onto your hip and the other on the thigh that was rubbing against his leg, his head was thrown back and neck exposed as his hips fucked into hard and fast.

The sight was simply the most erotically breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen.

“Fuck.” Fred breathed out, drawing out the syllables.

You fought to keep your eyes open- though they fought to roll back in pleasure- as you lowered your hand down to tease your clit.

Fred seemed to sense your action and his eyes snapped open. He grabbed your wrist and shoved it away, his hand that was previously on your waist going to harshly rub at the sensitive button.

You lost yourself in the pleasure and it only seemed to grow when you felt Fred move so his face was closer to yours. He barred his teeth and bit the skin of your neck, moving down to your shoulder with his teeth leaving angry red imprints in their wake.

Groans and grunts found your ear, Fred’s raspy voice setting the depths of your belly on fire. Your orgasm was fast approaching and you were sure Fred was feeling similarly.

“M’ gonna cum-“ Fred grunted into your neck, shifting from kneeling on one knee to both.

His thrusts were longer and more drawn out as you could feel his cock twitch inside you- triggering your orgasm.

“Freddie, I’m cumming. D-Don’t stop.”

Your cunt milked his cock, pulsating and clenching around him, the sensation making his arms go weak and his body to fall atop yours. Fred’s balmy, warm skin felt familiar and stabilizing, the weight of his torso helping to keep you grounded. You wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding his body to yours as you both came down from your highs.

Fred kept his head in the crook over your neck, placing soft kisses to anywhere his lips could reach without his head having to move.

It was silent for a few beats until you decided to speak up.

“You know for someone who’s inexperienced, you’re really bad at being inexperienced.”

Fred giggled against your shoulder before lifting his head to place a kiss on your lips and look you in the eyes.

“I always seem to know what to do when it comes to my girl.” He teased, brushing his nose against yours.

You shook your head gently, with a smile, as you responded, “I’m serious! My first time i got my braces stuck to his and I sneezed into his mouth.”

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinruby003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

@onlyfreds

#fred weasley blurb #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley smut

[julyarchives]

Drip || (M)

→ A/n: Yeo One x Fem!Reader

→ Genre: smut

→ Words: 2K

→ Warnings: Shower Sex; Light Spanking; Riding.

→ A/n: We absolutely loved writing this request and got carried away imagining these fancy showers, so we just couldn't help but let our imagination run lmao we hope we fullfiled the request and you guys like it!

"That was a blast!"

"It truly was", your boyfriend Changgu answered, already leading the way to your shared bedroom. "But I need a shower".

You had just arrived home from one of your childhood friend's weddings. It was a lot of fun and it was the perfect opportunity to get Changgu to meet your long time friends. Since you all mostly lost contact after school ended and years later you met your boyfriend, it was amazing for you to watch two of your worlds merge so well together. That being said, your friends never lost the carefree attitude you knew them for and as you all shared drinks and the space on the dance floor, Changgu gladly joined in, dancing and drinking with everyone as if he was already part of the group.

The only issue to you was how insanely hot he looked in a suit. If you were honest, anything your boyfriend wore made him look stunning but there was something about him wearing suits that made you lose it. And watching him dance in the black dress pants he wore alongside a white button up with matching black suit was insane. He was an amazing dancer, his body moving freely and hips so loose that you smirked at whoever stared too much at him. You knew what they were thinking and yeah, you were lucky.

Whenever you watched him dance it sparkled something inside of you, a want for him that hardly subdued until you had your way with him, so while you followed him into your bedroom, you tried to think of a plan to get exactly what you wanted. The sight inside the room was even worse - or better - as Changgu slowly undressed. He seemed distracted but his movements made you feel like he was putting on a special show for you. And so you reciprocated. You fully entered the room and the moment Changgu saw you his cute smile showed up and it warmed your heart, it truly did. But it wasn't the expression you wanted from him.

You slowly moved your dress up, bending over enough that he could see the round of your ass as the dress revealed your skin. Noticing Changgu stopped with his pants open and no shirt, holding his belt tightly as he watched you straighten your back and throw the dress away with a wink at him. He tossed his belt on the bed with your dress and took his pants off quickly, no longer seemed distracted about it. Both of you stared at each other in your underwear and it made you shiver with anticipation. He was looking at you with hunger, hands clenching on his sides. Making the first move, you walked past him to the bathroom of your suite bedroom, making sure to lightly trace his shoulder as you moved. Instantly he followed.

You turned the shower on and you smiled when you heard the door close behind you. Changgu was on you in an instant, hands moving to caress your waist and grind slowly against your ass. Your hand found the hair on his nape and held on, closing your eyes briefly with a sigh. When the water was at a good temperature you walked in, your hands holding Changgu's on your waist, so he could move with you. Looking at your bathroom, you were glad that you were wealthy enough to have a marbled shower with a sitting space. Taking your undergarments was hard as you stepped forward and Changgu followed until he noticed your intentions and backed away with a chuckle. You turned to him when you were fully naked, watching him discard his last piece of clothing as well.

You moved to kiss him and he gladly opened his arms for you, embracing you with a mix of adoration and excitement in his eyes and you looked just the same. Kissing him was heavenly, he was skilled and made you weak only with his tongue in your mouth. His calloused hands ran all over your body, grabbing at you like an anchor, fingers expertly awakening goosebumps where they touched. You gave as good as you got, hands exploring his toned chest, strong arms and the expanse of his back. You heard him grunt when you moved, grinding against him as the kiss got heated.

"Baby", you said against his lips, "watching you dance ends my sanity".

"I can say the same about you, moving this ass around for everyone to see", Changgu squeezed your asscheeks, making you moan.

You could feel his cock getting harder with the make out and grinding, only spurring you on, making your hands get more daring. The first contact of your hands on his member made him moan and buck his hips, the burning sensation on your belly growing stronger at the sound. You couldn't help but tease, lightly touching the slit before jerking only the head, making him whimper and move more insistently.

"Baby, please. Don't tease. You teased me all night long with this tight dress and dancing", Changgu pleaded and you chuckled.

"You're no fun", you stuck your out at him and he quickly moved to take it into his mouth. Your playfulness backfired at how you moaned at the almost obscene act, even if you had your hands on his cock.

His long fingers didn't take long to move downwards and find your clit, rubbing you as slowly as you were jerking him off.

"See? I can be fun", Changgu said with a smirk, bucking his hips into your hands, that now circled his cock and jerked, making him whimper at the friction.

He backed away from you abruptly, making you stare at him walking backwards past the water falling down. It was the hottest thing to see, him naked and hard with the water falling down his body momentarily. Changgu sat on the marble bench, one hand supporting his weight as he leaned into it, the other lazily stroking his length. He smirked at your stare and cocked his head to the side.

"What are you waiting for to come ride me?", his low voice made you shiver.

You walked to him slowly, stopping in front of him for a second and pulling your hair back. The hand that was stroking his cock stopped, only holding it and waiting for you. You supported yourself on his shoulders and slowly sank down on his lap, moaning at the feeling, noises matching his groans. You only sat on his lap for a few seconds, a playful smirk on your face as he squeezed his eyes and took a deep breath, both hands now supporting his weight. Only when Changgu bucked his hips up gently did you move, not before chuckling at his pained expression for holding back, having you so tightly around him and not moving.

You started to bounce, slowly at first, getting used to the feeling and making sure he wouldn't slip because of the wet bench. His eyes were stranded on you, mouth hanging open and knuckles turning white from holding on. You kept your arms around his neck, stroking his hair from time to time. And whenever you did, he'd lean forward and capture your lips in a breathless kiss, barely closing both of your mouths from the pleasure. When you picked up speed, Changgu closed his eyes, his head rolling back, exposing his neck for you to bite and mark as you pleased, earning more groans from him.

Both of you were lost in pleasure, your ass making slapping sounds where it made contact with his lap, his cock buried deep inside whenever you sank down. Soon enough you felt your legs beginning to falter, choosing to rock on his cock instead of bouncing, the grinding movement being just as good. You could feel your clit dragging into his crotch, creating the most delicious friction and you moaned, a broken sound enhanced by his hips moving with you, grinding slow and sensually into you. With a grunt, Changgu sat up straight, hands on your ass for a quick squeeze before he slapped it playfully.

"Up", was all he said and you felt glad for your legs.

You got up and let him move both of you until you were bent over on the bench, ass completely up and open for him, your hands gripping under the bench.

"My baby was getting tired, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, I was", your answer turned into a moan as he entered you once more, not even giving you time before he picked up speed and strength.

"It's okay, now we can have more fun", Changgu already sounded out of breath, his big hands gripping your ass enough to burn a little but it only made it all more pleasurable.

He was going hard, his thrusts were fast and hard, making your body move forward every time, only to be pulled back by his hands, making you meet his cock halfway. Your moans became more constant, louder, he was giving it to you and you loved it. Usually he was all about sweet talk and praises but tonight he had no words, his grunting and low moans filled the room with yours, the sounds of skin on skin just as loud.

"Fuck, baby, I won't last long", you said, already moving your hand to rub your clit.

"Me too, baby. Just a bit more. You can wait for me, can't you?".

You nodded, feeling him speed up and become sloppier. In the heat of the moment, he gave your ass a hard slap, quickly smoothing the skin with soothing rubs even as he became more vocal, on the verge of cumming.

"We gotta- shit- we gotta talk about that later", you said, body bouncing with his force. "I have to cum, baby. Please cum with me, please", you begged, fingers rubbing your clit and fast and too much pressure.

"Oh my god, baby. I'm-", he couldn't even finish the sentence before he was shaking in synchrony with you, his body moving forward, his breath on your neck as he spilled his seed in you and you leaked down your thighs with the force of your own orgasm.

Changgu rocked inside of you as you both rode your high, the hot feeling on your lower belly growing with each second as your orgasm lasted, his own cock twitching inside you at how you were clenching.

Coming down off both of your high, you felt him pull you up and hold you from behind, a gentle kiss on your cheek as he pulled you backwards under the shower spray.

"We need to stop wasting water like this", you said lazily, falling into his embrace. You heard him chuckled and hum in agreement.

"Your fault", he said with a nudge on your cheek.

"Oh, I know", you laughed.

Changgu stepped away and gathered your soap and sponge before slowly cleaning your body. You felt a mix of a new wave of heat at watching his hands run all over your body and relaxation at his ministrations. When he finished with you, Changgu motioned for you to sit at the bench as he finished his own cleaning routine. Watching him was always amazing but specially tonight, after everything, you felt the burning heat of horniness growing once more. You waited for him to finish his shower and close the faucet to stare at him until you had his undivided attention. When he looked back at you, two towels in his hands, you slowly opened your legs, hands moving gently between them and licked your lips.

"Again?", he asked with a raised brow and you nodded. "Aren't you a horny baby tonight", he chuckled.

You winked and got up, getting a towel from his hands.

"I'm waiting on the bed", was all you said before walking away.

It wasn't seconds after that your heard his rushed steps following you into the room. "As it should be", you thought with a smirk.

#ksmutclub #yeo one #yeo one x reader #changgu #smut #pentagon shooting #yeo one smut #changgu smut #changgu fanfic #changgu scenario #changgu imagine #changgu x reader #yeo changgu #pentagon changgu #pentagon imagines #pentagon imagine #pentagon scenarios #kpop pentagon #pentagon #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #kpop writing #kpop smut #kpop story #kpop fanfic #kpop

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 8

In which we find out what Ivar’s “long night” entails... the warnings list also spoils the surprises, but do read it if you need to. This part is over 5k words, and the next post will finish the scene with almost 5k more. Ivar takes his time!!!

Warnings for: D/s dynamics including in-scene negotiation (always talk BEFORE you play folks) bondage with ropes, fear play, knife play. if you’re not ok with those last two, you can stop reading when that part of the scene begins and skip right to the next chapter. I’ve separated the sections at just the right spot so that you won’t miss anything else.

Many thanks and credits to @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​ for this GORGEOUS moodboard!!!!

Catch up:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Ivar’s room is warmer than the kitchen. Which is good, because your body has already started entering that keyed-up state that makes you shiver and tremble.

You’re ready for a night of heavy play, really you are, but as you watch Ivar settle onto his bed, setting his crutches to the side, you’re hit by a burst of softer, warmer feelings too. Ivar Lothbrok has always been a closed book. Controlled, distant, keeping everyone at arm’s reach with his sarcasm and wit even as these exact traits draw you to him like a moth to a flame. But now, he’s finally letting you in. Even if it is only a little bit at a time.

He’s been so attentive to your desires. He’s created the most amazing scenes, the most tantalizing games, to set your body and soul on fire in ways you had thought were only ever going to happen in your fantasies. And yet, is he getting what he wants? You still haven’t seen him come. He’s never even let you try. You’d hardly noticed that at first, given all the wild new experiences he’s been putting you through, but at this moment you are almost overwhelmed by your need to give something back to him now.

You approach him softly. You would kneel at his feet but then you couldn’t embrace him like you want. So you leave the games behind and sit down at his side, take his hand between your own.

His gaze is locked onto yours. Watching indulgently, waiting to see what you’ll do. Maybe he doesn’t always need to be in charge. Although there’s a weight behind those eyes as he lets you massage his hand softly, as you lay kisses on each of his knuckles, that makes you feel like all the control is still his. What’s that term that horseback riders use? Letting you have your head. His grip on the reins is loose, but they are still in his hands.

You want to show him your gratitude. That’s what this moment feels like, this almost-intolerably warm bubble that’s bursting up behind your chest. You’ve lost track of how many shimmering, mind-blowing orgasms you’ve had since this game began, and Ivar has not even once asked you to pleasure him. You have to give him that now. It’s not even guilt, it’s a craving. An imperative coming from the deepest part of yourself.

You lean in to kiss him on the lips. Still he watches, tipping his chin far enough to receive your affections, not moving enough to influence what you’re going to do next. Your lips travel to his cheekbone, his temple, his jawline. There is a part of you that can still hardly believe you are allowed to touch this perfect, angel’s face.

When your lips pluck at his again he opens to you, and when he kisses back he can’t help but do it his way, sucking at your bottom lip, meeting your tongue with his own. His hand comes up to the back of your head, fingers carding through your hair.

You lean into his body, letting your hands travel over his shoulders and chest, slipping under his arms to embrace the broad expanse of his back. You still can’t shake the feeling that you’re getting away with something, somehow, just by touching him this freely. It’s not that he’s reluctant, he’s just . . . still. Allowing himself to be caressed.

He pulls you in tighter, responding with more life the longer you two keep making out. You were almost worried you were doing something wrong, or maybe he was bored by something as simple as kissing, but now his body is writhing along with yours and you’re falling together into the sheets.

His fingers trace over your skin. The scalloped edging of the garter belt’s lace, overlapping the row of thin ribbons that form the side straps of your panties, give him plenty of textural interest to play with while you slip your hands up under his shirt.

His skin is smooth and warm, his abs springing up into your hand as he lifts his upper body high enough to pull his shirt over his head. Several locks of hair cascade down around his face in the shirt’s wake; you reach up to play with them immediately.

“Will you let your hair down?” you ask shyly. For months you’ve dreamed of what it would feel like to run your fingers along his scalp, through his long, thick hair.

He thinks about it, smiles, and tugs the elastic out of his little bun. The dark, silky strands slide between your fingers, and Ivar closes his eyes in bliss as you scratch softly along his scalp.

He finally seems to be relaxing. With your hands wrapped around his head you kiss him again, and he responds eagerly, his fingertips dancing along your ribs.

You want to be his good girl. You want to make him feel even better. Without breaking the kiss, you run your hand down over his tattooed pecs, skimming along his abs and sliding your fingertips just beneath his belt. Dipping under just a little, in a slow side-to-side; not so much teasing as asking permission. Your mouth goes dry just thinking about getting your hands on Ivar’s cock.

His abs tense. He’s pulling away. Oh no, a voice in your head says. What did you do wrong.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve planned for tonight?” There’s mischief in his eyes.

You roll your body against him. “What if I have plans, too?”

Something drops out behind his smile. That’s not what he wanted to hear you say. Still, his smile is indulgent. “Do you.”

You’re committed. You run your hand down his belly, the direction of travel obvious. “I want to make you feel . . . as good as you’ve been making me.”

Ivar leans in, smirking. “It’s a good plan.” He nips at your lip. “Mine’s better.”

And just like that, he’s rolling away from you, reaching down to tug something out from under the bed.

“Are you very familiar with shibari?”

You sit up beside him. Ivar hauls a duffle bag up onto the bed, filled with neat coils of rope. They’re in several colors: black, teal, natural hemp brown. Ivar lifts two braided twists of brilliant crimson. You reach out to touch one; it’s as smooth and silky as it looks. “I’ve seen it. Never got to experience.”

Ivar taps one bundle of rope against your hip. “Would you like to try?”

The pictures you’ve seen online mostly feature blissed-out looking women bound elaborately from head to toe, wrapped in knots and open twisting weaves that turn their bodies into works of savagely sexual art. You look at the scarlet rope in Ivar’s hands, imagine it embracing your curves, binding and supporting your limbs, serving your body up to him while taking away all of your control. You find yourself nodding, vigorously.

Ivar is nodding too, his smile thick and broad.

“I’m not sure if I’m flexible enough.” You’re thinking of some of the contortions you’ve seen the models pulling off, seemingly effortlessly.

He shakes his head, bemused. “We will start with something simple. And comfortable.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sit up here, at the edge of the bed.” He unfurls a length of rope, holding it doubled in his hand. The first loop goes over your head, loosely. “Stand in front of me,” he orders softly.

His fingers brush down the center of your body as he straightens and smooths the two cords descending from the knot at the center of your chest.

“Your job, aside from following my directions, is to tell me immediately if any part of this does not feel completely comfortable. Do you understand?”

You nod, but he waits for you to give a full vocal answer. “Yes.”

He ties a knot into the doubled rope, about a hand’s-length below the first. Unintentionally, his knuckles brush against the bottoms of your breasts. “Something that feels a little bit too tight at first can become a major problem as time goes on. So you must tell me right away if any wrap is too tight.”

“Ok.”

Another knot, even with your belly. The small, accidental touches that come with his work are maddeningly tantalizing. Probably because you’re not used to standing in full lingerie in front of a guy while he concentrates on something other than tearing you apart. Ivar’s ability to delay his gratification is truly legendary. “I don’t plan on putting you in any stressful positions tonight. But if any part of your body starts tingling or going numb, I also need to know that as soon as you even think you feel it.”

“I understand.”

His knuckles brush the fronts of your thighs as he creates the next knot. Then he reaches up to trace the scalloped black edge of your bra. “We can do this naked next time,” he suggests, “but since you have never done this before, I want us to see how you react while you feel less…exposed. It can be surprisingly intense to have your whole body bound.” He presses the rest of the rope between your legs, reaching around to pull the whole length of it through to the other side. You step your legs a little further apart to let him work, enjoying the feel of the smooth hemp dragging softly across your inner thighs. “Which is what I would like to do, if this first section feels alright.”

You nod.

“Turn around.”

You’re disappointed not to be able to keep looking at Ivar’s face, but at the same time it’s freeing to be unobserved for a time, free to go inward and just feel everything about this strange and exciting new experience. He’s pulling the long ends of the rope up through the loop behind your neck now. Stopping before it gets tight, he coaxes you to step back closer to him. You feel his breath on your shoulder as he reaches around to check the level of the first knot he placed against your upper chest.

You start to realize what he’s creating with this rope when one strand comes around either side, under your arms, and loops through the ropes hanging between each knot, separating them out to form a diamond shape. It’s that lovely interlocking pattern you’ve seen in pictures before, wrapping the body in a net-like harness.

The first pass tightens the cords above your breasts, the second below.

“Breathe for me.” Ivar takes a deep inhale behind you, demonstrating what he wants. “Too tight?”

You are certainly aware of the ropes around your ribcage, and while they constrict just a little when you take a deep breath, it’s not restrictive, or scary. “No. It’s still easy to breathe.”

“Good.”

The pattern continues around your waist, taking all the slack out of the line so that by the time he has opened up the diamond beneath your navel, the rope between your legs is cinching against your vulva. You shift on your feet a little, testing the angles your movement can get on the tantalizing pressure there.

Ivar’s fingers follow the rope down, checking exactly what you’re doing. His chuckle is dark, and your breath catches at the pleasure of even the edges of his fingers sliding across your labia, through the panties. “I have heard that a knot can be placed in the rope down here, too. An experienced Dom can determine just the right spot.”

‘H-have you done this a lot?”

Ivar makes a musing noise. “Here and there. It is not always easy to find someone to practice on. I like to think that I have mastered the basics.”

You make an appreciative noise, rolling your body against the ropes that now beautifully and snugly encase you from chest to hips. “I don’t know who would turn this down. It feels amazing.” You feel, in fact, just a little bit like you’re on drugs. Grounded in the minute sensations of your body, and yet your mood is soaring, floating and ephemeral.

Ivar’s hands envelop your waist from behind and you almost swoon. They are so large, and so warm, stroking each diamond-shaped island of skin between the ropes. “Then you would like to continue?” He’s feeling it too; his tone is deeper and lighter both at once, as ultra-focused as you are.

“Yes.”

“Can I bind your arms?”

Oh yeah. All this, and you’re not even technically tied up yet. You take a deep breath, turning to look at Ivar sitting on the edge of his bed and staring up at you with dazzled eyes. “Yes.”

His gaze slips lower, and you turn more fully to show off his completed work. “Wow, you look…so good.”

You have to agree. The knotted bands of crimson both bind and enhance your every curve, stacking onto the effect of the silver-embroidered lingerie to make you look like a stolen treasure, the richest captive prize.

“I’m glad I chose the red,” Ivar says. “This shade compliments your skin tone so well.”

You look down at yourself, just reveling in the obscene glory he’s created of you. And rock your hips against that lower rope again. The interconnected tightness of the full harness is fascinating, erotic. The cords pull across your shoulders, around your breasts, encircling your navel.

And Ivar is not even done. “Can you stack your wrists behind your back?”

You turn around, showing him that you can.

“Do you think you could stay that way for . . . twenty minutes?”

You roll your shoulders, testing your muscles. “I think so.”

You feel him start to slide the ropes around. “I can release this quickly if your arms start to ache.”

Something else starts aching as Ivar continues to restrain you. The snugness around your wrists is enticing, and oddly comforting. As are the deft movements of his fingers as he lines up the wraps around your forearms. It feels like he’s sheathing them in several rows, and you let your hands go limp. They don’t need to do anything right now. They can rest.

Ivar’s fingertips dance up your arms when he is done. He draws you to face him again, and you do so, almost feeling like he’s put you into a trance. Normally you would feel awkward with someone just looking at you, like he is, saying nothing. But all nestled up in the embrace of the ropes, you’re happy just to stare back at him. His wide eyes show you that you look just as lovely on the outside as you feel on the inside.

His hands run over your upper body, in admiration of his work. He follows a similar pattern he had traced with the pinwheel earlier. You wonder if he’s going to bring that out again, now that you are bound and cannot escape. Your nipples harden at the thought of how vulnerable you are. And yet, you feel so safe here in Ivar’s room.

“I would like to bind your legs, if you think you could lay on the bed. It may be less comfortable on your arms, though.”

“Let’s try.”

You end up sitting up against the head of the bed, propped with a few pillows while he starts at your ankles, binding them together with a little knot in between. “Do you want to leave your shoes on?” he asks. “I love the heels, but if they are distracting you I’ll take them off.”

“They look cute,” you say. Luckily, they are not the kind that pinch you anywhere. “Leave them on.”

Ivar smiles and continues wrapping the rope upwards, creating a ladder pattern of staggered twists up and over your knees. Watching the precise movements of his arms as he places the cords just so, pulling the tail ends up and between your legs with slow, controlled motions so that they never slap against your skin, you find yourself hypnotized, dissolving on the inside into a warm and cared-for goo.

In no time at all, your legs have been constricted down to a mermaid’s tail.

“How do you feel,” Ivar asks, his breath edging on a whisper.

“Mmm,” you reply. He runs his hand up the side of your leg, skimming the skin between the rectangular windows sectioned off by the rope. You watch his hand dreamily until he bends to insert his face into your line of sight.

He says your name, gently urging you to focus. His eyes are careful and curious. “Are you with me?”

You smile for him, pushing through the trance to focus on being a little bit more of yourself again. “Yes. I feel . . . spaced out, that’s all. Not scared.” You shift against your bonds, just to feel how your arms and legs can’t go anywhere. “I like it.” You feel snug, safe, and somehow calm and excited both at once.

Ivar’s answering smile is indulgent. You can see how much pride he feels, having brought you to this state. His fingers slide along the edge of the binding just below your hips, the wrap that cuts a line across your bare skin above the lace top of your stockings.

“What now?” you ask.

Ivar dips his head, looking at you from under his brows as his cheek pulls into a crooked smile. “Now, we play.” His fingers rake around the sides of your hips, just intense enough to make you squirm.

Squirming is an interesting experience in these ropes. They tighten in unexpected places, calling your attention to various sections of your body, leaving you no room for any thoughts outside of the purely sensory. Ivar’s fingers trace up your sides, and he bends his head to lavish kisses inside the diamond at the center of your abdomen.

It’s a tender spot, made more vulnerable by the fact that your arms are locked behind your back. Tingles buzz through your whole body as the instinctive, survival parts of your brain try to make sense of what is happening. Ivar’s touch is loving, however, strong yet safe, and you melt happily into the buzzing confusion he’s made of your nervous system.

The constant snugness around your limbs makes you feel free, paradoxically. The obvious, concrete reminder that you are fully controlled gives you permission to let go, to stop monitoring yourself or holding anything back. As Ivar’s hands and lips travel across your body, you tell him, in a series of gasps, little moans, and even more primal noises, exactly how he’s making you feel. There’s no way you could hold any of it back. Every inch of your skin, every muscle in your body belongs to him now, and answers to his call.

Ivar makes his own growling sort of sound. “I’m going to move you,” he warns, voice thready like he too is overcome by something deeper than normal words. His strong arms grasp you about the legs and pull you further down the bed. Then he lifts you onto your side, grasping hands eager to explore more regions of your body.

There’s not an inch of you that you don’t want to give to him. The pattern of the ropes has locked your body into something that makes you feel beautiful from head to toe, and you’re not surprised that Ivar wants to explore you from every angle. You can just feel that everything from your ankles to the breadth of your shoulders has been enhanced into an erotic offering.

And yet, you are more than just an object for his use. Ivar remembers to readjust the pillows, to make certain that you are settled into a comfortable configuration as you lay trussed-up on your side across the bed. He kisses your cheek, then his lips ghost across your own in a tantalizing almost-kiss that awakens your desire for him immediately.

But Ivar’s lips are gone before you can kiss him back and keep him there, trailing down your shoulder and the outside of your arm as he moves to admire the ropes that crisscross your back. You are reminded of your longing to take his cock into your mouth. You wonder if he really realized that was what you were offering, before he took out the ropes. Although perhaps he just wanted to get you this way first.

You want to tell him of your wish, to offer this to him again. The need inside of you to give back something, anything to this tantalizing devil of a man is growing enough to choke you. And yet, the trancelike effect of the ropes is robbing you of your ability to speak. The need to direct anything, to choose anything, fades away under the constant sensory input reminding you of Ivar’s control.

His hands across your ass are heavenly. There’s not much ropework there: two strands emerge from between your legs, lining your crack like a thong before separating out to form the diamond harness that wraps your torso. Your leg binding ends well below the swell of your butt muscles. All that sensitive flesh is open and free, aside from the thinnest satin of your panties. You try to imagine how the red rope looks where it cuts across the center of the detailed pattern of silver embroidery on black.

Ivar’s fingers find the edge of your underwear, sliding along and lifting the scalloped hem from the top of your hip along the full curve of your glutes. He pauses halfway down, and pushes the fabric back a little farther. He chuckles. “Are you aware that Ubbe left a bite mark on your ass?”

Breath rushes into your lungs, waking you up a little. “No,” you answer simply.

Ivar only sounds amused. “Sloppy.” He has only ever seemed amused by the whole arrangement, but it’s only natural that you feel just a bit apprehensive when this topic comes up. After all, the whole thing has been framed as an excuse for Ivar to threaten you with punishment. There might be one coming now.

“I am reminded,” he smirks, “that you wanted a little pain tonight.”

Your body curls in a little, your bound knees pulling up closer toward your chest. Which doesn’t do much to protect your ass. Ivar gives it a little slap; not a painful one, but it makes you jump anyway. Your senses are so heightened right now.

“While I did enjoy giving you that spanking”—his hand soothes over you bottom—“now is not the right time to do something like that again. Impact play while you’re already in the ropes… I’m not going to overwhelm you like that tonight.” His fingers lift, dragging circles in your skin lightly enough to tickle. “Rope bondage is more suited for the more subtle kinds of sensation.”

Indeed, those light tickling strokes are sending tingles through your entire backside. You relax the tightness in your abs, letting your hips swell back softly, your core awakening to Ivar’s playful exploration of your hindquarters.

Maybe it’s your imagination, but his fingers seem to return often to where he had pointed out that bite mark. It makes you wonder how Ubbe would react to seeing you now, like this. Would he treat you with as much care as Ivar has?

It’s hard to picture it. More likely he’d use the rope around your wrists as a handle, just to sink in balls-deep and fuck you harder.

Ivar’s fingertips swirl down to your inner thighs, taunting you with the idea that he might start taking advantage of your position now too. Since he has literally tied your legs together, it might take a little creativity to get at your clitoris, but with your knees bent like this it wouldn’t be too hard to slide anything up into your pussy. Just the thought makes your body tingle, swell, and open to him.

Ivar shifts toward the edge of the bed. Your eyes had been closed, enjoying every tiny sensation, but the sound of his crutches against the floor causes them to open.

He doesn’t go far, crossing the room to his computer desk. You remain completely motionless, so blissed out from the trance of the scene that you barely even have the focus to wonder what he might be getting. You could crane your neck, look up far enough to see what he’s doing, but why? Whatever he’s going to do, he’s going to do. Ivar is in complete control here, and it feels so good just to trust him to take care of you.

He opens a drawer, then closes it. It’s easy to identify that sound. You let your eyes drift shut. He comes back, sits down beside you on the bed. And then, an even more distinctive sound: the “shink” noise of his switchblade knife springing open.

“I only meant to introduce shibari tonight,” Ivar says as your eyes land on the naked blade in his hand, “but since you had such a big reaction to the knives today…” he flips it a few times and smirks down at you.

It’s hard to describe the way your body responds to that knife. Your heart starts to race, your skin breaks out in prickles. Your breathing probably stops. Your pussy, in particular, clenches up and then floods with warmth.

Ivar watches it all. You have no idea what kind of expression he can read in your face. He ceases the casual flipping and holds the knife up in the space between you. “Is looking at it enough,” he muses, “or would you like me to touch you with this?”

Every bare part of your skin tingles. Here you are now, his perfect victim. There’s nothing you can do to protect yourself from that cold blade. He leans in just a little closer, but otherwise just watches your face. And waits.

That was a serious question, it seems. He’s really going to make you ask for it. You’re not going to be able to get away with just playing the silent victim here if you want a taste of that thing. It’s a hard decision to make, though. When your survival instincts are this keyed up, can you really say yes? But you don’t want to say no either. Not when one of your secret, darkest kinks is staring you in the face. An opportunity you can’t dare to turn away from. But no words come.

Ivar seems to understand your predicament. “Shake your head if you want to say no,” he says quietly. “Nod if you’re saying yes.” With the hand that is not holding the knife, he gives your arm a reassuring pet. “It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

It takes effort to take your eyes away from the knife, to focus on Ivar’s face again. He looks patient, and totally accepting.

You nod your head.

You might call the smile that breaks over Ivar’s face “gleeful,” but it runs darker than that. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and brings the blade closer to your skin.

He pauses. “What are your safewords?”

You have lick your lips before you can answer. “Yellow if I need a break. Red to stop.”

Ivar nods. “If you say ‘red’ I will put the knife away and take your arms out of the rope immediately. If you say ‘yellow’ we’ll talk, and figure out what you need so you can keep enjoying yourself.”

You nod, and the knife moves toward you again.

You expect him to start somewhere simple, and not too threatening, like your arm. He’s been so kind all night. Building you up so gradually through all these new experiences. But that knife is coming right toward your face. A dozen different muscles tense across your body. You would plead with him with your eyes, but you can’t look away from that blade. You hold your breath as Ivar lays it flat against your cheek.

It’s cold, and unyielding. You freeze, afraid to move wrong lest it slice you accidentally, although you know that deep down you still trust him completely.

“My gorgeous, helpless thing.” The knife drags slowly, a millimeter at a time. “What have you gotten yourself into.” It’s only the flat side, nothing sharp, but your body wants to shudder anyway. “Is this what you’ve been craving?”

He lifts it away from your skin, showing you the wicked edge. A weird sob comes out of your mouth when you try to answer. What a word choice, ‘craving.’ You feel desperate and not in control, although you know that you could end the scene the second that you want to. You are, in fact, enjoying freaking out.

Ivar gives you a condescending little smile like he understands this completely. “I can give you what you need, little one.” He leans in closer, steadying himself with one hand on the mattress, and the flat of the knife comes back to your face. “You only have to tell me your every desire.”

You trust him, but it’s impossible not to flinch when that blade trails off the edge of your jaw and you can feel the scratch of the tip. Except, your reflexes are afraid that flinching will make it worse, and so you clench up instead, the extra tension coming out in a high-pitched little cry.

Ivar watches your face carefully, but when no safeword comes he moves that sharp sharp tip to the swell of your shoulder. “You’re so responsive,” he muses, and drags the point along your arm.

You gasp, you can’t help yourself. You have no idea how much pressure would leave a mark, how much more might leave little beaded drops of red in its wake. You lift your head to look more closely at what he’s done.

He hasn’t done anything, yet. It’s all in your head, and you try to loosen up a little. “No marks on your arms, I remember,” he reassures.

The knife lifts, and hovers lower.

You can’t really see the skin of your flank. Ivar turns his hand, brushing you first with the back of his knuckles, inside one of the diamond openings over your ribs. Warning you where the knife is about to come. It’s soothing and sadistic both at once, isn’t it. The blade is cold as it settles upon your skin, and when he rocks it onto one edge, your breath becomes more and more shallow. He might actually hurt you here. You had only said ‘no marks’ where someone would see.

You whine between your teeth.

Ivar tips his head so that it’s even with yours, checking in. When you don’t give him a safeword he looks back to his work.

The knife lifts, then returns in a slightly different place. He tilts it up to its point, just as he did on your arm, and drags it in a short, slow line. It doesn’t feel the same as it did on your arm. The sensation is so much sharper, setting off much louder warning bells inside your head. If you don’t stop him, will Ivar let it cut your skin? Your breath is catching in little gasps, and there’s a pressure starting to build behind your eyes.

Ivar takes the knife away. “What are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Um,” you start, struggling to control your breath well enough to give a coherent answer. “Um, I know that you won’t hurt me, but this is just scarier than I thought it would be.”

He nods, listening, and holding the knife well away from your body. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Yes, and,” you force yourself to be assertive, just as Ivar wants you to be, “I’m not sure that I’m ready to actually be cut today.”

Ivar’s smile is reassuring, his blue eyes blazing just for you. “And it’s ok if you’re never ready to go that far.” He flourishes the knife a little. “I’m enjoying every second of what your body does every time I even bring this thing near you.”

He moves down a little more, and puts his free hand on your hip. The simple touch is so reassuring, so warm, that those tears start brimming up against your eyelids.

You can tell that Ivar sees them. You remember he had said he wanted to see you cry. But he had probably meant from pain, not from tender emotion like this. You attempt to blink them back. Ivar squeezes your hip. “Breathe with me, y/n.” He takes a deep inhale, coaching you to do the same.

You pull the air deep into your lungs, expanding your ribs against his bondage. You keep your eyes locked on his.

“Good,” he exhales. “I need you to keep breathing. And don’t be afraid to tell me when you’ve had enough.”

You take one more full, deep breath. “I haven’t,” you say in a sultry voice that sounds a little more like your own. “Not yet.”

“Good.” Ivar lifts the knife again, setting it against the swell of your hip in the wake of his retreating hand.

Your breathy cry is a little closer to a moan this time. It feels much better there, a bit more sexy and a bit less terrifying. As he scratches a few slow lines across your skin, you focus on breathing deeply and watching his hand control the blade deftly upon your skin, fine-tuning the pressure to give you exactly what you asked for. The sensation of threat, without any real injury.

“If this were a movie, I would cut your panties off.” He slides the blade along their edge, setting off goosebumps everywhere and reawakening your core with fresh tingles. “But these are much too wonderful to damage.” He cocks his head the other way. “Although, I suppose that I paid for them, and I could always buy you more…”

He slips the blade underneath the lacy, scalloped edge, fingertips of the other hand sneaking under too, to hold the fabric taut. When you don’t try and stop him, you feel pressure and then a ripping noise begins.

The sudden looseness in the fabric floods your pussy with arousal. You’re exposed to him now, and his teasing fingers are quick to take advantage of that as he completes his work. It takes a second cut to free the garment from your body fully, and even the simple sensations of him sliding the remnants out from under the ropes and fully off you are distinctly turning you on.

You hear him close the knife, put it away. Then both his hands are on you, soothing over every spot his blade had threatened. He starts at your hip, bending down to press kisses into your skin, his firm hands running over the expanse of your cheeks. He drags himself up the bed behind you, until he can kiss that diamond window over your ribs where you almost lost it.

Next Part Here

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#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar/reader #dom!ivar #ivar the boneless #playing house fic

[lailyn]

Can I have another loki fic with stomach ache? Any pairing is good. Also, the fic you wrote for me earlier was amazing! Now I want more....

These Chains Around Our Hearts

Pairing: Loki/Steve Rogers

"Another war movie?"

"This one’s said to be...not bad."

“Not bad,” Loki echoed. “Not one for overselling, are you?”

“I haven’t had much luck trying to impress you with my movie choices,” Steve said. “But it did win around seven Oscars or something so...not that that’s a true indication of what makes a movie great but it’s on my bucket list and I thought we could - ”

With a tease of a smile, Loki plucked the DVD cover out of Steve’s hand; for some reason, the good captain looked flustered. "Tut-tut, Captain. I was not questioning your taste in movies nor your diligence in compiling your list of buckets.” 

“'Bridge On The River Kwai'," he read. "Sounds promising. Was this your war?”

“I’ve fought many,” Steve said, smiling faintly. “But you could say this was my first, yes. Only it was fought on a different front.”

“Then let’s watch it, shall we?” Loki asked brightly. 

“I’ll be right with you. I just need to grab a few snacks from the kitchen - ”

“But we just ate,” Loki grumbled to himself as he picked a corner to get comfortable in, making sure there was ample room on the couch for Steve when he returned. 

The pot pie Steve made for dinner had been a tad too rich and Loki felt uncomfortably full despite not having eaten very much. He listened to the sounds of Steve pottering about in the kitchen and wondered if he had any space left to fit whatever bonne bouche his host had prepared for their movie night. 

Loki had suspected from the start, back when they first started seeing each other, that Steve was one nervous entertainer. True enough, when the super soldier emerged from the kitchen, his already impressive arms were burgeoning with bags of crispy, salty things, jars of dips and cans of drinks. 

“Oh my.” Loki eyed the smorgasbord laid before him critically. “Is that all?"

"It's not enough? I could get some more - " But before Steve could make a beeline for the kitchen once more, a hand touched his wrist.

"I was teasing."

They settled into their usual seating arrangement, not too close but at a companiable distance from each other. Steve and his appetite dived face-first into the tortilla chips and dips, but Loki refused to partake, what with his stomach feeling as unsettled as it was. 

For a film made in the fifties, Loki found it quite impressive, almost believable even, if one had not lived through the dark times first-hand. 

“Did you win it?” Loki asked. “Your first war?”

Loki’s vast knowledge of the cosmos and all it contained was legendary and Steve for one knew it included Midgardian history, so there was no way this was not a trick question. “In a manner of speaking.”

“You were fighting the same war, you said. Did it look like this?” Loki pointed at the screen with his regal chin. 

“No,” Steve shuddered. After the surrender of Germany in 1945, the Allied forces’ attention shifted east, and this was a film depicting the horrors of the time.

How many of his comrades-in-arms had been taken prisoner? Forced to live in squalid conditions, ravaged by disease and starved slowly to death as they slaved away in the harsh tropical sun piecing the Railway of Death track by track?

"The Auschwitz of the East." The thousand-yard stare bruised Steve's baby blues to a dark, angry cobalt. "I don't know if I could have survived it."

"Of course you would," Loki said firmly. "If any man could, it's you." 

Steve's mind turned, uncertain if he was deserving of such high praise, especially when it came from none other than Loki, the God of Chaos himself. 

"I am familiar with the concept of war. I was Odin's war trophy after all," Loki said casually.

Steve turned his head slowly. 

"Story for another day, Captain," Loki forced a smile; he was no longer in the mood for a romantic evening, let alone a heartfelt tete-a-tete. The vague discomfort in his belly was commanding more and more of his attention by the minute. 

He laid a hand on his stomach. When it twinged again, Loki knew he was in for a long, long night. 

Steve caught Loki's sigh. "Loki?"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly.

Now showing was a scene depicting insubordination among the ranks, and by the time the Japanese sergeant had finished giving the prisoners a dressing-down and placed them in a punishment hut, the twinging in Loki's stomach had blossomed into a full-blown ache that no amount of rubbing was helping. 

Steve caught Loki's hand grabbing his waist again. "You okay?"

"I am fine, Captain."

"Are you sure?"

"I seem to have what you Midgardians call a stitch," Loki said as he kneaded his side gently, his smile wan. "It is nothing."

At being denied its existence, Loki's stomach voiced its protest in the form of a loud, whining rumble. 

"That doesn't sound like a stitch."

"You are not going to let this go, are you?"

Steve groped for the remote control that had slipped somewhere down the side of the couch. "Yeah, no. We can continue watching some other time." 

Ignoring Loki's mewl of protest, he stabbed the pause button before he stood up, gathering the uneaten snacks and drinks to clear the table.

Loki rose to help, but as soon as he did, a sudden pain lanced through his abdomen, sharper than anything he had felt tonight, and he sank back onto the couch with a gasp. 

Steve dropped everything with a crash. "Loki, what's going on?"

A tense few seconds later, the pained expression on Loki's face eased and his whole body relaxed. "Something I ate is not sitting right with me, that is all."

"Do you want some water?" 

Loki shook his head. 

"Do you feel sick?" Steve pressed.

A wince. "A little. There is a slight ache, it is more uncomfortable than painful really."

"Somehow I don't think slight means quite the same with you guys," Steve sighed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Only Steve could say something like that without sounding chastising or judgemental, only worried if not a little bit sad. 

"It was not my intention to keep anything from you, Captain," Loki said placatingly. "And I speak true, it is only a mild discomfort. Perhaps I merely overindulged."

It was evident from the look on Steve's face that he did not believe a single word Loki said. 

With a sigh, Steve patted his thigh. "Come lie down."

A flush of colour suffused Loki's cheeks. "I can't possibly."

He felt Steve lay a hand on his back, contemplated leaning into it, but the thought was obliterated by a fresh round of cramps so intense they folded him in half. 

These things happen at the worst possible time, Loki cursed silently, groaning into his knees in sheer frustration. 

Steve must have mistaken his moan for one of pain for suddenly, a strong arm enveloped Loki from behind and pull him down. 

Resist, don't give in, resi -

"Loki."

Like magic, the gentleness with which Steve said his name drained all the tension from Loki's body and sapped him of the energy to remain upright. He sagged sideways in a slump. 

Utterly mortified by his inelegant tumble into Steve's lap, Loki hid his face against a taut, well-muscled thigh. To his credit, the captain said absolutely nothing, only running a hand up and down the side of Loki's arm.

If his stomach wasn't hurting so much, Loki would have appreciated the comfort of Steve's lap much more vocally instead of trying not to be sick in it. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to get someone? Banner? Dr Cho?" 

"There is no need. I will be fine."

"What if this is something serious?" Steve patted his jacket for his mobile phone. “I should get your brother.”

“No!” Loki peered through strands of hair, which Steve tentatively brushed away. "If it were, it would have killed me already." At the aghast expression on Steve's face, he added in a hurry, "Or conversely, my healing spell would have cured it completely."

"What do you think it was?" Steve asked anxiously. "It wasn't my pie, was it?"

Loki shook his head. "No, Captain. This is just a run-of-the-mill stomachache, albeit a very irritating one. Exploring the vast diversity of Midgardian cuisine has truly been an adventure."

"Thor can eat anything."

"There is nothing my Brother can't and won't eat. I have seen Thor devour five wild boars in one sitting and that was after a light training station, imagine what he could polish off after a day's battle or two." A sullen mutter. "I am not like Thor."

"No." Steve smiled. "No, you're not. You're different."

Loki knew better than anyone all the ways in which he was different. He wondered if they matched Steve's list. "How so?"

Steve shrugged. "You were right. I like war movies. And you're the only person who'd watch them with me."

"I suppose I too am nostalgic for the olden days. Even if they were someone else's," Loki said, mirroring his companion's smile; it felt just as awkward on his face as it had looked on Steve. 

He tried to make himself comfortable but lying on his back hurt too much. With his head still in Steve's lap, Loki turned onto his side and curled into a tight ball. 

Meanwhile, Steve was beginning to fret. “What can I do?”

“Retire for the night, I suppose. I’m afraid I am not very good company at the moment.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” 

“Captain.”

“No man left behind, Loki. I’m staying.” Steve let Loki squirm against him as he tried to find the most comfortable position. “What do you need?”

“Sleep.” Loki was almost too embarrassed to admit it. “I could try walking it off, but - ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve growled. “We’re watching a goddamn movie, not kicking some alien's ass in battle."

"I'm sorry you couldn't finish the movie," said the only alien in the room.

"It's okay. I couldn't concentrate anyway."

"Something on your mind, Captain?"

Steve shook his head. "Someone," he corrected.

"Anyone I know?" Loki asked, wanting to jest, but his intestines chose that moment to coil into knots inside him, each tighter than the one before; he could barely keep from crying out, he was in so much pain.

"I'm looking at him," Loki heard Steve say in a voice so soft it could only be a product of his muddled imagination.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the grounding warmth of Steve's body heat against his face.

The beast clawing away in his belly was not real. Steve was. Good, kind, sensitive Steve.

Steve watched in sympathy as Loki massaged his stomach gingerly. "You really don't feel good, huh."

"There was a time when I would rather face the axe than admit to something so pitiful." Loki opened his eyes a mere fraction, lest he revealed too much his pain. "But no, I do not." 

"I'm not used to seeing you like this," Steve said quietly. "You always get stomachaches this bad?"

Loki had to laugh; Steve looked so serious it was adorable. "I have survived horrors far worse than this, Captain."

"Yeah, but you kept it to yourself this long, so it must be pretty bad."

"Oh, you know me too well," Loki said sarcastically. "I must have been too engrossed in the film to notice my stomach eating itself."

Steve appeared offended. "Hey, it's based on a true story!"

"They did not blow it up in the end, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, baffled.

"The Bridge. There were many bridges like it along River Kwai, but the rest of it?  The uprising and the sabotage? That is all fiction," Loki said flatly. "Glorious fiction."

His eyes fluttered shut with a solemness analogous to that of one burdened with bearing bad news. 

It was hardly news, was it? These people had been dead for almost a century -

"Your friends did not escape the jungles. They were all packed onto ships that took them across the sea to the Land of the Rising Sun, but your own warships mistook them for the enemy and blew them out of the water. All ten thousand of them."

"Tell me one thing. Why does telling stories come so easily to you but not this?" Steve swatted Loki's hand away and replaced it with his own, ignoring Loki's surprised gasp. "Yes, war sucked. Watching your friends die in front of you sucked. But right now I don't care about any of that. I care about you!"

Loki swallowed hard. "Captain…"

But Steve was not done giving Loki a piece of his mind.

"I want you to tell me these things," he berated, his fingers curling around the taut flesh of Loki's stomach. "I'm not good at reading you."

A sharpness cut through Loki's words, a warning in disguise. "I do not want you to."

"I couldn't if I tried," Steve said quietly. "I have brought down walls thicker than you've ever seen. But I can't see through yours." 

Loki fell into a silence so deep it left Steve wondering if he had ruined the moment beyond repair. 

"A war hero like you has no business consorting with someone like me." Loki turned his face. "I am but a prisoner, begging for scraps from you, and from everyone else in the universe."

Steve's hand stilled. Loki's thin abdomen throbbed under his palm, the pulsations picking up pace in time with the racing of the ancient heart.

"I have been in chains since the day I was born. I will not chain you to me." Loki interlaced his fingers with the ones still clasped to his stomach. "This is a momentary comfort."

"We are all prisoners here, Loki," Steve said gently. 

As all anger left him, his other hand searched for Loki's. "We don't belong to this time, but there is no escaping it." 

His thumb danced across the bony row of Loki's knuckles. "There is only living."

"Perhaps I have lived too long." 

"That is a decision only you can make," Steve said, the sadness returning to his eyes. "But I have just found you. And I want you to know that I care."

With the confession finally out of the way, Steve inhaled deeply and leaned his head back against the couch, his hand resuming its gentle kneading. It was comforting, the sensation of Loki's tight, concave abdomen giving little by little to his ministrations. 

It was not overindulgence, the cause of Loki's pain. He knew that now.

"Captain."

"Yes, Loki?"

"What exactly do you want from me?"

Steve went quiet. The answer could not be any clearer, but Loki was notoriously oblivious to any notion of sentiment, even the most obvious one. 

"You said I was your comfort. I want you to allow yourself to be mine."

Loki remained quiet for longer. When he finally spoke, his voice quaked with a timbre of hope and unbridled joy. 

"If I say yes, would you do me a courtesy and let me choose what to watch for movie night?" 

Steve laughed. "Sure. On one condition." 

“This negotiation has strayed too far off course, Capta -”

“Steve,” he interrupted, cradling Loki's face in his hands. “Call me Steve.” 

It was an offer Loki could not refuse. "Steve." 

The name tasted good on his tongue. And so did those lips. 

#frostshield #sick loki #loki whump #ask #fic #steve rogers #loki

[sweetestlamb]

Love Me Like You Do ( Guide To Getting Back Your Self-Respect)

Summary: Dae-sung just wants Sol-i to be happy, even if that’s not with him so he decides to bury his feelings while Sol-i realizes how much strength she gained from his constant unwavering support. She becomes to questions her feelings for Cha Heon. 

Author's note: For the Dae-sung appreciators and anyone who wants Sol-i to keep her self-respect. I finally watched the recent episodes and I saw Heon making an effort but honestly I am already over him and anyone with some self-respect would be too. So in this my girl gets her self-respect back, wins over Dae-sung and gets the love and unconditional support she deserves.  

He doesn't cry. Not there on the bench, in front of her lying his heart out. He'd never thought he'd have to lie to her always wanting to give her nothing but his genuine honesty and support, but her question had stunned him. It was ridiculously moronic of him to write something so.. revealing on the paper. He knew it was a possibility that she would see it. A small hopeful part of him wanted her to see it, to finally know his heart and how much she meant to him, she was like the sun on a gray stormy day and he was tired of carrying these feelings in his heart. 

But she was uncomfortable, that much was evident. He couldn't handle that, she was his first real friend and he couldn't imagine his life without her dimpled smile- didn't want to. So he lied. It made his stomach churn, bubbling up with bile until he felt nauseous and he had to escape from her relief, she was so relieved by his admission. It was apparent that his feelings were unwelcome, she would never look at him the way she looked at Heon. He needed to find a way to accept that. 

So he waits until he's in the pool to unleash the tsunami swirling in his eyes, sobs wrenched from his lungs as he breaks apart slapping at the water and wishing he could turn off his heart. He tried to stop this by calling her "brother" hoping he'd be able to trick his heart into truly seeing her as a brother. In the end it was all futile and every second he spent with her only heightened his infatuation, until it shifted from like and swung into dangerous territory.

It was good. This was good. It was better that he find out now, he needed to move on for the salvation of their friendship. He would do it. He could do anything for Sol-i. But he would let himself mourn today, mourn the loss of his feelings and any chance of her reciprocating. He would cry until his throat was hoarse. Roaring into the air before dunking his head under the chilling pool and submerging his feelings.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It isn't easy but he stops doing the things that are natural to him: buying snacks he knows she likes, saving the best hand warmer for her, going out of his way to make her smile and when he sees her with Heon, he doesn't interrupt leaving Sol-i to shine brightly up at someone else. Too sad to even be jealous.

"Woo Dae-sung? Are you listening? Who have I been talking to this whole time?" Jin-Hwan sighs exasperatedly, knocking into his shoulder. He turns to smile in apology, lost in his thoughts staring out the window. It was the safest place to look with Sol-i right in his line of vision, it was difficult not to get lost in the way the sunlight hit her dark brown hair, setting the strands ablaze.

"Sorry. I was daydreaming. What were you saying?" He nods staring into the spectacled eyes of his friend, giving his full attention and he laughs and nods at all the correct moments as Jin-Hwan regals his newest plot to win over Ha-Young, his latest idea a flash mob. He laughs freely at the other boys antics as he flails to mimic the possible choreography, at least Ha-Young never seemed uncomfortable with his various love confessions. He'd even found the other girl looking at the vocally gifted boy when she thought no one was looking, an inquisitive look as if she were seeing him for the first time.

Despite his own rejection he would be elated for his friends, he wanted those he cared about to always be smiling even if he wasn't.

Before he realizes it's time to go to the pool, he has a competition very soon and his coach has been shorter than usual pushing him past his limit. He accepts the punishment, enjoying the sharp knife of the water on his skin using his heartbreak as fuel. He was in control in the pool, his domain and his first love that would never turn its back on him.

"I'll see you all later!" He calls out to his small group of friends, making sure not to let his eyes linger on Sol-i as he usually does instead sprinting out of the room. He will get over this and things will go back to normal again.

When coach praises him on his form and speed he realizes for once his mind is not filled with a certain pint-sized girl.

One day at a time.

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"Heon-ah! Wait let's go together!" She calls out to the retreating back of the boy who is always on her mind, her sweet honey Heon. Just his mere presence is enough to make her feel like she's on cloud nine. Huffing when he doesn't slow down at all, she starts to chase after him closing the gap between them. But being as clumsy as she is her feet get tangled up and she finds herself tripping over nothing, she closes her eyes waiting for the painful collision. It never comes.

Squinting one eye open she finds herself staring at the flecks of cobble in the ground, seemingly elevating above it. 

"Brother! Are you okay?" A familiar voice greets her and when she twists to look behind her, Dae-sung’s hands are latched onto the top handle of her backpack preventing her fall. She smiles in gratitude, Dae-sung is such a great friend he's always there when she needs him. She beams up at him dimples making an appearance.

He smiles back, tugging her back onto her feet.

"I'm okay. Thank you for saving me." She bows her head slightly before remembering that she'd been following Heon. She spins around only to find the boy in question already climbing into his bike, looking at them with passive eyes before riding away.

"You should hurry so he doesn't leave you. Be careful and get home safely."

She hums not looking back before running over to follow Heon, he doesn't talk to her the entire ride home fleeing before she can even wish him goodnight. She huffs but goes inside her house calling out to her parents before running to her room and diving into her bed. Tomorrow, she'll make Heon like her tomorrow.

Probably.

Hopefully.

She dozes off her head filled with the boy who owns her mind, body and soul.

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"Anyone know where Dae-sung is? Doesn't it feel like he's always in the pool, has he turned in a merman? Aquaman?" Ji-Hwan quips at the lunch table, looking around at them as he mimes swimming in a pool. Sol-i stops mid chew looking around, she hadn't noticed he was missing but it was so obvious, normally he'd be there handing out snacks and laughing at Ji-Hwan's bad jokes. Making everything brighter with his infectious smile. 

"He has that big swim meet coming up remember? Are we all going to cheer him on?" Ha-Young responds, asking in a tone that leaves little room for argument. She looks at Heon to see his answer, he doesn't look up from his sandwich chewing slowly as if he's eating alone.

"Heon-ah, are you going?" She grins at him, willing him to agree with her winning smile.

His face remains impassive but he shrugs and she takes it as a yes. Jumping in her seat and turning back to Ha-Young nodding her head at the question finally.

Her friend squints at her though, looking annoyed for some reason. But the bell rings signaling the end of lunch before she can inquire why that cold look was directed her way. She nervously picks up her tray trailing behind her friends, not remembering to wait for Heon.

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She almost slept through her alarm but she manages to drag herself out of bed and she dances when she sees that Heon is getting on his bicycle too, they can go together.

"Heon-ah! Good morning."

He turns to look at her nodding softly, "You actually woke up?"

She playfully glares at him, "If you were so worried about me, why didn't you call me?"

"Why would I call you? You have an alarm."

"Your voice is much better than an alarm though." She answers honestly, boldly staring into his eyes before he scoffs at her and grabs his bike riding off without a word.

She cries indignantly before racing off after him.

She wonders what it's like to be so good at something as she watches Dae-sung effortlessly swipe through the water, powerful strokes as he closes in on the wall reaching out a hand and screaming triumphantly when his name lights up, first place Woo Dae-sung.

They all jump up cheering, signs in their hands and they celebrate his win. Jin-Hwan starts the chant and soon every voice in the room has joined them, all cheering his name.

Woo Dae-sung! Woo Dae-sung! Woo Dae-sung!

They find him later, leaving the locker room in jeans and a hoodie now, hair still plastered to his head from the swim cap. They are cheer when they see him, his smile is blinding as he waves at them a slight blush rising on his cheeks.

"Dae-sung congratulations! You were amazing!" She proudly cries sticking two thumbs out at him.

He smiles back at her, "Thank you. Thanks for coming to cheer for me. You all really motivated me."

It's only right that they should have a celebratory meal, they stay close going to a tteokbokki place near by and easily getting a table. She sits down in the middle leaving two empty seats on either side of her, Ha-Young and Ji-Hwan sit on the opposite side. She turns to smile at Heon patting the seat next to her, he sits down immediately looking at the menu, barely sparing her a glance. She's momentarily surprised though when Dae-sung goes to sit on the other side as well, eyeing the empty seat right next to her that had been much closer.

But he's looking at the menu as well as if they didn't come here specifically to eat the spicy noodle. Weird.

Ji-Hwan carries the conversation praising Dae-sung again then telling them all about his new favorite song, crying out with Ha-Young slaps his hand when he tries to serenade her. Dae-sung laughs at them both but never starts a conversation with her, never looking over at her for too long. She tries and fails to engage Heon in a conversation, her own voice filling the void.

After a few minutes, a waitress comes to take their order.

"Hi, I'm your server-- excuse me are you Woo Dae-sung?" The girl who looks like she's not much older than them, she's short with deep brown hair in a high ponytail and a small round face. Very pretty.

They all still and look up at her question, turning to Dae-sung who looks confused but nods in confirmation.

"I'm sorry I'm a fan of yours. I've seen you around school but I couldn't bring myself to say hi. You were amazing today, that was your best time!" She gushes practically bouncing in her spot, eyes bright as she looks at the boy, who is scarlet under her gaze.

"Oh. Thank you! You don't need to be shy, you can say hi. I'm just a student like you. I'm nobody special."

"Don't say that! You're the youngest in your group and you have the best time. I really admire you."

They all sit in silence watching the interaction, ping-ponging back and forth with each exchange. Before the girl seems to recall that they're all there.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She bows low, "Do you know what you want to order?" She asks avoiding eye contact now and Ha-Young orders for them all and she tells them their food will be out soon. Bowing another time before stealing a gaze at Dae-sung and scurrying off.

"Maybe I should start swimming. I want fan girls too." Ha-Young slaps Jin-Hwan in the back of the head and he folds over in pain before crying out that his heart belongs to her, gaining another smack that he receives like it's a hug smiling through the gentle abuse.

In a few minutes the food arrives, steaming hot and delicious aroma wafting off and filling her nostril. The waitress asks them if they need anything else and it is not lost on Sol-i that her eyes never leave Dae-sung’s face. They all decline and she bows before retreating, looking reluctant to leave. Sol-i feels uneasy but she can’t decipher why. Her emotions twisting up in the pits of her stomach. 

Sol-i stealthy peeks over at Dae-sung to see if he's excited about having a fan girl but he's focused on eating, stuffing noodles into his cheeks before humming in pleasure, eyes closing as he enjoys the meal. Her stomach does a weird somersault. It must be indigestion. She grabs her glass of water, taking a big gulp. Choking a little when it goes down the wrong hole, Heon stares at her in the corner of his eye but then there's already a napkin in front of her face.

"Here. You should drink slower."

She takes the proffered napkin dabbing at her chin, "Thank you." Dae-sung smiles at her, but it looks different. Strained. Not quite reaching his eyes. Her stomach squeezes again.

What's wrong with me?

When it starts to get late they finally start to leave, Jin-Hwan slapping Dae-sung's wallet out of his hands when he tries to pay. They all chip in instead but he insists on leaving a tip and Jin- Hwan rolls his eyes but nods in agreement before a sly smile spreads across his face.

"Oh. I know why you want to leave the tip. Smooth." He throws a wink and smile the sputtering boy's way as he denies any ulterior motives. But their waitress is making her way back out and Jin-Hwan is already vibrating slapping Dae-sung on his back in encouragement. 

"I hope you enjoyed your meal and I didn't bother you too much. I'm sorry about earlier." She apologizes again and Dae-sung smiles brightly at her, a real smile that curves his eyes into half moons. Sol-i feels that same tinge in her stomach, when will her food finally digest?

"You don't need to be sorry! What's your name? Next time I see you at school I'll say hi." He sounds so friendly and Sol-i watches the other girl blush as she stares at Dae-sung, she finally turns away looking at Heon. This is where her focus should be, why she finding it so hard to focus? She likes Heon. She always has. 

"They look good together." Jin-Hwan claims shamelessly watching them talk through the window, Sol-i pointedly doesn't look. Telling herself she wants to respect his privacy.

Minutes pass by before Dae-sung rejoins them.

"Where did you all go?" He tilts his head and this time to her surprise, it's Ha-Young who teases him.

"We wanted to give you space. It seemed like she wanted to say something to you. Did you have a good talk? Did you learn her name?" She raises her eyebrows and smirks at him. 

Sol-i feels uneasy listening to them interrogate Dae-sung even more so when he looks down bashfully, running a hand across his head.

"It's Seong Mi-Ho. She um...she gave me her number."

Ji-Hwan cheers loudly jumping to put him in a headlock and Sol-i feels sick to her stomach now, like a someone is doing a drumline in her small intestine. 

She doesn't notice Heon nudging at her shoulder, until he calls her name. In a daze she turns to look at him.

"Sorry?"

"I asked if you were ready to go. I'm leaving."

She nods quietly before calling out to her friends, Ha-Young now has Jin-Hwan in a headlock as Dae-sung laughs watching them another real smile, it makes her feel small and jagged.

"We're leaving." The three stop to look at her before saying their goodbyes.

Impulsively she looks at Dae-sung and he meets her eyes for once. Maybe this had all been in her head. Her stupid imagination.

"Dae-sung, I'm so proud of you! Good night."

He stands frozen, unprepared for her exclamation before he nods smiling at her.

"Thank you brother. Get home safely."

Fake smile. This time the pain is in her chest.

When she's safely back in her room she stares at her ceiling, head of full of questions and worries. All about a certain swimmer. Void of another stoic boy. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

She wakes up late and dashes through the door, grabbing her bike and pedaling until her feet hurt but she makes it to school with two minutes to spare.

Waves good morning to her friends minus Dae-sung who isn't in his seat, she struggles to focus as she stares blankly at her notebook devoid of any notes. Head too full of thoughts to process any new information. She doesn't even notice Heon staring at her, confused that she isn't staring back.

Dae-sung doesn't show up until lunch and she lights up before realizing he isn't alone. The same girl from the tteokbokki shop is walking very close to him, their shoulders brushing with every step. Dae-sung waves happily when he sees them all before stopping to motion at the girl.

"Everyone this is Seong Mi-Ho, she's in the same lunch period as us! Is it okay if she sits with us?" He asks hopefully and Ha-Young scoots over giving her ample space and he smiles in gratitude. Dae-sung looks at the remaining seats hesitating before sitting next to her, directly across the other girl.

They eat comfortably, but she can't help sneaking glances at the other girl. She seems nice, laughing and asking them all questions but it's obvious her attention is mostly focused on Dae-sung, enraptured every time he speaks.

"Sol-i ah do you want to go to the bathroom with me?" Ha-Young's voice cuts through her contemplation and she jumps before answering, "Yes I'll come."

She bounds after her friend before walking straight into her back with a soft oomph.

Grabbing her forehead she looks up at Ha-Young in question.

"Sol-i, are you okay?"

She squirms under the penetrating stare, shifting from side to side before tugging at her hair.

"What do you mean?"

A thin eyebrow raises, "You haven't been staring at Heon at all today. Do you not like Seong Mi-Ho? You keep looking at her."

She rushes to immediately deny that speculation, "No! I mean yes! I mean..."

Ha-Young crosses her arms now, gaze getting harder as she struggles to find an answer.

"I.. Ha-Young ah....have you ever realized something when it was too late?"

The girl tilts her head accessing her with a sharp gaze.

"What are you talking about?"

She loses her nerve, feeling stupid in Ha-Young's no nonsense gaze. The last time they'd spoken she had adamantly told the other girl she had no interest in Dae-sung, how could she possibly say that she was faltering now? Plus he'd only been joking she'd gotten nervous for no reason, overwhelmed at the idea of someone liking her. Liking Heon was easier, she could do so without any expectation.

"Nothing. I'm just feeling tired I didn't get enough sleep last night." She lies walking towards the bathroom, desperate to keep her new feelings to herself.

It's better this way.

#a love so beautiful #a love so beautiful 2020 #shin sol i #dae sung #Cha Heon will barely speak or do anything just like the show #jeong jin-hwan #kang Ha-Young #part 1 #I think it'll be 3 parts #some angst and longing #then fluffy fluff #fix it #for the 3 people who said they wanted this

[tainted-wine]

Just a Demonstration

Present Mic x Reader (NSFW)

(Honestly, I just wanted to write Hizashi with some bi energy. I apologize for the other 90% of this small fic)

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: More slang words for ‘penis’ than you can shake a dick stick at. Reader’s thirst levels are highly advanced.

———————————————–

Hizashi’s cock was a sacred rod that deserved to be worshiped for every minute of the day. The very sight of it never fails to make your pussy pulse as rapidly as your excited heartbeat. It didn’t even matter whether he was still tucked in beneath the wrinkles of his foreskin, or if he was already proudly hanging and swinging about—that meaty sausage should always be ready for the market that is your mouth.

So the moment you saw him strut out of the shower and make the mistake of displaying his bare crotch, you knew that you only had one option: cancel your hangout with your dear friend and charm this man’s snake. Your friend was thankfully understanding through her texts.

BFF: Hey gurl! Ready for our shopping trip at the plaza?

You: Sorry, but I won’t be able to go today. I need to suck my boyfriend’s dick for a really long time.

BFF: Alright, that’s ok. See ya!

Hizashi was stammering in confusion when you forcefully guided him onto the bed, shushing him with a finger over his lips once he was on his back. You immediately went to work by kissing the fresh and clean member, coaxing its head to slowly peek out from the slow strokes of your hand. The downside to blowing him right after a shower was that his distinctive musky scent was mostly absent, but you’ll survive without it.

The voice hero watched you with a nervous smile, his body still damp since you didn’t even give him a chance to properly dry off. “Baby, I ain’t complaining, but your undying love for my dick kinda scares me sometimes,” he admitted.

You just looked up at him with a small grin of your own, hand continuing to jerk him. Scared or not, his growing length betrayed his arousal. Besides, it wasn’t your fault that his throbber was a specimen of perfection.

Your tongue moves smoothly across the skin, his veins becoming more prominent with every hardening twitch. So badly did you just want to take it all and suck him up right away, but this precious shaft should be cherished like a gourmet popsicle, not wolfed down like an unsavory snack. You went down to give firm licks to the sensitive space between his cock and balls, earning a shaky moan from the man. You make out with that small area as your hand lubricates him with his own gushes of precum.

“Fuck, baby. I wasn’t ready for you to go to town on me like this,” you hear him groan.

‘And I wasn’t ready for you to present your cock like it’s fuckin’ Christmas. I guess we’re both getting surprises today.’ Your answer doesn’t leave your head, your mouth too busy for silly quips at the moment. With his dick now standing proudly at its full height, you journey back to the top with a long lick, giving his swollen tip a modest peck.

You couldn’t wait any longer. This premium meat deserved more care and attention, but you felt like a starving barbarian with little time to spare.

You felt his thighs tense under your palm when you begin to take him in. Inch by inch he disappears behind your lips, the weight of him on your tongue prompting you to press your thighs together from the growing heat in your core. Hizashi never holds back his moans, always expressing his pleasure and approval with no shame. You listen to the loud yet pleasing vocals as you welcome more of him into your mouth.

Yes…this is where you belong. This is where you were happiest: giving his divine dangler free real estate in your mouth, like a humid cave that also served as a shrine. Every centimeter should be taken into your warm cavern, to use your tongue as a damp bed…

A gag and coughing fit are triggered by the sting of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You’re forced to pull away as your body convulses, feeling a soothing hand rubbing circles on your back while your coughs slow down.

Dammit…goddammit. Why must your sensitive throat fail you each time?

“Easy there, baby. Don’t hurt yourself,” you heard Hizashi comfort you as you held your face in shame and frustration.

“I just…” You sobbed. “I just want your dick down my throat.”

“I know, sweetie. No one is as dedicated to playing the flesh flute as you are,” he laughed.

You were very dedicated, but deepthroating was a method of willy worship that you just couldn’t master, and it enraged you. Tears were streaming down your face before you could even think of stopping them.

“Hey hey!” Hizashi panicked and wiped your tears with a careful thumb. “Don’t stress! Trust me, I love everything your mouth does, if my hard buddy here is anything to go by.”

You turned away from his gentle hand. “You don’t understand, Hizashi! You don’t understand the pressure that your 5-star schlong puts me under! The lengths I have to go to give it the proper treatment!” You cried harder from the mental weight given by his statuesque piece of phallic beauty.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, I guess not. Didn’t know my junk was putting you through so much pressure.” He glanced down at his shrinking erection. Fuck, look what you’ve done—all you did was waste the mighty one-eyed serpent’s time, and now it was retreating back into its fleshy sanctum. Shame on you.

But the blonde wasn’t done. “If it’ll perk you up, maybe I can help you out? Ya know, a couple of tips from one mouth-meister to another?”

You sniffed and looked up at him in confusion, his sweet smile still bright and clear through your watery eyes. “You…?”

“What, did you forget who I am, baby? I’m a licensed professional in handling the love pistol! I’ll teach you everything you need to know about gobblin’ like it’s Thanksgiving!”

You agreed to his help and watched him search through your shared drawers until he found your private toy. A dildo—splendidly crafted by sculptors who clearly take pride in their work—but you’ve had little need for it lately. Ever since this man came into your life, you’ve realized just how much of an imposter that piece of silicone is, and it was hard to feel any pleasure now that you know of its lies.

Still, you pushed aside your bitter memories as Hizashi settled back down on the bed with your dildo in hand.

He began his lecture. “I know dick is awesome and you wanna get that baby in your mouth right away, but you gotta take it slow, alright? Especially with a tonsil tickler like this one! Keep that throat relaxed and one day you’ll be gag reflex-free like me!”

He goes on. Your frustration is still strong as you try to listen to his advice, but those woeful feelings fizzed out the moment the toy’s head slipped past Hizashi’s lips. His eyes drift close while the shaft smoothly moves into his mouth, his breaths audibly blowing through his nose. Your old companion is a pretty long boy—eight inches long—but Hizashi was taking it easily and calmly, and his bulging throat was possibly the second most enticing thing to look at, topped only by the returning stiffy between his legs.

With a satisfied moan, the entirety of the length rested in his gullet, the textured balls acting like a cork to his lips.

What a fucking sight to behold, one that makes you gush from below.

He pulls the cock out just as slowly, the fake flesh glistening with his saliva. Once it was only the tip still sitting behind his lips, he pushed it all back in. Rinse and repeat, with a slowly increasing pace. You watched in awe at the skill you imagined having in your dreams, the ones where you stuff your windpipe with his firm lovetube without the worry of any limitations.

The wet sloshes and glugs sound ridiculously lewd, and he only adds to the vulgar medley with his deep moans. It’s when his free hand moves to start stroking himself that you begin to wonder if he forgot that you were here.

There’s no way you’re going to make him pleasure himself in your presence. You move his hand aside and apply your softer ones to his twitching manhood, moving at the same pace that he left off. Hizashi gave a loud moan of gratitude as he continued his enthusiastic sucking. You wanted so badly to put your own mouth to work, to put his advice to the test, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the erotic spectacle. It was insane; you didn’t think that anything could possibly distract you from his divine cockcalibur, but here you were discovering something more amazing than even that.

It should have been obvious, really. His mouth and golden tongue have sent you to heights you never would have reached on your own, whether it be from tangling with your own pink muscle, tasting every inch of your skin, or gorging himself on your womanly juices. Of course he also knew how to take a dick with skill that would make a pornstar green with envy.

You feel him tensing again. He’s getting close, and his noises were only getting louder and dirtier. You tried to match the speed of your pumps with the ones in his mouth, cocking his cum gun in preparation for the incoming eruption. The hero’s pleasure has you too excited; your other fingers begin to rub frantic circles around your clit.

Your sharp breaths join his moans as you work to bring both of you to your climaxes. For you, it’s the drool leaking down his chin that does you in. For him, it’s your dreamy wails of pleasure and the tightened grip on his cock.

The two of you tremble from your intense orgasms, Hizashi plunging the dildo balls deep into his throat again, as if it had its own seed to release into his body. Hot waves of bliss wash over you while Hizashi’s essence spurts onto your hand.

The sex toy is yanked out of his mouth with a loud raunchy sound that was both a moan and a choked gasp, several strands of saliva connecting his lips to the ends of the lucky pleasuring device. Strong shoulders lifted with each heavy breath as he regained his focus and turned to you.

“Fuck, I miss that,” he rasped while wiping at his mouth.

You answered with a shaky breath, watching him lick his reddened lips. “You’re…you’re amazing at that.”

He gave a laugh that devolved into a cough. Sounds like the rough deepthroating didn’t leave him as unscathed as he was letting on. “Thanks, babe. Sorry that I got a little lost in the moment. Just realized how long it’s been since someone’s gone wild with my mouth.”

Even after cumming, your face heats up at his comment. You couldn’t exactly provide him with that, not without a wanky wanger wienerschnitzel of your own.

“Say, you ever considered a strap-on, sweetheart?”

Oh?

“I’m just sayin’, the reason I was so into it...” He leans in to give you a wet kiss before moving right next to your ear. “...is because I was imagining it was you fucking my face.”

Your insatiable pussy throbs again as you smile.

Perhaps Hizashi’s cock isn’t the most blessed part of his body.

#bnha #present mic #smut #yamada hizashi #present mic x reader #hizashi yamada x reader

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello there, I see you're back on blue-line drabbles! I love them, I am obsessed with this universe. I don't know if I ever came back to say hi after I read all your big fics, but somehow I liked each even better than the last! I don't know how that's possible! But anyway, I think one of the best signs of a good writer/good story is when you're not ready to leave the world once you've finished, and Blue Line is one of the few fanfics I've read where even well after I've finished it, (cont)

(cont) I want to keep living in it and I end up writing my own fic of it in my head (strange, I know). Anyway, for whatever reason, I got really invested in Roland and Lizzie's relationship. Like, how did they end up dating after knowing each other for literally Lizzie's entire life? How did the adults react? Do you have any Lizzie/Roland stories up your sleeve? They would not go unread :)

————

Hello, yes, listen, this ask has lived rent free™ in my head since I first got it and I cannot properly convey how absolutely, goddamn wonderful it is. I am a broken record of outdated references , but it continues and will always amaze me that people are not only interested in Blue Line (more than three years!!! after I originally started posting) but are also interested in other characters in the story who are, for all intents and purposes, original characters at this point. Like the overall size my heart becomes when reading something like that could potentially cause a serious medical condition.

But, like, in a nice way.

So thank you, thank you, thank you. It genuinely warms the cockles of my entire soul. And, like, if you wanna share those fic ideas of the fic, you’ll never hear me say no. Just like I will never turn down the opportunity to write more stuff. Which is what’s under the cut. This stuff includes:

Roland and Lizzie’s first kiss, what I hope is some legitimate banter, more kissing, obvious flirting, and Roland being something of a sap.

Also, uh, it’s entirely possible that I have also already written: Roland and Lizzie’s first “I love you,” their wedding and some other stuff where their kid is involved. Seriously, guys, I am always down to write other relationships in this ‘verse.

————

It was, she figured, something almost passably close to, sort of resembling, definitely inching somewhere nearer to—

Assured. 

Unavoidable. 

Inexorable

Inevitable. 

That was a bad word. That last word. The third one was pretty impressive, honestly. Vocabulary, wise. She’d have to remember that one later. The last one, though. Made teeth Lizzie wasn’t even aware she possessed ache as she ground them together, a pronounced tension in her jaw that was likely affecting her shoulders as well. That word. An awful word. Boasted less-than-positive connotations, letters practically dripping with lack of self-control and overtly aggressive infatuation, but if the world expected her not to be a little in love with Roland Locksley by the time she turned fourteen and noticed that slight indentation in his right cheek every time he smiled, well, then the world had another thing coming. 

Dimple, that was the appropriate description. Another word. More words. Too many words. All of them bouncing off the slope of her skull and scratching at the back of her brain, nearly distracting her from what should have been the very pleasant buzz lingering beneath whatever biological thing made up her top and bottom lips. 

Which were parted in an emotion very similar to overwhelming surprise. 

That was stupid. 

The whole thing was stupid. God, maybe she was stupid. No, that wasn’t true. She’d made Dean’s List last semester. Stupid was—

A stupid word, really. Despite the blush rising in her cheeks and the wide eyes practically boring into her soul, bated breath that didn’t make any noise because that was what bated entailed, and no one else glanced in their direction. Not once. No one else noticed. 

That the whole world had flipped upside down.

Or right-side-up, maybe. Depending on how the next five minutes or so went. 

Because the last two minutes and twelve seconds, give or take, had seen Roland Locksley tilt his head and let his eyes flutter closed before his mouth found hers for the very first time — at midnight for God’s sake. On New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s Day, she supposed. His parents were standing on the other side of the room.

Suggesting that Lizzie had ever been just a little in love with Roland was a rather monumental lie. 

As far as those things went. 

“So, uh—” she started, only to find blood in her mouth. From her teeth. Wayward and unpredictable, as they were. Biting down on the side of her tongue and Lizzie hated going to the dentist. Doing irreparable damage to her teeth on what was now legitimately New Year’s Day, in the middle of an annual party, was not on her schedule. 

Metaphorical as it might have been. 

She liked schedules. Had plans. Focus, even. People always said that about her — how focused she was, liked to throw around the word drive with startling regularity, as if they were amazed she wasn’t simply willing to rest on her laurels or the pair of last names she proudly toted around with her. As if Lizzie expected doors to swing open on a glance. 

Rather than consistently preparing herself to knock them down. 

She liked the challenge of it all. Appreciated the way disbelief always spiked something in her blood, and that was likely equal parts genetic predisposition and a product of her childhood, but right now, Lizzie was simply prepared to fight for the schedule she’d never allowed herself to mention to anyone else before and it wasn’t like they weren’t friends. 

Talked outside the group chat, even. 

That meant something. Definitely meant something. Had to mean something. Her lips felt like they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. 

She didn’t know all the scientific properties of liquid nitrogen, but it always made that rather impressive cloud of steam-type stuff on cooking shows. So, it seemed very likely that it did something similar to cause whatever was happening in the region directly surrounding her mouth. Buzzing and tingling, and whatnot. 

When had Roland last blinked? Lizzie couldn’t remember. That would have been impressive in any other situation. Right now, it was sort, kind of, totally— Pissing her off. 

Color dotted his cheeks, no sign of the goddamn dimple because he wasn’t smiling, presumably couldn’t do that when it was clear he was so intent on pulling his lips into his mouth, and that felt a little insulting. Her tongue had just been in that mouth. 

Lizzie was fairly confident in the abilities of her tongue, so she wasn’t all that pleased to be replaced by a pair of lips that could have been doing much better work against the side of her neck. 

“If you sit here right now and tell me that you are,” Lizzie lifted a finger, “one, sorry,” another finger, “two, anything even remotely resembling regretful,” another finger, wiggling close enough to Roland’s nose to make him just a bit cross-eyed, “or, three, too old for me, I will throw my heel at that bruise I know exists on the back of your left calf.”

His lips twitched. 

He really had impossible eyelashes. Seemingly made so he could glance up from underneath them, to meet Lizzie’s steely expression with what she refused to believe could be cautious hope. Passable optimism, maybe. She’d have to look up what liquid nitrogen did, later. 

“I’m standing.” “I hate you.”

“You wanna go in order, or how do you want to work this?” “Where else are you bruised?” Roland laughed softly, a shift of his shoulders and tiny burst of air between barely parted lips. Feeling that tiny burst meant they were standing very close to each other. How they were standing remained another mystery. 

One of those great ones, Lizzie figured. The kind referenced when people talked about the sweeping potential of life and love and— Ah, fuck. 

“Please don’t threaten to attack me anywhere else,” he muttered, before quickly adding, “you gotta know this was not my end game, Liza.” Narrowing her eyes did nothing to temper the…tempest. Swirling in her gut. Threatening the back of her throat. Eating away at vocal cords and vocal boxes and the structural integrity of her entire goddamn larynx. Possibly her tongue, too, just to be especially efficient. 

“Really? Might’a been mine, actually.”

She’d always liked his eyes. 

How they could widen, and it wasn’t like...a normal brown. Nothing about the way he looked was ever dull. Drifted toward regularly excited, and the sparkles were probably a figment of her over-active teenage imagination, but Lizzie liked to think sometimes the sparkle came from her. Because of her, even. When she’d call because he always wanted to hear about her latest lecture and he’d call because sometimes Western swings were exhausting and loneliness-inducing and—

She knew. 

He knew. 

They knew each other.   

Grand scheme, the sparkle-prone eyes still weren’t particularly close to the dimple. On the list of things Lizzie liked. What left butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart hammering against her chest. Sparkle was probably a solid fourth. Behind the precise way his curls fell toward his eyebrows when he didn’t have time to get his hair cut. Which rarely happened during the season. Right now, it was happening right now. Well-defined strands that Lizzie knew felt even smoother than she’d ever theorized between her fingers, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that information. 

Obsess over it, probably. 

For at least the next week, or so. 

Still. Eyes. Eyelashes. Too long and too bright, and that was the wrong description order and she was starting to teeter. On the edge of a rather dramatic free-fall. Into feelings and possibility, and this was way too dramatic. For both of them. 

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, a scrunch of her nose that apparently demanded his thumb. Brushing against the bridge, and there wasn’t any caution there. No obvious fear or concern. For the way it left Lizzie’s lungs pinched, and there must have been a limit. 

To everything her internal organs could cope with in a limited span of time. 

“What was the last one on the list?” She swallowed. “Too old.” “Yuh-huh.” “Pretty flimsy as far as excuses go. You realize I’m not asking you to marry me right now, right?” He choked. On what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Only that it made her stomach heave and her teeth dig into her lower lip, and that was— “Because I know I said, end game,” Lizzie continued, giving in to the need to fill empty space with the sound of her own voice, “but that sounds like several pop culture references all at once, and you know how much I—”

“Hate to come across as disingenuous.” “Mattie’s the pop culture reference machine, anyway.” “Please don’t talk about Matt when I keep thinking about how much I want to kiss you again.” Her eyes, that time. Widened. Bugged. Did something unnatural. “Yeah?” “You’re kidding me, right?” “You’re not an old man.” Rolling his eyes, Roland’s tongue dragged across the front of his teeth. To torture her, apparently. “I was in college when you were a freshman in high school.” “Yuh-huh.” “Liza.” “Nah, nah,” Lizzie shook her head. Crossed her arms. Tried to stand up to her full height, but even the heels didn’t do much to add to the overall intimidation factor. Roland was doing an awful job of fighting off his smile. “Pulling out ancient nicknames is not—” “—It’s not a nickname; it’s literally letters in your name.” “Nick,” she leaned forward, “name. All personal-like.”

Making mistakes was not something she enjoyed very much. It was that Jones competitive streak. Plus, the Vankald stubborn streak. Created a monster of determination, who knew what she wanted, and feeling Roland’s fingers graze her cheek as a strand of hair hung limply in the minimal space between them was the result of Lizzie’s mistaken movement. 

Even as much as she might have wanted it. 

Goosebumps prickled her arms. Stole whatever oxygen she’d managed to get in the last forty-six seconds, or so. Her eyes fluttered. Head tilted. Towards the touch and the warmth, and for someone who spent so much time on the ice, he really was impossibly warm. 

“This is your fault.”

He didn’t move his fingers. Cupped her cheek, instead. “You were doing that eyebrow thing.” “Expand on that for me.” “Lifting ‘em. Happens sometimes. When you’re listening intently. Like you’re a little amazed by new information. They’re these stupid little arches on your face. Drives me nuts.” “The compliment was in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.” “I am so much older than you, Liza.” “Shouldn’t’a played out a bunch of teenage daydreams at once, then.” She was legitimately worried about the state of his tongue. Barely biting back her laugh, Lizzie let her eyes lift. To find Roland gaping at her, drooped shoulders and puppy-dog eyes. And that goddamn dimple. “C’mon, this isn’t...do you think I haven’t made out with people before?” “Wouldn’t classify what we just did as a makeout.” “No?” His eyes darkened. Shivering was probably not a good move, right? Right. Definitely. She wasn’t shivering. It was just...January. And inside. With dozens of people around them. “I would not, no,” Roland said, and the drop in overall volume was some sort of trick. Or, something. 

“How many people do you think you’ve made out with? Ballpark it for me.” “No.” “Is the issue a lack of appropriate numbers to tally that mark, or—” She bit her tongue, again. At the flash of amused frustration sweeping his face and polluting the molecules of whatever air was hovering between them. Permeating was a better word. Lizzie really needed to work on all of that. Words. Being slightly less jealous of potential make outs that didn’t have anything to do with her and definitely happened because there had to be other people out there in the world who simply could not cope with the existence of that dimple. 

“How many people have you made out with, then?” “Scores,” Lizzie snarled, only to get immediately scoffed at. “I’m really, incredibly popular.” “Oh, I’ve got no doubt.” “Boatloads of guys. Lining up to,” she pointed an imperious finger at her mouth, “make out with this.” “Your well-defined chin?” “I’m going to take my shoe off.” “Draw attention with a move like that.” Whatever fight she had didn’t immediately die. It just, sort of, fell. At her feet, threatening all the bones there and there were too many. All of them far too fragile. For whatever metaphor she was running with at the moment. “And we’re not trying to do that, huh? Draw attention.” “Shouldn’t you be out sowing wild oats?” “Really know how to charm a girl,” she grumbled, and that got her a smile. No scoff. Not even the hint of a smile. The whiplash was hurting her neck. “Trust me, the oats have appropriately sowed. If I was ever particularly inclined to farm work.” “I’m starting to be vaguely embarrassed by all of this.” “Good.” Wasn’t quite a scoff. Was more like a half-hearted laugh, and a tinge of desire and that was better than the other emotions, but the decreasing level of Roland’s eyebrows gave her pause. “What about the status of your oats?”

“Well sowed, rookie season,” Roland said. 

“You’re going to change the name on your jersey.” “Not sure that particular fact has a lot to do with anything else. Seven years, Liza.” “I’m perfectly capable of doing math, you know I took that stats class once.” “Because I double checked everything you turned in.” “Makes you slightly less of an idiot than the vibe you're giving off right now.” “A freeway or compliments.” Pulling in a deep inhale through her nose, Lizzie didn’t miss the way Roland’s gaze fell. To the neckline of her dress, lingering on the jut of her collarbones for a few seconds longer than a strictly platonic friendship should allow, and they were friends. Still. She knew that as well as she knew that he believed she thought he was simply being clever with nicknames. 

And not making vaguely incorrect My Fair Lady references. 

Because he’d always been a little annoyed that Eliza had gone back to Henry Higgins. Instead of Freddie.

It was really impossible not to be a little in love with him at all times. 

“You’re really going to hyphenate?” Roland nodded. “Think of all the new jerseys they’ll sell.” “By the box-load, and Gina’s gonna buy the entire stock. She’s—that’s really nice, you know.” “Just a fact. Little late, but—” He shrugged. Lizzie’s smile threatened to split her face. In that same nice way, she’d been talking about. Her lips were still buzzing. She might have been buzzing. With adrenaline. Happiness. The near-desperate desire to find some type of closet and get her fingers back in Roland’s questionably long hair. 

“Of naming conventions.” She couldn’t begin to guess what the record was for shoulder shifts in an emotionally charged conversation between two people who were simultaneously ignoring the point of the conversation, but Lizzie also knew her eyebrows had been halfway up her face as he’d detailed the reasons for making his jersey say Mills-Locksley. From here on out. 

Maybe that was the top of the list, actually. 

He was a good guy. 

Had always been a good guy. The best guy, really. 

Falling into that chasm wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Lizzie expected it to be. 

“Why’d you do it?” Roland’s lips disappeared. His tongue moved, again. She was staring at the area around his tongue. So, like, his mouth. Directly at his mouth. “Because, I uh—have wanted to?” “Oh, don’t phrase that like a question.” “Wanted to,” he repeated, a statement of fact with a certain amount of conviction. Enough to make Lizzie’s pulse sputter. “Which is kind of freaking me out.” “Come back with more compliments.” “Your dress nearly made me fall over.” “Better, actually,” she laughed. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Made sense at the time.” “Be more specific.” “Kissing you,” Roland said, enough emphasis that he leaned forward half an inch as well. It was a miracle their noses didn’t collide. Not the most impressive miracle, but—counted. “If I tell you that you might be my best friend does that make the lamest professional hockey player alive?” “Yes, absolutely.” “Matt might challenge you to a duel if he hears me talking like this, you know.” “God, Locksley, didn’t we just talk about the Mattie rules? Also, that made it sound like Mattie wants to kiss you too, so...”

He chuckled. Fingers still tugging on the back of his hair, like he was trying to ground himself in the pull and the self-inflicted tension, Roland looked up. Back at her. And Lizzie didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Held her position and prepared herself to defend the schedule she’d only ever allowed herself to hope for in the silence of that one corner in her brain. 

Filled, as it was, with memories. Of conversations that didn’t have anything to do with hockey. Others that did. Arguing over blue line placement in the brownstone and college rankings. Of movies watched on two different laptops in different corners of the country, bad jokes, and consistent updates, that deep-rooted understanding that came from a life full of expectations and the exact opposite. No overt pressure, but the need to prove yourself anyway, if only because of the name on the back of the jersey, and Lizzie was going to have to buy a new jersey. 

“You like me? Yes, or no?” Roland smiled. Wide and honest, the kind that ensured the dimple was on prominent display. “Yes.” “I am a grown adult? Yes, or no?” Crinkles appeared around his eyes. From the smile. 

“Yes.” “Meaning I get to make my own choices. Romantically, or otherwise. Yes, or no?” “Obviously.” “Wasn’t one of the options.” “Yes,” Roland corrected, fingers trailing over the bend of her elbow. Lizzie hadn’t uncrossed her arms. Or remembered when she’d crossed them in the first place. 

“Ok, good. Same page, then.” “Liza.” “Locksley.” Lifting her eyebrows wasn’t a challenge, per se. Was closer to instinct, really. Specifics didn’t matter, honestly. She did that thing with her eyebrows, and he did that thing with his mouth, the same one she was staring at and hoping would move closer to her, and then—

Well, it did. 

Hands found Lizzie’s hips, pulling her forward sharply enough that she let out a soft grunt. From the feel of hips bumping against hers, and she honestly wasn’t sure who hissed in their next inhale, only that it did something to the flutter-like state of her pulse and the erratic nature of her heart, and it was slow and fast and good and great and not a single person noticed. 

Miracles were arriving en masse, apparently. 

Pushing her fingers into Roland’s hair got Lizzie another hum of approval, the first brush of his tongue making her lips part and her head fall to the side, but then his hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, and she could not be expected to pay attention to anything except the semi-consistent swipe of his thumb against her skin. It left more goosebumps. Caused another chuckle, the kind that rumbled through her and resonated around her, a tiny bubble of that same cautious optimism from before. 

Like a spark. 

Fanning flames and threatening to burn everything because if this didn’t work, then Lizzie wasn’t sure what would, and that was scary and overwhelming and terrifying was a synonym, but she really was working with very limited word-based resources when Roland’s thumb kept moving. Tracing her. Committing the feel to memory, and she wasn’t sure when they’d established the rocking pattern they were moving in, but something deep in the center of her trusted it. 

Someone who regularly strapped knives to his feet and raced around at top speed knew how to stay balanced. And she was a stubborn idiot. Who got what she wanted. 

“Is part of liking me because I told you I didn’t think it was embarrassing that you still got a little emotional about Miracle on 34th Street?” Laughter pushed past her lips. Took root in the pit of her stomach and the spaces between her ribs. Laced through her heart. In the kind of way that cemented itself. Right in the middle of Lizzie. Right in the middle of this. Them. 

There was a them, now. 

“Was definitely a factor, yeah,” Roland said, not bothering to pull away. “You, uh—you snuck up on me a little, Liza.” “Peak romance.” “Want me to talk about your dress some more?” She shook her head. “Unnecessary. And you didn’t.” “That might be part of the problem.” “Nursing old crushes, you mean?” Her hair hit her cheek. And his hand. He couldn’t seem to let go of her. “Nah, this wasn’t like...there was no torch, not really. I—I wasn’t hanging posters of you on my wall if that’s the picture you’ve painted for yourself.” “Kinda disappointing, admittedly.” “Pick a lane, babe.” No sparkle, that time. Just flash and want and the very thin line Lizzie’s lips had become. “Be more specific,” Roland repeated softly. “You’re not standing on a pedestal. Just you, Rol, as is.” He waited. That was fair. There should have been more. Should have been a detailed list of all the reasons the grown-up version of her liked so many parts of the grown-up version of him, but that all felt a little extraneous when she was still thinking about closet-type possibilities and that stubborn streak was a mile wide, anyway. 

Roland nodded once. “Good.”

Both of them jumped. At the pop of another champagne bottle and Lizzie never understood how Regina managed to order so much champagne every year, but she felt a bit like she was floating on the bubbles, and they didn’t decide. Explicitly. To keep the whole thing—

Secret. 

Another bad word. With bad connotations and shadows that clung to the definition, but this was them and only them and, for right now, that was enough. And if no one noticed the way Roland’s hand drifted over the small of Lizzie’s back during David’s speech, then that was a miracle she was willing to accept. 

#blue line rambles #blue line one shots #these really are just original characters at this point #i have also written: #matt and claire meeting for the first time #henry and ella meeting for the first time #stuff about peggy and jeremy humbert #and i've got a whole list of will x belle stuff #in case it wasn't ovbious people still aren't responding to my emails #oh! also roland and lizzie's engagement #i wrote that too #also if you are so inclined: wilder days by morgan wade played like four times while i wrote this #mylifeisalifestyle #laura rambles

[diorthesuperior]

Sharing is Caring

Vocal unit + y/n smut

“Sweetie they've heard us one too many times, these walls are pretty thin, not that they're complaining, don't be afraid, one extra person in bed won't make you too loud”

You let the warm breath escape your mouth, speechless.

“You said this would be us time but fine ”

+*+

“Are you sure she'll be okay” Joshua noted clearing his throat.

“Well she thinks she's about to have her first threesome and doesn't know there's 5 of us here so”

“Isnt it too much?..”

“Joshua don't underestimate my girl”

“My bad”

The atmosphere was quiet but the same thrill rushed in all 5 in the room. The vocal unit had neighbouring dorm rooms. However seungkwan had his own room with you since you were his girlfriend and you worked as a stylist under pledis. It was a known fact that the other members in the vocal unit could hear you and seungkwan most nights as you were both quite vocal in bed.

The door knob turned and the door slowly opened.

You walked in wearing a pair of black silk short shorts and a dark blue bralette. You had a robe draped over yourself, concealing yourself slightly but not enough.

“Hey baby I-”

You stalled and looked at all the faces that were glued to you.

“Sweetie I know there's more here than you anticipated but my friends here, you said you wanted to try new things and I was thinking maybe this”

“babe”

“Y/N”

You looked around at the faces you knew so well. Your relationships were innocent and friendly, this was a situation you couldn't have imagined ever.

Seungkwan walked over, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“Sweetie it's alright if you don't want to I can tell them to leave ”

“N-No, let them stay”

Seungkwan turns towards the boys giving them hope. Followed by you removing your robe showing your glowy skin, prominent collarbones and a bit of cleavage.

“wow fuck” woozi mutters adjusting his position on his chair, manspreading.

“shes beautiful seungkwan” seokmin blushed.

“tell her that yourself, or show it” he smirked while pushing you on bed.

Your boyfriend was the best and always the sweetest but when it came to “bed time” he was a dom demon and fuck did it turn you on.

Seokmin looked deeply at Seungkwan, slightly questioning him through his eyes.

“You heard me, show my slut the love she deserves”

You sat up by the weight of you arms looking up at your boyfriend and then at seokmin who seemed a bit hesitant.

“Huh? Seokmin don't act like you haven't masturbated to the sound of her moans from your dorm”

Heat flushed straight to your face and core. This situation was unfamiliar and you felt guilt for feeling this kind of way by another man but you couldn't help it.

Seokmin sat beside you on the bed turning to pick you up, placing you on his thighs.

“Babygirl you smell so good”

He pushed your hair to the side of your neck, tucking the remaining strands behind your heated ears. He started sucking purple marks on your neck down to your collarbones reciting some breathy moans from you. His hands travelled your figure, resting on your arms as his thumbs rubbed slow circles into them.

He grabbed you by your chin and tilted it slightly down, inches away from eachother.

“I've wanted to mark you up for ages babygirl, thank you for letting me decorate your beautiful skin”

Before you could reply, his tongue was in your mouth fighting for dominance. His taste was sweet and his rhythm was so good. He left you breathless and needy when he pulled away to look at you.

You seemed to have forgotten your surroundings, enjoying every bit of seokmins affection. Seungkwan came over with a slightly red face. Seokmin moved you off his lap and walked back over to his seat, knowing very well seungkwan was about to do something.

“Sweetie you seemed to enjoy that too much, were you trying to make your boyfriend jealous? Isn't this supposed to be 'us time'?”

You gulped and put you head down unaware of what to say or react.

“Slut look at me or at least reply...fuck this I'll make you respond”

He roughly grabbed you and shoved you on to his thick thighs. Your face was towards him while the others got your backside. Your shorts had rode up exposing your ass, making the others react in all sorts of ways.

Joshua and Jeonghan were the quiet type but watching their members get you more and more riled up really got to them. The grunts and low moans made while they pumped themselves on the nearby chairs were sinful.

“Sweetie why don't you ride my thighs like the good slut you are, this can be a warm up. The boys always heard your reaction to this so show them how you ride my killer thighs”

His voice went down an octave and the teasing foreshadowing words made your core throb.

His hands squeezed your ass tightly, followed by a rough spank. The loudest moan rumbled from inside your chest. The members around hardened and watched in awe, muttering praises.

“Let my dirty slut hear your praise. She's so horny and wet for you all. She acted as if this was something she wasn't up for at the start but she's loving this so much. She likes it when others are watching”

You close your eyes tightly to hide your reaction. His hands shifted from your ass, up your thighs to your waist and pulled you in closer to straddle his lap. You moved your hips slightly, brushing up against his large hardened bulge. A loud whine choked from you from the stimulation of his white jeans against your slick sensitive pussy. Seungkwans hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, grabbing at the roots and pulling your head back so he can leave wet kisses on your new exposed skin.

“Looks like my sluts been marked already. Such a whore”

The throbbing between your legs continued as you hardly grinded on his bulge and thigh, pulling his soft hair which got a moan in response. His moans were like alcohol. Beautiful but made you more and more crazy. It made you want to cum there and then on his thighs.

As you listened to his breathy groans you continued to straddle his muscular thighs, everytime you rutted closer towards his bulge. Your chest rose up and down as you got more and more turned on, proving to be a great view to seungkwan. As you grounded yourself down on his thigh he touched your chest and teased soft kisses everywhere he could reach. One harsh movement and you were arching reaching closer, your chest in his face. He swiftly removed your bralette without restricting you of your movement on his thigh. He tensed his thigh making you yelp even more. His eyes caught contact with yours as he lowered to suck at your nipple, flicking his tongue around your sensitive hardened nipples due to the temperature change.

He switched to your other, sucking gently on your nub, biting down refreshing yet another loud moan from your rose lips. Your face was red from embarrassment at how loud you were but you really couldn't help it you were overwhelmed.

“Sweetie don't be shy, everyone here has heard and wanked to your loud moans and screams before”

“He's right princess” Jeonghan muttered up.

Your hips moved faster against his thigh from the pleasure taking over your body, moans exiting your mouth at a rapid pace.

“Baby im”

“Cum on my thigh like the big slut you are”

“Youre so dirty cumming on your boyfriend's jeans” Woozi said in his deep yet amazed voice.

“Cum for your daddy like a goodgirl” Joshua added.

With all the attention, praise and his firm grip holding your movement harder against his thigh, you let out a cry of pleasure as your orgasm washed over you in waves.

“Thats it sweetie, get use to it this won't be your first ”Seungkwan smirks moving you to lie down to come down.

Seungkwans white jeans had a huge wet stain on the thigh area. All the boys looked like they were struggling to keep themselves together. You put your head down again in embarrassment, the stain was huge and soaked through.

One of the boys stood up from the chair quickly and made there way towards you with dominance.

“Fucking whore leaking making such a mess with that sopping pussy of yours”

You gulped loud unable to hide your arousal for his dominant state. The way he shouted at you made you melt.

“Ill have to teach that pussy of yours a lesson and put you in your place”

“P-pease sir”

“its daddy” he exhaled pulling your silk shorts down to you ankles, allowing you to do the rest and kick them off which ended up flying towards seokmin who wasn't complaining.

Woozis eyes trailed down towards your glistening core. He smirked running a finger over your folds collecting your arousal on his long digit. Without warning he suddenly pumped his finger inside you. You were weak and rested your forehead on his shoulders and you gripped onto the sides on his shoulders. He pumped another two fingers inside your pussy. He curled his fingers inside you, a series of moans screamed past your mouth.

“Spread them legs wide whore I want to taste you so bad”

“Daddy please eat me out I'm begging”

Woozi kneeled before your open legs and licked his lips before licking a long stripe up your pussy. He flicked your throbbing bud with his tongue and groaned against your clit.

“Wow fuck you're just as sweet as I imagined”

You threw your head back as his tongue dived within your folds licking up all your leaking wetness, sucking on your clit harshly. Your legs started to shake from the sensitive contact.

“So wet for me who makes you feel so good whore?”

“d-daddy..” you struggle to speak out as he licked up and down your cunt.

You tried grinding into his tongue to create more friction and that is when he pulled back leaving you empty. Right when your were about to reach the edge he stopped.

“Whore you stained your boyfriend's jeans so I'm not letting you cum just yet.”

You moaned in frustration praising him trying to get him to fulfill your needs and to be touched.

“Daddy please I'll be good I promise”

“You promise”

“Yes I swear”

“Thats a good whore now where was i”

He pushed three fingers inside you with ease because of how wet you had been. He pounded his fingers rapidly in and out of you, curling his fingers slightly hitting the spot that made you moan out heavenly sounds for the others. You came hard on his fingers, your slickness covering his fingers. Once he let you ride out your orgasm he removed his fingers and sucked them infront of you. Your core was absolutely ruined. It was pulsating frantically. He pulled you in for a kiss and you could taste yourself off his lips.

“Whore taste good doesn't she?” he whispers

“My sweetie knows how to put on a show” Seungkwan speaks out taking a look at the other members who seemed to have enjoyed the viewing alot, proof being the various moans and unzipped pants.

“Now sweetie since you're so wet and horny I think you deserve some more from me”

“Seungkwan please”

“Say it sweetie”

“Please I want you to fuck me with you cock and fill me up with your cum please”

“Since you've been so good I suppose I can, boys, prepare yourself, you've yet to hear her most beautiful sounds.”

You lie on your back on the bed, legs ready to be taken by seungkwan and thrown over his shoulders. You didn't need any warming up.

He put his tip and your entrance, his tip hitting your clit making you moan yet again. He inches into you and bottomed out, a moan tearing through your throat as you adjusted to the stretch. His dick was big and though your were his girlfriend you still weren't use to his size. After a few moments he started moving, speeding up his hips. He watched your wet pussy swallow up his whole dick with a smirk plastered on his face. Every time his dick disappeared fully the loudest pleasurable moans emerged from you. You held onto the back of your thighs as seungkwan pounded into you, fast and hitting the right spot. He placed one of your legs down and kept one thrown over his shoulder. He slowly lifted you a little and pounded into you hitting the gspot consecutively without fail. Bliss overtook your body.

“Joshua, Jeonghan come over here I know you've been wanting to get your dick rubbed”

Without hesitation they made their way over and sat on the bed, one on each side of you.

“Y/N flip and cock your ass up for me for me like a good girl”

“Yes Seungkwan”

“And you've got two hands, put them to use sweetie”

You gasp when seungkwan enters you again, showing no mercy and pounding your pussy into oblivion.

You look at joshua and jeonghan and bit your lip. They're both infront of you with their erect cocks standing, red and leaking precum. You use your thumb to smoother their precum from their sensitive tips down their length to make some lubrication. You work your hands on their cocks and slowly pumped into a faster speed making them groan and moan loudly. Jeonghan let out the most beautiful moans, they were so high and desperate yet he sounded so content.

“Princess fuck yes”

“Baby faster” Joshua growled throwing his head back, his adams apple emerging from his neck. He looked so hot. Both of them did. And they were both in your hands. You were in control of their moans and pleasure and it made you feel so good. Seungkwan continued moving in out of you switching up the rhythm.

“Seokmin over now” Seungkwan ordered.

Seokmin got up from his seat zipping up his jeans from previous actions.

“Theres no need to zip that up, sit infront of my sweetie, she'll take care of that mountain, isn't that right sweetie?”

Seungkwan spanks your ass leaving his red hand marks on your cheeks making you moans again.

“Y/N please suck me dry, you don't understand how flustered I got when I found out you were the new stylist in pledis. For our fear comeback when you tailored my pants, your head was down at cock level and I wanted you so bad”

You leave kisses on seokmins chest, becoming familiar with the earlier sexual encounter with seokmin. Everything about Seokmin was so endearing and hot. Your core started throbbing and pulsating. The tightness of your walls on seungkwans girthy cock made him groan in pleasure.

“Fuck Seokmin you're making my girl so tight”

You blush and look up innocently at Seokmins eyes. That fucking killed him. Such dirty actions he'd seen you do all night and you give him puppy eyes when you're down beside his cock your lips he admired so much about to touch his tip.

“I knew don't worry. The bulge in your pants in the performances right after me fitting you shows how you felt”

You swipe your tongue over his slit and took as much of his big member as you could into your mouth, the rest you pumped with your hands. Seokmin pulled on your hair from the vibrations of you moaning on his cock. Seungkwan fastened his pace making you moan around his cock even more. You sucked on his head and hollowed your cheeks as you bopped your head up and down his length.

You started whining as you started reaching your high from the endless attack on your pussy but also the breathy groans from seokmins pleasure and the others moans who watched. You let out a strangled moan and clench around seungkwans huge cock. All of this was becoming too much for seokmin too, his hips started shaking as he finally released his seed down your throat.

You swallowed it all and licked at his slit getting every bit of his cum. You came around seungkwan and lay down from exhaustion.

Woozi, jeonghan and Joshua all watched and pumped themselves in sync with the pounding and head bopping, releasing on themselves as they watched the sight unravel.

“Sweetie you did so well”

“Whore how about you come back to mine and we'll record some of your moans for adlibs for the upcoming album”

“Send the adlibs to me for keepsakes” jeonghan sighed out, wiping his cum off his hands. Joshua raises his hand slightly.

“Me too if you don't mind”

You lay on the bed exhausted surrounded by a bunch of sweaty hot guys.

“Sweetie remember when you said you wanted 'us time' earlier, how do you feel about that now”

“Yeah I changed my mind”

#Seventeen #Seventeen smut #seungkwan smut #joshua smut #jeonghan smut #woozi smut #seokmin smut #dk smut #jihoon smut #kpop smut

[kpopfanfictrash]

Keeping a Secret (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: oral (male), Hoseok calls the reader princess, dirty talk, blow job kind of over boxers?, semi-rough sex

Genre: New Relationship!AU

Synopsis: You and Hoseok have been hooking up for a few weeks now. No one in your friend group knows. What happens then, when he shows up at movie night looking better than anticipated?

Word Count: 3,743

[ cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

It has been three weeks, two days and twenty hours (give or take) since Jung Hoseok first kissed you.

If you were classifying moments, you would not call it a romantic gesture. You were in the middle of a long speech about climate change and how the world was sinking into the sea, the ice caps were melting and soon enough, there would only be brown-fur polar bears because their white fur would be all muddied and gross.

That was when Jung Hoseok turned on the couch, said, “Screw it,” and kissed you. Hard. When he finally broke for air several seconds later, he blurted, “I needed to shut you up somehow. Also, apparently the world is ending, so why not?”

You stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Good enough for me.”

Then, you kissed him again.

You did not have sex that night, but you did the night after. And after that, and after that, and – well, you get the picture. Except for tonight, of course. Tonight is movie night with all your friends, and you are seated purposefully on one couch and Hoseok, across the room on the other.

None of your friends know that you two are hooking up. None of them know, because there is nothing to tell. You and Hoseok have been friends for so long, you did not really plan the hook-up, so much as you slipped into it. Once you were there, you did not want to scare it away by giving it a label.

It is not as though your friends would be opposed to you dating – exactly the opposite. They would make a big deal, put you two under a microscope and right now, you are trying to figure this out for yourselves. Time alone is warranted.

Crossing both arms over your chest, you glance at Hoseok, then the TV. Then back to him. Shoving your toes into the carpet, you exhale though your nostrils and try not to look pissed.

He just looks so fucking good tonight.

I mean, on most nights he looks amazing. That is what you first noticed about him, after all. When you first met, Hoseok was just Jimin’s friend from back home. Jimin was Taehyung’s roommate at the time, who was dating your roommate, Olivia. You began to hang out and after a while, Hoseok became a staple. You knew him for his outfits at first, more than anything else. He always wore loud patterns paired with the most hideous sneakers you have ever seen.

But then you noticed other things about him. The adorable slope of his nose when he turned. The way he ruffled his hair when he was happy. Or upset. The way he took care of Jimin freshman year when he got super homesick, taking him under his wing in the simplest of ways.

You saw all this and slowly but surely, a massive crush developed on Jung Hoseok. That was all, though – a crush. You thought you could handle it. Indeed, you were handling it. Until he kissed you and everything went to hell.

Lacing your hands in your lap, you discourage their wandering anywhere else. True, Hoseok is sitting across the room but that is no guarantee of good behavior. Hoseok decided to wear his black hoodie tonight. He also decided to style his hair, dark and tousled away from his face. You scowl in his direction, thoroughly put out.

Hoseok stares at the TV, blue light flickering over his features. Beside him sits Jimin, chatting quietly with Jungkook on the floor. Namjoon at the back of the room, thoroughly engrossed in the events of the movie. On his other side is Yoongi, ensconced in the lone armchair. Ari and Seokjin are with you on the couch, with Olivia firmly locked in Taehyung’s embrace on the floor.

As though able to sense the pull of your gaze, Hoseok looks up.

He stares for only a moment, eyes narrowed before he glances back down. His fingers wrap around his cell phone, typing something in and a second later, your own buzzes to life. Seokjin shifts beside you and, careful not to disturb him, you unlock the text.

Hoseok: stop staring at me [10:08 PM]

Y/N: maybe if you didn’t look like that, I wouldn’t have to stare [10:08 PM]

Hoseok: didn’t look like what [10:09 PM]

Y/N: I mean, have you always been this goddamn hot? [10:09 PM]

Y/N: can’t look at you without wanting your dick in my mouth [10:10 PM]

Glancing up, you watch him as he reads. Hoseok inhales, typing quickly and your phone vibrates with a response.

Hoseok: holy fuck y/n [10:11 PM]

Your lips curl into a smile.

Y/N: have I told you how much I like your cock [10:12 PM]

Y/N: so much [10:12 PM]

Y/N: it’s the perfect size [10:12 PM]

Y/N: enough to make me choke [10:13 PM]

Y/N: hits so deep [10:13 PM]

Y/N: tastes so good when you cum down my throat [10:14 PM]

Continuing to smile, you glance up to watch Hoseok read. Frowning, you realize the couch across from you is empty. Only Jimin sits on the sofa. As soon as you think this, your phone buzzes again. Glancing down, you see no words on the screen. Only the sender.

Hoseok.

Slowly, you swipe to unlock.

“Fuck,” you mutter, under your breath.

“What?” Seokjin does not look away from the screen.

Hurriedly, you tilt your phone away. “Uh, nothing.” Twisting on the couch, you glance at the image again.

Fuck, is right. Hoseok must be in the bathroom. That much is obvious by the neat rows of Taehyung’s face products behind him. That is not the most defining part of the picture, though. The most defining part is Hoseok’s lower half, one hand lewdly grasping his package. The image makes you swallow, throat suddenly dry.

His underwear is still on – grey boxer-briefs you bought with him in Target one lazy summer afternoon. You were with him then and okay, maybe you imagined him wearing them. Maybe you thought once or twice about him over the course of your friendship.

Glancing once more at the photo, you nearly groan out loud. Hoseok’s hands are veiny, gripping his length over the material of his boxers. He is semi-hard, that much is obvious. Realizing he wants you makes your legs clench together. Honestly, that is a turn-on in itself. No other guy has been quite as vocal with you about his desires before.

Abruptly, you stand. “Have to pee,” you inform Seokjin.

He makes a face. “Alright,” he mumbles. “Go off, I guess.”

Turning around, you dart from the living room. Taehyung’s kitchen is dark, every light turned off to better enjoy the movie. His bathroom is down the hall, just before his bedroom. You pause outside the door when – it opens fast, a hand reaching out to seize your arm.

“Hey,” Hoseok grins, pulling you in and shutting the door.

You are disappointed to find he is fully dressed. The evidence of the photo is still present, though. His shirt is untucked, belt buckled over unzippered jeans. The dark strands of his hair are a mess, as though he pushed his hands through it several times.

Your heart stutters at the endearing image. “That was some photo,” you grin.

Hoseok shakes his head. “No time,” he demands, shoving you against the door.

You inhale, hands winding greedily about his neck when he kisses you. Moving against you, Hoseok’s frame molds to yours. His knee pushes between your thighs, providing much-needed friction. His hands – expert in everything – deftly slide to undo your bra. Once this is accomplished, Hoseok yanks up your shirt and cups your breasts with both hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your lips.

Deftly, his thumbs trace your nipples. Whimpering, you clamp your thighs around Hoseok’s. He pulls back, smirking when his thumbs start to flick. He knows how sensitive you are and will use this to his advantage. Honestly, you could probably come like this but not here. Not now, when time is of the essence.

Lifting a hand to your cheek, Hoseok’s thumb strokes your lips until you open.

“Suck,” he commands, voice low.

You obey, lips closing around him to headily suck. Teasing him with your tongue, you drag this up the underside like you would his cock. Hoseok’s gaze hardens, breath hitching; he squeezes your breast roughly before he releases.

“You wanna suck me off, is that it?”

He asks you this calmly, taking a step backwards. There is not much room in the bathroom, so his legs nearly hit the edge of the tub. Nodding eagerly, you already miss the feel of his thigh on your heat.

Hoseok arches a brow, beginning to unbuckle his belt. “Well, princess?”

Nodding, you step forward and lower yourself to your knees. The linoleum is hard, biting but you find that you like it.

“Yes, Hobi.”

He smirks, a teasing glint to his eyes. Even when serious, Hoseok maintains this demeanor. Even when tying you up on the bed and fucking you senseless, there is always this humor beyond a hardened exterior. You have complete confidence that, should you at any point wish to stop, Hoseok will oblige. No questions asked. He only gets off on something if you do, too.

Staring at him, you lick your lips.

Shoving his pants past his ass, Hoseok exposes the grey of his boxers. He is more than semi-hard, you note with some longing. Shuffling forward, you reach for his cock.

Hoseok slowly shakes a finger. “Nuh-uh,” he teases. “Not yet.”

Pouting, your hands fall to your sides.

“Over the boxers, first.”

Heart thudding, you slowly nod and move closer. Continuing to make eye contact, you bend and smooth your hands around his hips. Pulling the fabric taut, you see the clear outline of his cock. Without breaking your gaze, you lick a trail up the side. Hoseok exhales through his nose when you begin mouthing his dick, leaving wet imprints on the grey of his boxers.

One of your hands cups his balls, massaging gently while you suck on the tip. Before you know it, Hoseok is shoving his boxers down to his knees.

“Fuck,” he says, grasping your hair. “I need your mouth now, princess.”

You nod, barely having a choice in the matter when he guides his cock to your lips. Sitting back on your heels, you let the weight of his cock fall on your tongue. You relish in that for a moment – the salty taste of his pre-cum, the velvet smoothness of his length before you close your lips around him and suck. Hard.

Swearing, Hoseok’s hips jolt forward and you do not stop. Sucking harder, you trail your tongue up his frenulum before pulling back. Hoseok continues to hold you like that, thrusting his hips and using your body. For a few seconds, it is like that – hot and messy while he fucks into your mouth.

You like it like this, though. You like to watch hair fall into his gaze, darkened with lust while his thrusts become increasingly sloppy. You like to grip his thighs tightly, feeling the moment when he tenses for release. When you choke on his cock, spit dribbling out, Hoseok groans and pulls back.

“Baby,” he coos, wiping this with a finger. Pulling you up from the floor, he cradles your ass with both hands. “Princess, you’re so good to me. You know that?”

Nodding, you smirk because yes, you do know. Having known Hoseok for so long, you know exactly what he likes and exactly how to do it. The benefit of being friends first is you heard his hook-up stories first-hand. So-and-so did not know he has a ticklish collarbone. Another girl never once touched his balls, and Hoseok loves when girls do that.

With these tidbits of knowledge, you are well-equipped to ensure Hoseok turns ravenous. It is with absolute certainty you can say that only Hoseok has made you come half as hard. No one has ever tried half as hard either, but that is an entirely different matter.

Spinning you around to face the mirror, Hoseok rests your hands on the sink. “I have a condom,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “Is that good?”

You nod, staring at your reflection. Hair falls about your face, breathing ragged, and shirt pushed past your breasts. Hoseok fishes a condom from his jeans, standing up to undo the package. Rubber snaps against skin and then Hoseok’s length is there, pressed to your ass. Hand sliding over your hip, he locates your zipper.

“Your jeans need to go,” he says, low as he drags them down to your knees. “No time for more, I’m afraid.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes when you feel Hoseok’s hand at you core. Sliding up and down the center of your panties, he feels your wetness. “Hobi,” you whine.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, rubbing your clit. You mewl in response. “You’re just so wet, princess. All that from sucking my cock?”

“Before.” You groan when he pulls on your panties. “Been this wet since I saw you.”

Teasing your folds, Hoseok pushes your panties aside, re-gripping his cock. You whimper, bent to the counter and clenching hard around nothing.

“Come on, baby,” you moan, pushing backwards. “Fill me up. Please – please, Hobi. I need to feel you inside me. Need your cock in my pussy.”

“Fu-ck,” Hoseok mutters, sounding tortured.

Barely half a second passes before he thrusts forward, sheathing himself in your pussy.

“Fuck!” you gasp, knees hitting the counter.

Hoseok clasps a hand over your mouth, staring at you wide-eyed in the mirror. You both are quiet for a moment, listening to see if anyone heard. Nothing happens though and eventually, he brushes a thumb over your lips.

“Gotta be quiet, princess.” Hoseok murmurs.

“I know,” you say, shutting your eyes. His hot, throbbing cock is still inside you and honestly, you cannot think of anything else. “I just…”

“I know,” Hoseok whispers, withdrawing.

You whimper, hand reaching out to grab onto his hips but then he thrusts back in, making your hips smack to the counter.

“Oh!” you groan, eyes flying open.

Grasping the sink, you stare at him, dazed when he pulls out again. Hoseok sinks into you slowly, making you feel every inch. It makes your legs wobble, feet sliding apart to get him even deeper. Hoseok’s hand grabs your hips, pulling them backwards and with the other, he forces your chest down.

“Take it like that,” he murmurs, turning your head to rest on the sink. “Stick your ass up a bit more.”

“Ah,” you moan when you obey, feeling him slide even deeper.

“That’s it, princess,” Hoseok purrs, playing with your tits as his hands slide up your body. “Now, do you want me to go harder?”

Staring at the wall, you eagerly nod.

Hoseok tsks beneath his breath, hands traveling back down your body. “Are you sure you can keep quiet, though?”

“Yes,” you exhale.

“You sure you can take it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure…” Hoseok thrusts his hips forward. “Sure this cute little pussy can take being fucked like I wanna?”

“Yes,” you whine, pushing backwards. “Please, Hobi – please.”

“Alright.” He chuckles, grasping your hips. “Then, take it.”

Rearing back, Hoseok slams into you with enough force that you swear. Barely, do you have the chance to recover before he does it again – hitting so deep, you feel the need to bite down on your lip in order to keep you from screaming. The entire bathroom is full of the rough sounds of his cock entering your pussy and fuck, do you love it. It sounds so sinful, echoing off Taehyung’s tile walls.

Hoseok fucks you fast, hard in a way that you can only lie there and take it. His hips pound your ass, hard enough to bruise and you hope that they do. You hope he leaves a mark, so that each time you sit down this week, you remember just how well he fucked you.

“Fuck, princess,” Hoseok grunts. “You’re so wet.”

He is not wrong – you can feel your arousal on the inside of your thighs, dripping into your folds and making your clit extra tender. As soon as you think this, Hoseok lets go of your waist to slide a hand between your legs.

“Fuck,” you moan, head thrown back as he teases your mound.

“That’s it,” Hoseok exhales, over your shoulder. He stares at you in the mirror. “Look how fucked out you are. All needy, split by my cock. Wanna cum on my dick?”

“Mmm,” you agree as he begins circling your clit. Instantly, your walls tighten around him. It is embarrassing, how readily your body responds to his commands. Already, you can feel the pulse of blood in your ears, the pleasure reaching a fever-pitch and needing release.

“That’s it,” Hoseok murmurs. He presses a kiss to your cheek in an almost-sweet gesture. Meanwhile, his cock continues hammering your pussy. “Come for me.”

You do – breaking apart, sobbing his name as you grip onto the counter. Everything shakes, vision blurred while your orgasm rips through you. Hoseok continues to thrust, pushing you through pleasure until it borders on pain. When you look up at him in the mirror, he gasps out your name.

“Y/N,” he blurts, sounding tortured. “I wanna come on your ass.”

“Do it,” you agree, wriggling the feature. “Hobi, do it.”

“Alright,” he gasps.

Immediately, Hoseok pulls out. Yanking off his condom, he pumps himself into one fist. Staring at your cunt, spread and messy before him, it only takes a few strokes before he is coming undone.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, hand grabbing yours on the counter. You cannot see but feel when his cum hits your ass. It paints a hot, messy picture dripping in between folds. Drops continue to land while Hoseok rubs himself out.

Head lowering, he gently kisses your neck. Keening into his praise, you smile, catching your breath as he pulls himself upwards.

“Fuck,” Hoseok says, pushing a hand through his hair. His eyes are sparkling, making you laugh.

“What?” you ask.

Hoseok shrugs and steps forward. “You,” he offers, cupping your face with both hands.

When he kisses you, you find yourself getting lost in the moment. There is still cum on your ass and you really need to clean but for now, you want to kiss Hoseok. It seems more important.

Finally, he withdraws and you open your eyes. “You go first,” you say, nodding at the door. Your voice has dropped back to a whisper, as though someone might hear you. “I have to pee.”

Hoseok snorts, reaching down to pull up his pants. Nodding, he sneaks another quick kiss before pushing open the door. Glancing each way down the hall, he slips into the kitchen. Once he is gone, you ready yourself in the bathroom and fully clean and fully clothed, you leave the bathroom as well.

The kitchen lights are still off, dark when you enter the living room. The final scene of the movie plays on the screen – a rising crescendo of music while the main boy and girl realize they like each other. Sneaking a glance at Hoseok, you see him back on his sofa.

Turning around, you plop down beside Seokjin.

Jungkook stirs, speaking up from the floor. “Why don’t you sit next to Hobi?” he asks, shoving more popcorn into his mouth. “I’m sure Jimin would move for you.”

Freezing in place, your gaze darts to Jungkook. Everyone else in the room has frozen as well, looking everywhere except for at you and Hoseok. “I – what?” you squeak. “Why… why would I sit next to Hoseok?”

Jungkook lowers his popcorn, realizing everyone is staring. “I – uh, well…”

“Because you two are fucking,” says Namjoon from the sofa. His gaze is still locked on the screen. “Obviously.”

Olivia lets out a quiet laugh from Taehyung’s arms. “Come on, Y/N. It’s totally obvious.”

“I – what?” you blurt, lowering your face to your palms. “How long has everyone known?”

When you peek out from between fingers, you see Hoseok glaring at Jimin. “You were home the other night, weren’t you?” he states accusatorially. “You said that you weren’t! That you were crashing at Jungkook’s!”

Jimin flashes Hoseok a grin. “Guilty.”

“Oh, no,” you groan, sinking low on the couch. Last weekend, Hoseok assured you Jimin was gone for the night. As a result, the two of you had intense sex on top of his kitchen table. Loudly.

Before you can sink any further, you see Hoseok stand from the couch. He crosses the room, chuckling when his hands wrap around yours. “Come on, Y/N,” he sighs, pulling you upwards to stand. “They’re right. Might as well sit together if everyone knows we’re dating.”

Paused mid-step, you stare at him wide-eyed.

Jungkook’s mouth drops. Namjoon looks up from the movie. Olivia and Taehyung stop talking – even Seokjin reaches out and presses pause on the remote.

“Dating?” Jimin blinks.

Hoseok has an expression on his face you have only seen once. It was when he woke up forty minutes late the day of his Calculus II exam and realized he just might fail the whole class. Slowly, he turns to look at you. His expression is so helpless, you almost want to laugh. The look he gives you is of such whipped, unadulterated adoration that you practically melt.

Closing the distance, you kiss him soft on the lips. “Yeah, dating,” you mumble.

Hoseok smiles, his arms wrapping tighter around you.

Taehyung whoops, breaking the moment. “Wow!” he exclaims when you finally break apart. “We didn’t know you were dating! We just thought you were fucking. Guys!”

“I…” Hoseok exhales, smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. We’re dating.”

The tentativeness to his words makes you smile. Looking at him, you nod.

“Okay.” Namjoon leans forward, attempting to see the screen. “That’s awesome and all, but can you sit the fuck down? There’s only a few minutes left in this movie and I want to see how it ends.”

“I’ll tell you how it ends,” Hoseok grumbles, throwing up the middle finger as you move towards the couch.

You push this down, climbing into his lap when he sits and threading your hands through his hair. Smiling happily, you kiss the side of his neck. Finally, you have everything you wanted. No more secrets.

  © kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #smutcentralnet #hoseok smut #bts smut #hoseok fanfic #bts fanfic #hoseok writing #bts writing #jhope smut #jhope fanfic #jhope x reader #hoseok x reader

[mhdiaries]

Wave 4 Robecca Steam Diary

19 September - Then

Our show tonight was a rousing success. My rocket boots worked to perfection after the adjustments father made and I was able to complete the trick in such a way that it elicited gasps from the audience yet remained perfectly safe for me. Father was so pleased that he is allowing me to take tomorrow’s train instead of the one tonight so that I may stay and engage in a round of roller maze. I am so excited my boiler is near to bursting! My only regret is that father was not able to adjust my internal clock before he departed. Well, it is not to be a worry tonight and I am sure he will be able to resolve the problem when we are reunited on the morrow.

20 September - Then

Frost my firebox was I vexed this morning! I missed yet another appointment due to the inability of my internal clock to keep the correct time. Now to be sure there are appointments and there are appointments, and one is to be forgiven if fashionable lateness allows for a grand entrance in the former; but when exacting punctuality is required of the latter, such as catching a train that leaves promptly at noon and your arrival is thirty minutes after the departure of said train, vexation will rule the day. Thus I found myself standing on the station platform with steam raising from my ears and baggage piled high around me. From a distance it must have looked as if some monster had fashioned a cabin of suitcases on the platform and upon finishing their labor celebrated by lighting a fire in the stove. I was obliged to send father a telegraph informing him of my situation and assuring him that I would be on time for tomorrow’s train even if I had to spend the night on the platform. Fortunately, it did not come to that as the gargoyle that drove me from Miss Kindergrubber’s boarding house to the train station was still available to convey me back. My tardiness at the train station will, however, make it possible for me to attend the gala birthday ball being thrown in honor of a Miss Draculaura. She is the daughter of a very famous, and well-to-do vampire, named Dracula. I am excited to have the opportunity to make both of their acquaintances. I was delighted to learn that Dr. and Mrs. Stein had arrived in town on the very train that I missed! Dr. Stein is one of my father’s most respected acquaintances, both he and his lovely bride will be attending the ball and have offered to act as my chaperones so that I do not have to present myself as unattended.

21 September - Then

The party was grander that I could have imagined. Every creature was dressed in their finest and I saw many famous monsters and digniscaries. Draculaura could not have been a more kind or gracious host. I do not know how she knew I missed my train but she did, and was very genuine in her expression of sincere concern for my predicament. I was immediately pulled into her social circle as she introduced me to her friends with such rapidity that I hardly remembered a soul when she was through. Several of them had seen me perform however and were quite keen on hearing my tales of daring to. Eventually I excused myself in order to reunite myself with Dr. and Mrs. Stein, as I did not wish to appear ungrateful or rude for the kindness they had shown in escorting me to the party. I did not see either of them in the crowd so I made my way toward a group of guests where a lively discussion seemed to be under way about what made one a true monster. The most vocal of the group was rather corpulent goblin with pince-nez, prominent teeth and absurdly hairy ears;

Well of course she isn’t and how could she be? A wonder of modern mad science? Perhaps. A true monster? Never. Fashioning the flotsam and jetsam of a laboratory into some semblance of a creature does not make that creature a monster any more so than kittens born in an oven makes them scones. Do you know the old crackpot, genius though he may be, insists on calling her his daughter? Even more preposterous is that she refers to him as her father. As if steam could replace screams. 

I felt as though some monster had thrown a handful of sand into my gears and I thought, “Is this what every monster believes?” I was about to turn and quietly slip back into the crowd when I felt a very large but gentle hand on one shoulder and a smaller but reassuringly firm one on the other. Then a voice, at once calming to me and challenging to the speaker said, “Perhaps Herr Goblin would care to pronounce us either kitten or scone then.” I suppose it was un-lady like that I should have enjoyed the panic I saw on his face, as he looked from Dr. Stein to Mrs. Stein to me, but I did. The goblin quickly stammered an excuse and unceremoniously fled the room. Later, Dracula found us and offered his sincere apology. “Miss Steam I regret not that you heard such an insult to your monsterhood but that it was uttered at all. It is not an opinion shared in this house. Please accept our sincere apologies.” We conversed several more minutes and he left to attend other guests. He is indeed a true gentle-monster and the remainder of the gala was so delightful that it all but eclipsed the one brief moment of unpleasantness.

22 September - Then

Today as I was packing to leave under the punctual eye of Miss Kindergrubber, we received word from the railroad station that sometime in the night a very large and rather belligerent dragon had taken up residence in the main train tunnel between here and where I was to meet father. Owing to the dragon’s size and coloration it is believed that it might be preparing for hibernation. If that is indeed the case, I could be stranded here until the spring. Even though plans were being made to send for a dragon whisperer there were no guarantees. Clog my gears and rust my bearings! What shall I do now?

1 October - Then

I passed much of today in the good company of Dr. and Mrs. Stein. I had supposed that Dr. Stein’s scientific curiosity would be drawn to the nuances of my mechanical nature but aside from some polite questions regarding energy consumption most of the conversation centered around my relationship with my father. They had many questions on the resulting challenges of one day waking up as a fully formed monster in her teenaged years and how we dealt with those challenges as a family. I admitted that while the road was not always made for smooth traveling we were learning to navigate the more arduous portions of it together. Several times during these conversations it appeared to me that Mrs. Stein gripped the doctor’s hand more tightly and several times he seemed to be hesitant to ask certain questions. I excused myself at one point to add water to my boiler, as I was feeling a bit low. I returned to hear Mrs. Stein ask Dr. Stein in their native German: “Werden wir jemals ein eigenes kind haben?” to which he replied “Wenn die Zeit gekommen ist, das verspreche ich dir, werden wir es.” I could tell that I had interrupted a private moment so I attempted to change the subject by asking Dr. Stein if he might have an idea why my internal clock could not keep proper time. He laughed at my request and for a moment I felt embarrassed until Dr. Stein said, “It has been my experience that no amount of adjustment is sufficient to make a ghoul run on time.” For this Dr. Stein received a playful tap from Mrs. Stein and he continued, “Besides that, your father is the foremost mechanical mad genius in the world and it would be arrogant of me to speculate.” We ended our time together with a promise to meet again. I am already looking forward to that. 

15 October - Then

I received a telegraph from my father this morning informing me that he was joining a team set to explore a newly discovered area of the catacombs. I miss my father and look forward to that dragon moving on so we may be reunited. Tonight however, I shall skate in the maze with a local club against a team of gargoyles with a rather unsavory reputation. I am confident we shall prevail.

20 October - Now

I remember everything that happened to me right up until the last time I skated in the maze. It has been all I could do to daily resist the urge to let my life go to rust. The most difficulty has come from my father not being here. The team of explorers that he joined never returned from the catacombs. It has been a hundred years since any monster has seen them but I know they are still trying to find their way home because Ghoulia Yelps, as amazing and intelligent a ghoul as ever was, has been following any and all news about the team since before I was discovered and reassembled. She says that it is a great mystery and that there have been many books written about their mysterious disappearance. She also told me that six months ago a message was found written on the wall of a previously undiscovered cavern. It read simply, “Forward to our families. Onward to our hope.” It was signed by my father and dated three months prior to the cavern’s discovery. Ghoulia also helped me find my father’s old lab where I was delighted to find Captain Penny, the mechanical penguin father built for me. Poor thing’s fire had completely gone out and when I got him restarted he was so excited that he almost blew a heart gasket. I am still living at Miss Kindergubber’s, who is not a teacher at Monster High, and it was she convinced me to enroll. Even though I feel rather old fashioned and I am unfamiliar with much of current technology my new friends have been very accepting and are... scary sweet.

15 November - Now

I have become reacquainted with Dr. Stein and his bride through their daughter Frankie. Dr. Stein was sincerely apologetic for not being able to reassemble me after the accident. “You are a very complicated ghoul and I feared I would damage you further.” I assured him that I carried no grudge and I do not. Dr. Stein even interceded on my behalf with Headless Headmistress Bloodgood when she told me that I could not perform my scaredevil act at the middle school carnival as she thought it was too dangerous. I do not know what Dr. Stein said but the Headmistress relented and I was able to give two performances with an encore. It was truly an epic way to bring some old school to the new and shake off some of the rust in the process.

#monster high #monster high diary #robecca steam #wave 4

[lilyeholland]

just like that

tom holland x reader

warnings: SMUT-TY as hell!!! mostly a bj (inspired by the gif, of course)

a/n: it literally looks like he’s saying “just like that” in this gif so i HAD TO

add yourself to my NEW taglist :)

the hotel door slams open, the two of you melting into each other as one. you both kick off your shoes and attempt not to break the contact. loud groans and impatient moans float through the room as tom drives you over to the bed. holding himself above you, parting lips for a few moments to admire your rosy-heated cheeks, he smirks seductively and places a lonesome strand of hair behind your ear.

“you’re so pretty,” he whispers, shaking his head like he can’t believe the sight that lies before him.

“you’re one to talk,” you say breathlessly. you rummage your hands through his slightly sweaty hair. with the heat of the world around you and the intense make out session you just had in the car (and a little bit in the elevator up to your room), it only made sense for both of your bodies to be writhing and radiating already.

you look at each other for another long-lasting moment, hiding so many words behind loving smiles and a sweet peck here and there. it’s nothing crazy now, just you soaking it all in before time goes by too fast to appreciate this.

tom shakes his head again and dives into you, tongue asserting dominance over you as well as his body; his hands holding your wrists down to the bed. he can tell you’re struggling to keep them under him, seeing as you need him so badly. he smirks again into the kiss, letting your hands free to touch his body. up and down his chest and back and into the back of his curly hair.

simultaneously, you flip over to be on top. tom’s hands now find their way to your waist and breasts and ass, feeling you up everywhere he possibly can. it’s just now that you realize tom still has his clothes on - a tight fitted button up shirt with gray suit pants. the dark blue tie around his neck was already loose from the events that happened in the car.

with his hands firmly gripping your ass, you move the momentum to his neck, leaving wet and sloppy kisses all while trying to undo the tie completely. maybe it wasn’t loose enough, maybe you were just too distracted, but no matter what you tried, it wouldn’t come off.

tom sits up straight, you in his lap just waiting patiently and touching over the bulge in his pants out of habit. he rips off his tie and throws it somewhere across the room. he grabs your face with both hands, getting right back into the kiss he never wanted to have left. now he’s back on top, leaning over you at the foot of the bed.

for the purpose of catching his breath only, he stops and huffs out a smile at you, inching his way further and further down your body until he reaches such desired destination. the dress you were wearing was just tight enough and short enough he could easily pull the lace thong you were wearing off your legs. he pulls you closer to him, spreading your legs as he kisses your inner thighs and hips. just hovering you, his hot breath touching you, he knows exactly what he’s doing and watching you squirm and beg under his touch is the only thing he wants.

“baby, don’t tease,” you start and pull him up to be at your level. although his lips are now back on yours, where they’ve always belonged, his fingers are still teasing you at your entrance, where they’ve always belonged. he slips the tip of his finger in, curling it as he pumps it in and out.

you buck your hips as your back arches off of the bed, drawing tom in closer by grabbing on his curls and moaning breathlessly into his mouth. he slips another finger in and distracts you from the kiss. your head falls off the edge of the bed, leaving more neck space for tom to work with and kiss. he just keeps getting lower and lower with his kisses, his fingers going deeper.

with two fingers still pumping in you, curling in a “come here” motion, he flicks his tongue right over your throbbing clit. eventually moving all around it. your back is arched completely as your hips move with his mouth. he smirks up at you, tongue still out and making it’s magic.

“oh fuck,” you say through your breath, holding a fist full of curls in one hand and holding tom’s hand with the other. “i’m so close, babe.”

tom just flashes you a devilish smirk; evil, even. he slows down his pace, knowing he’s driving you crazy. he just wants to see you beg for him.

“ugh tommy,” you say as he pulls his fingers out of you, slipping them in his mouth to replace the warmth. “don’t be like that, you shake your head at him as he shrugs with this sheepish little naughty smirk on his face.

“oh, you’re bad,” you say to him, crawling over to him as he props himself up with pillows.

he gestures to the way he’s laying and then crosses his arms, his bottom lip in his mouth and his eyes watching you and teasing you. “is that so?” he raises his eyebrows.

you scrunch your nose and flash him a playful dirty look, your legs now straddling his waist. “i hate you,” you snark at him, lips only inches away from his.

“mmhm, yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” he looks at your lips, then back at your eyes, smiling a devious smile at you before diving in for your lips.

it’s slower and gentle. although you want it to be rough and fast-paced, you enjoy the soft touches of his nose against yours and the delicate scoops his lips make with yours. you moan a little into his mouth, needy for more. his hands slowly start to touch you again, only his fingertips dancing along your waist as you suddenly grab his wrists and pin them down on the bed.

his eyes fill with curiosity and wonder as he looks your face up and down, only picturing in his wildest imagination what you could do next.

“no, no,” you pry yourself off of his body, still straddling him and holding his hands out to his sides. “you’re not getting back in that easy,” you tsk at him.

“are you serious?” his mouth opens wide, almost surprised at how dominant you’re acting.

you nod your head, “dead serious.”

his eyes are devious, his lips are twitching; aching to say something but too curious to decide what should be said. making your way down his body, hands and fingers taking theit sweet time caressing every curve of his making goosebumps appear all over his skin.

with his shirt now unbuttoned and open, you trickle your fingers down the center of his abs and stop right at his belt. it’s one of his ticklish spots so he squirms a little and runs his fingers through your hair as you stare at his groin area in aw.

you unbuckle his belt, smiling up at him and seeing this needy, almost whiny look to him. and as you pull down the waist band of his briefs, his hard member pops out and sticks straight up (of course with that little curve to it that you loved so much).

“oh wow, is this all for me?” you tease while actually gawking at how mesmerizing his whole figure is.

tom rolls his eyes playfully, his hands still in your hair, “just shut up and put your mouth on it,” he teases back.

you smile at him and shrug (playfully), laughing it off with him as you purse your lips right over his tip. you know if you start off heavy at his tip, he’ll be close to bursting soon.

just by swirling your tongue around it repetitively, he bites his bottom lip, sucking in air and releasing it through moans and grabbing fistfuls of your hair tighter.

you very slowly ease into it - tommy’s friend can be a little much to take on all at once - glancing up at him and smile when he tries to hold in moans or when his jaw drops even ever so slightly. you could brush your finger across the very bottom and he’d moan, that’s how needy he was.

once you get into a groove, bobbing your head up and down while moving your tongue randomly over his tip and down his shaft, his moans get louder and he’s no longer trying to hide the fact that he’s getting blowed from anyone.

he starts to get really vocal - “that feels so good”, “you’re so good at this”, and just nonesense words through moans and deep gasps.

his hand is still on the back of your head, holding your hair back when he guides you further and further down until your lips reach his skin and the tip is at the back of your throat. the feeling of being so deep is scary, but so worth the thrill when you see the look on his face - amazed and pleased in so many ways.

you keep going faster, knowing he has to be close soon since you’ve started to massage his gems with it too. he’s watching you take all of him, and then his vision goes darker and he looks up, panting breathlessly before he relaxes his head completely.

a few breatht grunts escape from tom and you try to make out what he’s saying before it becomes clearer. “oh my god,” he breathes out again.

“just like that.”

he’s bucking his hips and holding the back of your head, closing his eyes to focus only on the pleasure he’s receiving. “mmm, don’t stop. i’m so close.”

you don’t. you go deeper and faster just because he’s said this, knowing he’s close makes you want to take him so far over the edge so you keep going.

you can tell he’s about to cum when he tightens up every muscle and every grasp he has on you, when he flexes his abs and moans louder and louder as you keep sucking him off even after his sweet warmth has filled your mouth and you’ve swallowed. once he gets too sensitive, he starts shaking a little and that’s when you know when to stop.

he’s breathing so heavily, still not able to open his eyes, a little sweaty, but it’s hot. you lay down next to him, catching your breath as well, smiling at him and waiting for some feedback.

“babe,” he starts. “that was amazing. please do whatever you did every time.” he turns his gaze to look at you and kiss you deeply, passionately, roughly.

“your turn now?” he suggests with a wink.

you just shake your head and chuckle at his cute face. “i actually just wanna be like this, cuddling naked and kissing and maybe falling asleep?” you play with the distinct curls of hair by his ears.

“okay,” he smiles so brightly at you, admiring you and brushing his thumb across your face.

@jackiehollanderr @melaerica @unfortunatekiwitrash​ @blackawsum​ @savethebabyseals @mischiefmanaged49​ @ellabellaboo124 ​ @yavony @laurfangirl424​ @jadajackson1 @emross2000​ @between2worlds ​ @goldenchemistry​ @tryn25 @bishopl @bvmakk​ ​ @da5haexowin ​ @pvnk-bivch​ ​ @skelkitt​ @shaniyuri @inspiredbynewt​ @roses-hxlland @ixchel-9275​ @tai-holland @slytherinbratt @bailey-walsh745 @makennac17 @yourwonderbelle @spidey-pal @peterparkd @completefictionaltrash @therealme133 @castellandiangelo​ @tiny-friggin-human @lokilvrr @inlovewithmob-tom​ @fuckfem​ @logan8546 @imaginesletmesurvive​ @until2am @marvelouspottering @butithasntkilledyouyet ​ @lil-miss-weirdo @stcrgczed @whatdafricklefrackle​ @babylsn​ @ynough​ @tellythabi @errorloadinghappiness​ @gendryia

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland gif #tom holland oneshot #tom holland dirty imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fluff #tom holland drabble #tom holland blurb

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Jewel Thief

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shesakillerkween

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac​

.

“She is set on thievery, I know it. Five days she has arrived to peruse our stock and nothing, not even a sizing!” Lowly Drorn grit out only to notice the time and force on a grin seeing the same woman back again, though this time with a burly Elf towering over her with a far from friendly demeanor, even towards her.

The raven curled wall of hair swaying around a petite Elleth with stunningly purple eyes and a face able to stun a man to silence and a body to match, no doubt with far from visible smile yet to be seen in the seemingly sullen window shopping sprees. Always women came in and her sunken mood set her apart from the others all too eager to try on various combinations and get closer glimpses at what they could never afford themselves from the shop known to fit for the King and his clan themselves for generations.

Rapidly a forced grin flinched across her face and in a honey dripped yet anxious tone at the tapping of her plum painted nail on the class case she walked straight to she asked in the common tongue, “Could I see this one?”

The Elf behind her stated about the single strand of square purple sapphires in a dazzling necklace any would be glad to have earned, “That is not acceptable. Far below value of adornment needed for the occasion.”

His stern tone clearly led to a prickling in her eyes and again she flinched out her smile in a try for a chuckle that died in a wispy exhale. Their eyes fell over her in her shifting peach layered sundress swaying as she turned to another case making Drorn’s cousin step back eyeing the tall shadow to the woman now in front of Drorn with another flinched grin tapping at a group of diamond strands to lay across the chest in varied layers, “This one?”

The question clear in her tone and the Elf shadow stated, “That will do.” Drorn brought out the necklace that was raised to be found seemingly made for a woman of her more petite build over a Dam then was added to its box and set aside for purchase. Next rings were set out and after a almost tear inducing bout of ‘no’ ended with a simple yet elegant purple sapphire rectangular cut stone on a tolerable white gold band coated in diamonds. Far from the usual varied blue stones they splashed out left and right for the Durin crown though a gritted refusal at the woven rings for a wedding band coated in both diamonds and more purple stones the meaning was clear for the visit.

Clearly the woman was off to meet her intended and with the offer of her hand sizes were taken for the rings thankfully not needing any adjustments, unlike the simple diamond bracelet to match the necklace to be taken in. And at the offer of a telling blue charge card for the crown the identity of the rumored Princess sworn to Crown Prince Thranduil.

.

The union was sudden, just as sudden as the King Oropher had been taken by sickness urging the need to travel back to Valinor to seek treatment with his Queen Taule. Leaving the Crown Prince to ready for his throne and with recovery needed from the war that had nearly lost them their kingdom of Amon Lanc requiring an alliance to repay their assistance in defending the kingdom and aid in rebuilding their peace. Fires had left the lands depleted. And for an offer of food and aid in returning the charred earth the youngest of a noble line of Vanyar dwelling with her distant family in Lothlorien since having fled as a child visiting relatives in the fallen kingdom of Gondolin entangling her with the leaders of all Elven lands in Middle Earth was now betrothed. The widowed Elleth so vocal on the Council of Lords, usually publicly at odds with the future King himself was far from their imagined future Queen assumed to be sent for from Valinor to establish old traditions in arranged unions, yet all the same if the Crown Prince had agreed surely some happiness could be found in the union.

.

In your stepping back to join the shadowing Elf to the waiting car surely meant to show you back to the Palace grounds to the appointed cottage snapped so often in the papers since the betrothal was assumed. Dwarven jewels were set to be acquired to aid in privacy while all of this was secured. No longer wed and now saddled with a second arranged union, the first followed tradition with an Elf brought from the rebuilt Tirion, which ended scandalously on the wedding reception opening speech as the groom had gotten entangled into a traditional duel of crossbows for honor ending with him shot through the head by your chosen victor.

No one had blamed you for not crying. Not after the groom’s disgusting speech alluding to beating the stubborn will out of you at the opening of the reception in which even Thranduil had stood readying to throttle the man, held back by his equally as furious father, who treasured your company and counsel immensely to invite you often irking his son to amusing levels. From the time the groom was zipped in a body bag off to Amon Lanc you jumped at King Oropher and Queen Taule’s offer to stay in the very same cottage for as long as you had required.

You were not the first choice, as most would hope that instant love would have secured a union, yet all the same you were clearly the most trusted and most capable to aid in guiding the new King into a good footing with other leaders all through Middle Earth. All of this could have been so amazing had it not been for how it was handled. Future Queen bartered off by a father hoping to have his home and attached cottages on the property back to just his possession alone after an assumed embarrassing slight from you in open council. Just nearly passed off to another man and abruptly passed back again, no longer a daughter but a piece of furniture to be sold off and in the first chance your father had he secured a meeting with the future King and had offered you up once again. It all would have been so easy, if you didn’t love the infuriating idiot now to be your King.

Always your enemy, your rival to the world, yet for you always internally, yours. At odds since infancy on seemingly everything except for when some stranger would strike out at the other, always commonly respectful of the safety and well being of the other. Never malicious or cruel, simply, at odds. It was safe in your respected corners, though now, the world would force you together into the same tiny square and the pressure to face that tiny square openly and withhold your former corners surely you would falter. You would fail, your mask would slip and he would see the single lie you had kept enforcing to the world bringing only two options, he had been honest or he had been lying too. And you didn’t know which would terrify you more to discover.

First it was back to the Palace to have tea and discuss the plans for your first formal dinner the following night leading up to the wedding and joint coronation on Saturday. It was soon but at least for Elven weddings you were allowed privacy for the sunrise service but the reception after the joint coronation would be broadcast as all other Royals would arrive to greet you formally. To yourself you muttered in folding your hands on your lap while your shadow sat in the front seat of the car divided by a clear divider, “This is going to be a disaster.”

* ..Thranduil.. *

“Don’t look at me like that!” In a croaking order to the giant elk he was brushing in hopes of calming himself. “I am the one getting married you can’t give me a hard time.” A snort was what he got in return making the blonde King shift to avoid any staining snot or spit from the creature to ruin his clothes he had wasted nearly half the night deciding on to greet you on his own. “You’ve already got your mate, mine’s been picked for me-,”

“You accepted,” the Elk replied making the King huff.

“After that disastrous twenty minute marriage of hers I couldn’t allow Princess Pear to be bartered off. Her father seemed so adamant to have her gone, and I wouldn’t let anyone dare try to repeat the behavior she has faced.”

“Hmm, and Pear will not assume-,”

Thranduil groaned laying his head against the Elk’s shoulder, “Princess Pear does not make assumptions. Not where I am involved,” again he stood upright and turned to pace again, “Why does this have to be so hard?! When this has all played out perfectly! I love her! I could not fathom how to begin approaching her for courtship let alone marriage and then she is betrothed, wed, and promptly widowed, now she was offered as my betrothed by her father fully blessed for the union with none to find an argument against my crowning her.”

“The struggle then?”

“Oh I don’t know! The 14000 years of our rivalry for one!”

In a low chuckle Lord Glorfindel entered the courtyard behind the King just beyond the ring of trees surrounding the stables, “You still imagine yourself to be at odds in all but politics?” Thranduil turned promptly with expression dropping to find his oldest friend chuckling to himself in a bow of his head, “Come now, my King, surely you could not be so obtuse to imagine the palace would not be in flames had Princess Pear not have agreed to the union.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes again, “I know her wrath well,”

Glorfindel smirked, “You know her temper,” that made the King pause and look at the smirking Lord, “You have reveled at her wrath being aimed at others in your defense. Even that runt of a betrothed she had been promised to, he knew her wrath in my being named her victor. You have received little past a paper cut and well earned tongue lashings in your ages in debates.”

“Your suggestion then? How to enforce I am not buying her? That I would never treat her as my property.”

“No need,” parting the King’s lips, “She knows you. Tell her you love her.” Thranduil’s brow shot up, “Be honest, and yield first. Should no doubt shorten the wait for her to admit the inevitable as well. You are perfect for one another.”

“Yield first?! You want me to-,”

Glorfindel’s hands rose for a moment in mock surrender at the King with furrowed brows, then smirked at his meek 180 when it was announced your car was at the front gates, “The way I see it, you yield first or we get to see her bring you to your knees in utter adoration.” Thranduil blinked at the Lord who neared him to aid in fixing the top button on his shirt.

 * ..Months prior.. *

“There is no merit to the words on suffering from a woman!” Tilting your head a tick with brow raised to the Master of Dale shouting out his response to your argument on the Lords needing to aid in the plight of the Men who had fled Numenor and were building Gondor. With your hand on the podium you were beside due to its place damn near to your shoulder just a few feet from the now shouting Crown Prince among the sea of Lords doing the same.

Woman or not you were still a High Born Princess, though in the back of your row you spotted your father seated quietly more interested in his conversation with the man beside him on plans for another hunt to care how you were spoken to. Mingled into those from Lothlorien your sliver of kin tried their best not to draw too much attention in their being trapped in these lands. You had always demanded that someone from your people speak up and in their unwillingness you had taken that spot while they remained silent without aid to any slight exacting that it was your own fault and you had no right to anger or tears at breaking the unspoken code. Women, though free to work where they wished were still property and all funds won were passed either to father or husband with little rights to even choose which school they could attend if accepted on their family merits. So much had changed and yet you were no more than property, still.

“True,” the room quieted and he grinned, “No, what would a woman know on suffering? In fact we know little at all if our fathers refuse us education. We know little more than to follow orders silently and with a smile. Every stitch before you good Lords is woven and crafted by the permission of my father.” That turned his head luring a glare from him, “Women know nothing of suffering, our voices or even the simplest freedoms you take for granted and spite your sons for settling to and not aspiring for more. ‘Spare the rod spoil the child’, men are built to be strong for fear of lashes while women are cobbled to perfection and left to dust and decay between dinner parties as you conquer the world. From our infancy we are taught how to master our silence, our smiles, not for any gain but for the allure of a possible mate. We are the greatest farce of all, My Lords. You imagine a Vanyar Princess when I am naught but a mare,”

Men now rested back into their seats weighing all you had said against their own lives, except for a man from Bree shouting out, “I’d not bid on you for your temperament, bound to buck and bite.”

Chuckles roared through his section and you replied with a smirk, “I will take that as a compliment from a man who has owned more wives than dress jackets.” Jeers sounded through the rest of the room and even in his section as he grinned at your fair jab back. “We are the farce but you Lords are the greatest liars of all.”

Grins began to dim again, “Daughters swaddled and adored so fiercely, like hoarded jewels to a dragon, when once we begin to mature that kindness is gone, that wonder. No more could we be anything we wish from our greatest fantasies, we are limited to what a man would find acceptable of his wife. You talk of suffering my Lords, when you have never known the betrayal of the man we love most selling us off and no longer being our hero. Once out that door no more hero, we are the husband’s topic of worry now, beaten, forced and broken with every lie on those silver coated lips and tongue. All in the hopes of a son, that coveted son, who is never ours! Who will never defend us to join the masses of men who look down upon us. Our daughters lied to as we were. Then we share the truth, ‘you will know kindness, if you earn it. If he finds you worthy’.

Father’s never truly know the true man they barter us off to. If we will be their Queens or a common whore in an impossible dress adorned with jewels to boast on his prowess and finances. Plastered with a smile to cement the lie. What lie will you go home and tell your children tonight? Because every one of you is the product of a woman who created you. How many were kept from you at her husband, or ex husband’s whims because you were their property and not hers? How many of you lost their mothers due to their refusal to listen that something was physically wrong and the expense of Healers were found frivolous? How many mothers were cast off for younger more lucrative investments for more heirs?”

Next to your fuming father behind your uncle High Prince Inowen pondering your words along with the other Kings and Lords ruling their lands. “This is the birth of the Second Age, My Lords and this circlet on my head does me no favor past gaining spare pounds of gold towards my auction.” You raised the copied page the Lord had presented to you as proof to support his argument against your position for aid.

“This is your smoking gun as you said. This will solve all the problems each man in the territories instead of what I am asking to give aid in an offer of friendship to those remaining of our fallen council members unable to fill their section of this coliseum of half truths, because that is what this is, comfort, for the men.”

In folding the page in half you walked to the table seeing Thranduil shift in his seat peering up at you only to rise along with the Lords at the lowest of the tiered tables at your approach. King Oropher remained seated due to his rank higher than yours, merely tapping his fingers to his chest in a sign of respect to your title allowing you so close to him unrequested even here. The page was passed to Thranduil as the highest ranked at the table now entirely focused on your misty eyed gaze at him unmatching to the easy grin on your lips, “Here is your gun, please shoot me with it, put me out of my misery. For unlike the sea of silent women this would affect, I cannot bear the betrayal of a promise for a brighter tomorrow, yet again knowing the lies I will have to tell the children I can never keep as my own.”

The room was silent in your step back when Thranduil let the page fall to the table lost in the truth heavily weighing behind you eyes. So many truths you had shared and so many pains shouldered as rivals to struggle through for your people alongside his father to learn his future possible role and this he had never seen. The weight of unspoken pain women still faced. Greenwood was meant to be safe and freer for women and yet Elleths still had clauses to each choice and contract demanding permission from the highest male closest in their family line even widows having to hold their sons to mark the page for them to better their lives.

It never hit home until he had known that in your supposed confident stroll through the nodding now upright Lords you passed to return to your seat your heart was breaking for the monster you could be sold off to. In his seat again him and his father both readied their brains to unravel at their plight to aid women, a task they had completed over the next year in support of you and all overlooked women under their rule, fully backed by all the Elven nations now freeing their women completely. To the joy of Queen Taule, who had tried to nudge some easy changes herself into life the Council wouldn’t fight her and Oropher on, and yet it was too late.

As repentance for your embarrassing scandalous remarks your father had set that auction and off you were sold to a stranger far from timid on breaking in his new bride he was set to meet at the ceremony. Even rumored to have been barred from meetings, had the Kings all not agreed to issue summons for each council meeting after to ensure you were still present it might have been true. Yet the effect of that wrath whatever it was rang loud and clear in your silence, at least until the Crown Prince took the podium on each topic possible and hit every button he could blatantly provoking you to your feet to challenge him spreading a hint of a smirk seeing that fire still lingering in there.

 *..Present time..*

This was in his mind on repeat through the press conference, still seeing an expected fear in your eyes at facing the auction block again, yet here you would be safe and far from your father’s reach. Safe in this palace and hopefully soon comfortably in his arms calling it yours as well. There was more to your tears that day he hoped, that it was an unspoken plea for proof he wouldn’t hurt you, that he would claim his place in your heart and prove you could be safe and belong to one another cherishing your children always Eru would grant you. It would just take patience as a good deal more jesting feuds to goad you out again to your former confidence around him in this new change to your bond.

He hated that you had been forced into marriage so young without an inkling of affection or trust for your spouse and that he especially could not shop with you leaving you to his adviser for the proper ceremonies and traditions to be met. Yet you were a new Queen set to be far more vocal and involved than any before if he had his way, you would share the rule together and he didn’t care what anyone said. All the Lords all loved and cherished your opinions and steadfast path to reason most would overlook or skid past and soon his subjects would calm down seeing that the fuel for the long-standing rivalry was a deep seeded adoration for one another steadily dawning on the pair of you over the past few years. The buzz of his phone however had his brow tick up in scrolling through the pictures of what you had suggested and finally chosen turning his gears noticing that this was a clear display of your settling for what would be tolerated.

..

“I’ve looked at these pictures of the rings you turned down and honestly it is astonishing.” Turning around in the sitting room on the usual chair you chose as your own you spotted Glorfindel seated at the window bench having waited to chaperone your tea while terribly late Thranduil strode in leaving his outer pale yellow robe on the back of the couch he passed to the carpet in front of you. His long blonde hair still brushed back after having removed his crown on his way here from a press conference in on the first agreed trade deal having been settled on the union between the pair of you with other Elven nations.

When he turned to face you he continued while Glorfindel raised the phone he was using to film you both for a better shot, “It’s as if you don’t even want to do this.” In a slight tilt of your head your brow inched up and Glorfindel smirked seeing the clues that you were ready to stand your ground to honor your word in this. “Five choices I know you would have preferred were skipped over for a spectacular, albeit, uninteresting ring, when I know since the first day we met you have wanted a heart shaped ring and clearly if you wanted this you would have fought for it. Clearly this is merely a contract and to silence the usual traditions you would settle for tolerable. Well I am not one to be tolerated.”

“Oh trust me I can barely tolerate you at times.” You fired back resting your hands on the arms on the chair readying to stand.

“Then we agree. The contract will be rewritten to exclude the betrothal.”

“Seriously?!” You stood up, “Just how would you manage that? Honestly it took hours of hammering out the details just for the drafted alliance between the other kingdoms teetering on the union you now imagine yourself to just be so flippant on.”

“I am not flippant!” He said looking you over already feeling a grin fighting to slip across his lips at the dress he loved to see you in since he had helped his mother pick it for you.

“Who then?” You asked crossing your arms making him puff up and do the same.

“I don’t care to understand what you are insinuating!”

“Who else will be your saving grace in all this? Which Elleth are you going to tear out of the sky to come down and be your Queen. Because honestly I highly doubt there is any other Elleth who could put up with you and this stack of cards you’re building.”

In a scoff he said, “Oh it’s a stack of cards now?! You love this kingdom, told my Ada in several occasions! Well this stack of cards could take any Queen I feel fit,” at your scoff and dart of your tongue to wet your lips he sharply inhaled. Again feeling his brow twitch at his urge to kiss you to ruin the maroon coating across your irresistible lips, but he was in too deep in his panicked ramble in a try to test if you really wanted this. “I am King. What I say goes.”

“Oh really, well if you choose another you won’t be King for long.”

“Threats now?!”

Your hand jut out and his eyes lowered to the finger that tapped him in the chest instantly loosening his arms to drop back to his sides, “If you choose another they would just kill you for the crown. At least with me you have a chance to survive.”

“A chance,” he scoffed back, “Really now, and how long would you rate my lifespan if I chose you and you did decide to kill me?”

“Just long enough for me to move everything lower so I can reach it.”

Wryly he laughed, “I’m all limbs to you then?”

“As you would be for anyone else. Even more so until your soldiers succeed”

With a hint of a blush on his ears he replied, “This is not about breeding!”

You nodded lowering your hand to your hip, “Kinda is. King needs an heir, to get an heir you need a Queen.”

“I am not using you for your uterus and you have no plot for my testicles, I know to be fact!”

“Then you should shoot your sources for lying.” The boldness of the statement made his eyes flinch wider and his brows furrow in your step closer, “I’m going to make this perfectly clear, I’m not tolerating this, I am demanding this. You are marrying me if I have to drag you down the aisle. For your safety and everyone else’s, I refuse to sit on that council and watch you tear your country apart by putting some diamond hungry antelope on the throne next to yours.”

“You demand?” You nodded, “You demand?!”

“What of it?”

“I’m King!”

“Good, you’ve got the title down Dew Drop, that would make me Queen.”

“What makes you think you can just demand that I marry you?”

“I just did were you not listening?”

Again he inhaled and Glorfindel glanced between you uncertain of what the King was going to explode with next, “Fine but I’m telling everyone that it was my idea!”

“Fine by me, I expect to be awed by the proposal.”

“Oh you will be, and you’re getting the ring you wanted since you made me spend three hours trying to fish the single green heart shaped ring out of the hundreds of other plastic rings on that shore resort!”

“The one-,”

“The one you picked is not fine! It is not tolerable or acceptable, because you love me and I love you more than air I am not letting you have to be drug into a second even more public ceremony and all that scrutiny unless it is exactly what you wanted!”

“What?” You asked feeling your ears start to prickle in the beginning of a stunned blush.

With a nod he replied trying to hold his confident expression as his voice cracked, “You heard me.” Suddenly his hands had cupped your cheeks and firmly his lips met yours for a passionate display you both melted into before his pull back nipping at his lower lip hearing a knock at the door from a messenger. His eyes turned to the door only to stop at Glorfindel asking, “You’re filming this?” lowering his hands to his sides.

Glorfindel smirked, “Future reference for your children to see what idiots their parents are.” His eyes flinched to you at your weight shifting on your feet to face him, “Trust me, we all know he’s the bigger idiot.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes at your hint of a smirk, “More size jokes.” After stepping back a fraction he said, “Come in,”

Only to glance down at you with a playful smirk as you said, “Is it though?”

Accepting with a hushed thanks the long black velvet box from the messenger who promptly turned to leave he offered it to you, “To wear tonight.” He opened the box making your lips part seeing the purple necklace you wanted, “I demand it.” He teased.

Softly you replied, “Dew Drop,”

Lifting his hand his fingers curled in a stroke against your cheek, “I am yours if any ever spur a debate on ownership. I will never raise a hand to you or joke on that matter in any fashion together in private or in public. You are and always will be cherished above all.”

“Well I never imagined you to have a death wish. And if you tried I’d cut off your feet.” Making his eyes narrow playfully and you said, “More than air, Hmm?”

“I had to keep it brief, I have another conference here in a bit…what plans do you have for my testicles?”

Back at him you teased in a reach for your purse, “That’s a discussion for the wedding night. You’d be surprised what sort of literature there is out there on them.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started I keep finding more in my room every night. ‘To help’.”

“On testicles?” You teased.

“Yes.” Glorfindel shook his head at Thranduil’s cocky reply.

“Good. We can compare notes then.” He looked over to his friend, “Why are you shaking your head?”

Glorfindel replied, “Idiots in love,” smirking in his playful bow, “And long may you reign. Because the throne can’t tolerate another courting pair attempting this.”

Thranduil, “You’re next in line.”

Glorfindel, “Yes, and I am worse than the pair of you. I can only imagine how the wedding will be if this is the bargaining phase for proposal rights.”

Thranduil, “I wouldn’t dare accept an offer from a flippant Queen.”

“And don’t you think for a moment I’m crossing the council room to your side just for two rings on my fingers.”

“Every syllable in that sentence is preposterous. What good would that do, silencing my longstanding opposition. Who else would call me a fool on live broadcast without blushing?” He asked with a playful glint in his eye making you smirk again, “Not to mention the time you compared my argument to fruit flies.”

“It was inconsequential buzzing and you were stalling for time.”

To which he replied, “See, exactly what we need.”

Glorfindel chuckled, “Ah,” his head turned at the next knock at the door, “That would be the conference.”

At which you said, “I’ll be in the theater then until you’re done.”

Thranduil, “I did try to move it. Only that new dam in Gondor..” his eyes looked you over asking, “What will you watch?”

Playfully you shrugged turning to step backwards to the door flashing him a copy of the new Sweeney Todd adaptation on disc parting his lips, “Maybe this.”

“You are not watching that without me! It’s my favorite!”

“How could I not know, we go every time it’s nearby. I’ll start on the guided tour of the sets feature, then I’ll start it. You might just have to watch halfway through.”

“We’re starting it over when I get there!” He said walking after you pulling on his robe again as you reached the door Glorfindel opened for you, “I’m not joking!”

“Better hurry then.” He scoffed then looked to you as you popped back into the doorway saying, “I’ll be wearing my gift.” Making him shake his head and smirk at your step out of sight again leaving him to huff and hurry to button his robe and find his crown to get the conference over so he could focus on your first film together as a betrothed couple.

Still to be supervised but none the less special in just Glorfindel’s company, after which he’d be able to go through with his planned proposal with the dream ring of yours he’d had for near to a year now for you. You hadn’t said you loved him yet and still seemed a bit tense but never the less he was certain this was what you wanted and you would ease into trusting him as your future spouse as you’d trusted him all your lives up until this forced situation. A stolen brush of his finger against the chain holding the simple green crystal heart and meteorite band ring you had bought him in return for his three hour debacle deepened his smirk remembering the peck you stole on his cheek then darted off. A tiny hint that there was hope to grow up and get married one day now all the more special as it was coming true. Now the perfect size to fit the very finger to seal your bond.

Pt 2+ on ao3

#Thranduil x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

[1coin-and-2lights]

A long time coming

Clad in a festive yet subtle jumpsuit, the pacifist finished his meal. With a delighted grin, he softly pat his stomach.

“Waaa~ This place was amazing! The food. The ambience. The vibe—Everything! As expected from my *refined spouse*~ ohohohoh”

He giggled, brushing a stray strand from his face. The other sitting opposite smiled, a little bashful but flattered more than anything.

“Spouse you say? Interesting. The knot hasn’t even been tied yet.”

He jested almost with a playful grin which threatened to shift as his hand was clasped. His lover, wearing the most pleasant smile, his vocals laced with warmth.

“We tied the knot a long time ago, Chara...I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just recently that we’d agreed within ourselves that we wanted to be with each other for the rest of our lives...”

Almost defeated, the first human sighed taking in those words. His heart had never been so full, especially with the one person he’d never imagined to be his world sitting before him. Smoothly, he responded, clutching an item that’d put everything in motion safely within his pocket. Crimson orbs flicked upwards to regard him. Fuchsia orbs stared back.

“When you say it like that, it almost feels like foreshadowing...” There was a pause. “You look beautiful... Juliet.”

A gasp of delight and the second human was practically squealing. Blushing a fresh, rosy pink. The other continued.

“I think today is the only day I can take your annoying squealing sounds...”

“Hm? But why? Is today important?”

The redhead deadpanned. “It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it? Come on. You’ve been blabbing about it since December started.”

“Ohhh...” A short pout and the pacifist retorted. “It’s not bad to be excited about Christmas, Luque.”

“Hoh? So you use my achilles heel to complain? Honestly, I should probably stop underestimating you-“

Low and behold, this only brought Juliet to whine more.

“Stop implying that I’m the mastermind here! It’s not even that much of a weakneeess! Not like Ro at least.”

“A romantic dinner and here you are bringing up another man’s name.. Hhh... what am I to do with you...?”

“Stop playing so innocent!-“

“So I’m guilty?”

“Oh-...”

Just like that, the pacifist appeared to simmer down, shrinking into a timidity that the other always brought forth from him. However, he didn’t back down for long. Scrunching his fists in his lap, he worked up the courage to retort once more... but still with a wavering cadence.

“Y..yes... y-you’re guilty.... very guilty..”

There, a wide smile drew itself onto the antagonist’s face, showing off his own naturally rosy apples. Pride. Juliet had come so far ever since they’d started their relationship. Even before their knowledge of future children or anything, he could truly say that what they have has truly blossomed and will without a doubt be everlasting. That in mind, he smirked.

“You know, I always preferred seeing you with your eyes open. The truth laid before me.. something you can’t run from. But eventually, those same eyes became like precious jewels. They match your soul... embellished by your personality. You’re definitely a case and a half, Julieau...but that case is someone that I undoubtedly want to spend all eternity with.”

The redhead spoke clearly, every word holding the weight of truth and emotion as he went on. He knew that he himself had changed on this journey.... he’d found happiness.

Juliet had appeared to be bracing for something absentmindedly, fidgeting at times as he hung onto every word. His cheeks grew redder—heart fuller. Soul...excited. And with all of that, his senses were set alight as a small, navy velvet box was flicked onto the table, clanging against the wine glass.

Chara was beyond proud of himself as he watched bewilderment and shock gradually spread across the pacifist’s face. That said, it was short-lived, or rather the tables were turned once Juliet adamantly demanded for his hand— the look of determination in his eyes. Burning. He couldn’t refuse.

Handing over a milky white palm, a red velvet box was placed in his hand. More shock set in.

“You-“

“Great minds think alike huh~”

Juliet chirped, nonchalantly taking his navy box and opening it. There lay a ruby ring— ‘coin’ carved into it. Bubbling happiness settled to the warmest fire imaginable within his core.

On the other hand, Chara was fuming. Now. It was his turn to whine.

“Y-You can’t just propose to me when I proposed to you— do you know how long I’ve been planning and calculating this...?! Out of everything that our timeline has already decided, I wanted to do this on my own!”

“A-are.. you actually getting mad at me for proposing to you??? I’ve been planning too, Luque..! This is important to me too...” Sounding a little saddened, he bounced back with more determination.

“It was my choice to revive you. I was the one who split my soul and I was the one who chose you. I wanted. You. So this is as much my thing as it is yours— I love you too! Remember??”

The redhead faltered, his face heating up faster than he could try to control. It was humiliating but at the same time, he couldn’t be more impressed by the one who’d soon be his wife. Trying to regain his composure.

“Damn... imagine that you almost beat me to it... that’s one game I’d never want to lose...”

“What game? Who loves who more?”

“Quit making it seem so dumb...”

“Why not?” Juliet giggled lightheartedly. “It’s adorable~... You don’t have to be afraid to let your soft sides show... I know there are things you struggle with and.. I’ve dealt with them for a very long time- not gonna stop now. You know you can trust me.”

Such reassurance was irrefutable and slowly but surely, Chara settled down.

“Trust... heh. Yeah. I.. do trust you. Seven years... And now I can... actually call you my wife. Imagine that...”

“I was yours the moment you got me. You could’ve started whenever~” He jested flirtatiously.

“At least I know one thing you can’t beat me to.”

A sudden utterance that left the pacifist perplexed. As the first human rose from his seat and came over, he gasped as he was pulled to his feet. And without a moment to hesitate, he was kissed passionately. With that, he threw his arms around the other’s neck to return the sentiment—it was so much warmer than any of their kisses prior. Their souls were beating in sync, a short applause given by the audience seated around them.

As they parted, a loving expression was exchanged as they muttered a few words. Chara was first.

“Will you marry me, Julieau?”

“Is that even a question~?” Juliet giggled before returning the same question. “Will you marry me, Luque?”

Not even a second to hesitate. “Wasn’t I the one who presented my box first? What do *you* think?”

A short bout of titters and their boxes were exchanged. Solid eye contact, they slid their rings onto one another before sharing a lover’s embrace to seal it off.

Juliet chirped once more.

“Seeing a suit on you and your hair tied back like that is probably one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen~”

A knowing smirk was given in response.

“A little too early to be pushing my self control right now, don’t you think?”

“Ohohoh~ My flirtation knows no bounds Foilorié~”

“Oh I know, Pernier.”

“So... which name are we choosing?”

“Yours.”

#coin #AAAAAA #IM SOBBING #1 pence coin mun #PROPOSAL #Charisk #CHARActerXJuliet #writing archive

[chocobonugget]

Fragile Tender Heart

Title: Fragile Tender Heart Rating: T Word Count: 8,061 Summary: Once upon a time, there was a prince with a teddy bear.  And then, there was neither a prince nor a bear.  The story of how a newborn chocobo nugget transforms into a beautiful gentlethem.

-1- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

The first time Yuffie holds her baby, she's exhausted, bathed in sweat, but she's still the most beautiful thing Cloud has ever seen.  She's glowing, eyes bright and mirthful as ever despite their baby's painful, intensely arduous journey into the world.  He smiles at her as the midwife counts the correct number of digits on hands and feet that are so unbelievably tiny and fragile.  Cloud leans over and kisses her forehead, running his fingers through dark hair wet with perspiration, and he mutters something about how proud he is of her, how amazing she is, how much he loves her.

Yuffie just grins as the midwife takes the infant once again, to tend to him and making sure the rest of him is as healthy as his lungs and vocal cords seem to be, and she's clearly delirious with exhaustion when she laughs breathlessly and says, "Cloud, we did it.  We made a chocobo nugget."

-2- "Mama's yukata is pwetty," Yuki says, squirming around in his lap.

"It is," he whispers, tapping at his son's mouth with an index finger, "but we have to be quiet until she finishes her speech.  It's very important, and we don't want her to mess up."

It's not exactly fair to ask a three year old to sit completely still as his mother announces the newly-made agreement between her country and the reformed, rebuilt Shinra Company.  It likely won't go over well, but she is the Empress, Her Imperial Majesty, the Daughter of Leviathan, and her people trust her not to let their home be ravaged by senseless war ever again.  She says as much to them, reminding them that she has been actively in the fray since she was sixteen years old and has aimed to restore her country to its former glory since the war with Shinra ended.  She loves and respects her father, she tells them, but she would rather die than allow her people's culture to be reduced and trivialized, to once again let an oppressor overtake them and turn their precious traditions into a show for tourists.  

She makes a hell of an argument, and Cloud is quite proud of her for acknowledging Wutai's righteous anger at Shinra.  She doesn’t dismiss their obvious concerns about this partnership, and makes a point of assuring them, not only that she feels exactly the same, but also that she knows Rufus Shinra personally and can tell when he’s lying.  She tells them all the ways how she knows that he is serious about making peace between their two groups.  

(In another life, she once told him, she might have married him to establish this same bond with her people, and can you even imagine that, Cloud, how gross would that be, he's like, a million years old, eww.)

Near the end of her speech, she very casually says, "If Rufus violates our agreement, I reserve the right, in addition to enacting the fines and sanctions and other political punishments that I’ve already talked about, to cut his dick off—like, the whole entire thing!—and shove it down his throat."  And how can anyone can doubt her sincerity when she adds, "And then, I dunno, murder him or whatever"?

Yuki lets out a giggle, because he's never heard his mother threaten to kill anyone outside of a joke before and has no idea that, right now, she is completely serious.  Cloud cannot help but hope that his son does not inherit his mother's sense of humor.  "Daddy," Yuki says in the loud half-whisper so common to children his age, "I wanna be a empwess like Mama someday and wear pwetty yukatas."

Cloud hushes him again.  "You'll be the Emperor when you're all grown up, Yuki, don't worry."

-1.1- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

She's smiling at them as she gingerly lays the infant in Yuffie's arms, obviously proud of both herself and of her patients, and she adds, "He will make a fine Emperor, Lady Yuffie, I can already tell."

"You say that about every baby you deliver, Midori," Yuffie mutters, and Cloud is the tiniest bit impressed that she still has the energy to be sarcastic after the ordeal she's just been through.  "'He will make a fine priest, I can already tell.'  'She will make a fine wife, I can already tell.'  When I was born, you probably told my mother the exact same thing; 'She will make a fine Empress, Lady Kasumi, I can already tell.'"

The midwife grins, a sharp sparkle in her eye, and replies, "I told your honored mother, I said, 'She will be a right terror, this one, I can already tell.'  And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Hey, I didn't turn out so bad!  Helped save the world a few times, made a bunch of good friends, got a crap ton of gil and cool materia.  I even bagged myself a man without anyone's help, thank you very much."

"Well," the midwife murmurs, running her fingers over the few soft, black strands of hair that are already on the baby's head, "let's just hope this son of yours turns out to be more like his father, hmm?"

-3- It's somewhat common, he's been told, for little boys to go through a phase where they want to dress up in their mother's clothes.  So he's not worried when he finds Yuki in their closet, digging past Cloud's pants and shirts to get to his mother's things.

What does worry him is the make-up smeared inexpertly on Yuki's face and hands and how the boy is transferring it to anything close to him at an alarming rate.  Cloud snatches him up and pulls him away from Yuffie's more formal clothing before Yuki can christen it with the dark eyeshadow that makes his wife's eyes shine or the bright red lipstick she wears only when she's angry at or annoyed with her advisers.  The boy protests, letting out a shriek as Cloud methodically cleans him up before he can do anymore damage.  

Yuki squirms in his lap the whole time, small hands pulling at his father's arm and begging him to stop.  "You're ruining our clothes, Yuki; I have to get this stuff off of you."

"No!" he screeches, digging his tiny, sharp nails into the back of Cloud’s hands.  "No, I wanna be pwetty like mama!  Stop it!"

"Boys don't wear make-up, Yuki!" he scolds, and his voice is much louder than he intends it to be. 

And it's so strange because the wriggling mess of a child in his arms immediately goes still.  Yuki looks up at him, and while Cloud takes the lack of movement as an opportunity to finish cleaning the boy up, Yuki murmurs, "But I'm not a boy."

Cloud's immediate response is a distracted, "Of course you are," which causes a round of silence in addition to the stillness.  He manages to wipe off the last vestiges of make-up from the boy’s hands and face, working quickly before his son can start the wiggling and the protesting again.  But Yuki is still quiet when the work is done, and for a long moment, Cloud is haunted by a feeling of dread, knowing it was a mistake to negate his son's feelings right away like that.  He remembers people dismissing how he felt as a child.  He knows exactly how many scars he still carries from being told that how he felt was unimportant or wrong.

It’s important to him that he apologizes for yelling.  He never got that as a child, and he wants things to be different for his son.  He’s not perfect, but he doesn’t have to be.  He just has to be able to admit when he makes mistakes and do better next time.  

Yuki only shrugs, jumping up from his lap and bouncing toward the door.  "You're right, I am a boy."

Okay, wow, big sigh of relief for that.  It doesn't seem like his son is permanently harmed or anything.  He would have to be more careful about controlling his temper in the future, though.  Cloud never wants Yuki to feel like he couldn't talk to him about anything at all whenever he needed to.

"But," his son trills, elongating the vowel in the exact same way his mother does right before she attempts something mischievous, "maybe I'll be a girl tomorrow!"

Cloud shakes his head.  That's all it is, then.  A game.

Nothing to worry about, right? 

-4- The summer after Yuki turns 5, Cloud wins a teddy bear for him at a festival booth.  He calls it Nanko, despite his parents telling him that isn't a real name, and it immediately becomes his favorite toy.  He goes nowhere without it, and he's seen by the public with it so much that the bear soon becomes an unofficial member of the royal family.  That brand and style of teddy bear gains an immense popularity, and Yuffie cracks a joke one evening about her son being a fabulous trendsetter at such a young age.  "Just like his mother," she sighs, dropping a kiss onto Yuki's forehead.

The boy is sleepy, soft and pliable in her arms, and not really paying attention to anything.  He's fighting sleep like it's a master tonberry walking toward him with the intent to kill shining bright in its eyes, and Cloud can't help but smile.  "We should probably put him to bed."

A muffled protest issues from the vague area near Yuffie's lap that his son occupies, but they both dismiss it.  When he's tucked in, Nanko held tight in his arms, the boy is so adorable that Cloud has to take a picture.  He can't not do it.  He's physically incapable of not memorializing this moment in time, of not getting hard proof of how his child is quite possibly the cutest thing to ever exist.

As they are leaving the room, Yuki mumbles, "You didn't say night to Nanko."

"Good night, Nanko," Yuffie murmurs.  

"Daddy too...."

Cloud smiles.  "Good night, Nanko."

More content, his son curls on his side and snuggles into his bed, letting out a soft sigh.  "He says night too."

-1.2- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

Well, she's not technically wrong.

-5- A few days later at breakfast, Yuki says, "Nanko wants to eat chocolate chip pancakes!"

"Well, tell him we're out of pancake mix," Yuffie replies.

"Her."

"Hmm?"

"Nanko wants you to call her 'her'."

"Why?  I thought Nanko was a boy?"

"Nah," Yuki replies, holding the bear out in front of him and considering it very seriously.  "Nanko is a girl today."

-6- "Daddy!  You keep calling Nanko a girl!  Nanko is a boy, and he wants you to talk to him that way!  Why are you being so stupid about this?  When Nanko is a boy, you call him a boy, and when Nanko is a girl, you call her a girl!  Got it?!"

-1.3- "It's a boy," the midwife says triumphantly, the pride of helping to birth her country's next emperor clear on her smiling face.

(If only it were that simple.)

-7- "Don't ever let this thing out of your sight again," he tells Yuffie, presenting the newly-washed teddy bear to his wife.  Yuki lost it two weeks ago, and the level of agitation and worry that the boy has exhibited over the disappearance of his favorite toy is very unsettling.  He's been restless and inattentive, unable to sleep at night, and his emotions have been incredibly volatile.  At times, he's seemed withdrawn, given to very sudden bouts of anger or weeping, but nothing either of them does can console him.  Cloud had nearly been at his wit's end when he happened to catch a glimpse of the distinctive brown and tan plaid ribbon that was tied around the stuffed animal's neck sticking out from beneath a piece of furniture.  

"Absolutely not," she sighs, taking the bear from him.  "Come on, I think we'd better get these two back together as soon as possible.  Not sure I can take another night of having a wiggly chocobo nugget in my bed waking me up with another nightmare."

"I know," Cloud agrees, taking her hand.  "I feel bad that he's so upset, but it's getting exhausting to deal with him."

There's a long period of silence as they walk toward Yuki's suite, and just before they enter the hall that leads to his front room, Yuffie chuckles.  "You wanna take a bet on whether Nanko's a boy or girl today?"

-1.4- "It's a boy," the midwife says with a smile.

-8- When Yuki sees the bear, a grin splits his face wide open.  "Nanko, I missed you so much!  Mommy, where did you find her?"

-9- Years go by, and Cloud nearly forgets that his son's bear is still around.  It sits high on a shelf now, dusty and untouched for nearly a decade.  He tries to convince Yuki to get rid of it, but the boy refuses.  It's odd, isn't it, for a teenager to want to hang onto a childhood toy?

But if a little teddy bear is really that important to him, Cloud's not going to force him to get rid of it.

-10- The smell of smoke wakes him in the early hours of the morning.  Not immediately seeing the source as his eyes quickly scan the room for flames, he turns to wake his wife, only to find that she is already climbing out of bed and stumbling toward the Conformer.  It's the third time in as many months that they've been confronted with this scenario before, and each and every time, the culprits have attempted to torch a new section of the palace.  No one is exactly sure who is to blame or why they're doing it, as the preferred method thus far has been Molotov cocktails thrown through windows that have opened to let in the cool summer breeze at night.  They've since ordered all windows shut and locked at all times.

It forces the criminals' hands a bit, and this time, they actually have to break in to set the fire.  Fortunately, he and Yuffie catch them before they can make their retreat, two men and a woman dressed in all black like some kind of ridiculous play on the stereotypical ninja's garb.   Yuffie hands them over to the guards, bloodied from the beating they'd given them, and though she doesn't exactly cut an intimidating image in her silky pajama shorts and pink crop top, her shuriken and fists speak for her.  The fire is put out before it can seriously damage anything else, and everyone in the room save for the three people in custody breathe a collective sigh of relief.

But even still, the would-be arsonists don't seem entirely disappointed to have failed their self-appointed mission yet again or, for that matter, to have been caught.  The woman stares at him as he walks by, and he can't help but notice the smug grin on her face.  He pauses, considers her for a long moment, but before he can demand an explanation for her oddly good mood, he detects the faintest hint of smoke in the air once again.

A scream shatters the silence of the room.  One of the guards shouts, "The prince!"

By the time Cloud turns toward the long hallway leading to his son's suite of rooms, Yuffie is already halfway down it.  He catches up to her as she's reaching for the door handle, but even as her fingers are closing over the knob, he can tell the knob is burning hot.  She lets out a curse and yanks her hand away.  He tries to break the door down, but the wood has expanded with the heat of the flames he can hear raging behind it, and there's no use of trying to get in this way.  The only other option is to try and break through the window in his bedroom.

The idea occurs to them simultaneously, and while they run outside and around the enormous building to find the correct window, Cloud prays that they're not too late.  The smile on the woman's face is the only thing he can see clearly in his mind, and it does nothing to dampen the worry clouding his thoughts.  They arrive to see their son standing in front of the window, pounding at it to no avail.

"Move!" Yuffie screams, holding up her shuriken so he can see it.  "Yuki, get out of the way!"

The drapes beside him are suddenly ablaze, and although he hasn't moved at all--is probably too frightened to think clearly and without a safe place to get away from the fire--Yuffie launches her weapon at the panes of glass.

The next few minutes are all a blur.  Cloud grabs his son out of the broken window and runs with him thrown over his shoulder.  Someone hauls out an Ice materia and extinguishes the fire.  Yuki is crying, and when Cloud sits him back down, the boy screams in pain and falls to the ground.  It's only then that Cloud notices the burn on his foot and ankle.  Someone is there almost immediately with a Restore, and in the blink of an eye, most of the burn is gone.  A potion will take care of the rest of the wound, but later.

The guards have followed them outside, their prisoners in tow, and the woman starts cackling when she catches sight of the chaos before her.  "It's too bad," she yells.  "Even if nothing else, I had hoped we could exterminate the vermin from Leviathan's sacred household.  His own daughter has betrayed him!  She's contaminated herself by fucking a man who belongs to Shinra--" She pauses long enough to spit in Cloud's direction, "--and she had the audacity to taint the holy blood of her family by producing that half-breed spawn with him.  Lord Godo should have forced the vile thing from her belly before it drew its first breath!"

Cloud has seen Yuffie kill before.  He's seen her ruthlessly take down a horde of attacking monsters.  He's seen her defeat Shinra troops and members of DeepGround in battle like it's nothing.  The only context in which he's ever seen her take a life, however, is self-defense.  This is most assuredly not self-defense.  This is angry and rough and uncontrolled.  This is Yuffie screaming and grunting with the effort as her shuriken lands home again and again, ripping open flesh and tearing through viscera in an instant.  This is Yuffie not caring that her skin and clothing are covered in a sickening amount of blood and gore.

This is Yuffie taking pleasure in murder for the sake of revenge, and it's the most frightening thing he's ever seen in his life.  The only thing he can do is pull Yuki into his chest so he doesn't have to see it himself, cover his ears to block out the sound of metal ripping through clothing into warm flesh and flinging hot, red blood everywhere.  A few droplets land on Cloud's face and the back of Yuki's shirt.

Yuffie sinks to her knees with a grunt next to the woman's remains, and even at a distance, Cloud can see how much she’s shaking.  She throws the weapon away from her and barks out an execution order for the two men.  The guards only look at each other and shrug before complying, snapping the mens' necks in the practiced, efficient manner he remembers seeing so many officers in Public Security at Shinra trying to perfect.

They quickly survey the extent of the physical damage to the palace, and they find the body of a fourth accomplice in the corner of Yuki's bedroom.  The corpse is pinned to the wall by Yuki's sword, skin black and blistered from the fire. 

"He tried to suffocate me," the boy explains.  "I got away from him, but then he threw a bottle at the other wall and it caught on fire.  And I didn't know what else to do, so I just..."

"It's okay, Yuki," he says, running his hand over his hair and hugging him close.  "You had to protect yourself."

"I could have incapacitated him, though.  I didn't have to kill him.  I'm a ninja.  Ninja are trained to--"

"Sometimes, Yuki," he interrupts, "just sometimes, just once in a great while, it's kill or be killed.  They took that choice away from you when they trapped you like that.  Don't blame yourself."

First kills always weigh on the heart like a heavy stone, and Cloud could only hope that his son will recover well from this horrific event.  He is a strong kid, and Cloud is confident that he will eventually be alright.

Until, that is, Yuki discovers the charred remains of Nanko in a pile of debris that is taken from the room.

-11- "My Lady, I'm sorry," says Yuki's exasperated tutor, "but the Prince is acting very strangely during his lessons as of late.  He has become very argumentative, and the obvious effort he used to put into his work is gone now."

Yuffie sighs and glances over at Cloud.  "This is all your fault, you know.  He inherited your wild adolescent chocobo genes.  We'll have to chain him to a wall to make sure he doesn't try to join SOLDIER."

Cloud rolls his eyes.  "...she says, as if she didn't run away from home around this age and join an eco-terrorist group."

Yuffie shrugs.  "Whatever.  We'll talk to him."

And talk they do, several times when the issues never seem to be resolved, but they can't get down to the heart of the matter.  When they ask what has changed recently to cause him not to enjoy school anymore, he only shrugs.  "Dunno.  Just boring, I guess."

Over the course of the next three months, the apathy worsens, and eventually, Yuki becomes combative about going to school, insisting that he has been taught everything he could possibly need to know, refusing to go sit in a room and be talked at for hours on end, as he describes it.  One day, he even goes so far as to push his tutor out of the way when the man stands in front of the doorway, blocking the only exit that Yuki has.  He had run outside and up the mountain, the tutor tells them frantically, and if that's the case, then there's only one place he can possibly be.

Ever since he was a tiny child, Yuki has been fascinated with the cave at the top of Da-Chao.  He and Yuffie have told him the story of how a fire raged inside for hundreds of years, until they found the scales of Leviathan and extinguished the flames.  He has always been enthralled by the scorch marks on the stone walls, and he would often ask to be told the story over and over again.  Now, he hid in the very back of the cave and let his thoughts wander.  It helped calm him down, he would say, to give him a quiet place to think about his life and everything that happened to him.

So Cloud and Yuffie climb the mountain, and they do indeed find their son inside the cave.  He stands as soon as he sees them, asking, "Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be in trouble?" Yuffie asks sarcastically, crossing her arms.  "You just assaulted someone.  No big deal, right?"

Cloud holds out his hand.  “You'll be in less trouble if you willingly come back down and finish your lessons today.”

He does, but his obvious restlessness about his education doesn't lessen at all.  His grades continue to hover barely above a passing mark, but nothing they do, no punishment, no encouragement or reward, no amount of time spent talking about why school has suddenly become so abhorrent to him or about what they could do to make it less so, makes the situation any less bleak.  One of them suggests moving him to a public school, where the presence of other children his age might help him out of his funk, and although Yuffie's advisers flip their collective shits about the decision, within a week he is enrolled and attending a school that's less than a ten minute walk from the palace.

The improvement in his grades is neither dramatic nor immediate, but when their son comes home with a smile most days and doesn't fight them every morning on whether or not he needs to get out of bed, it's well worth the adjustment.

-1.5- "It's a boy," the midwife says.

-12- Cloud suffers from the occasional sleepless night, and it's never really bothered him.  Most people take spells of insomnia, whether due to stress or illness or anything else, so it's not exactly abnormal.  Usually, he self-medicates with a glass or two of wine and a cake pop binge, but it's not helping at all tonight.  He's scared to pour a third glass, as he and Yuffie have an extremely important meeting in the morning and being hungover isn't the best idea when they're meeting with the leader of a rebel faction who could easily instigate his followers into a death-match against the Empress's army and win.  

What he decides to do in the end is watch television.  Wutai has some of the craziest programs he's ever seen, and at night, he can't say they get any less weird.  But if he's very lucky, which he is tonight, sometimes the wild and crazy bright-flashing-lights sort of game shows are foregone in favor of an eastern movie.  It's dubbed over, of course, but his wutai is more than strong enough by now that he doesn't have any trouble understanding the fast-paced sentences.  He does ponder over a few of the translation choices, but it's all a part of the late-night TV experience.

He's so deeply entrenched in his second movie that he doesn't really hear the door open.  Or rather, he does hear it but doesn't think anything of it.  It's not quite 4 in the morning, and that's around the time when the guards change shifts, so he's not worried.  If one of them forgot something in the house or simply wants to take a shortcut through the kitchen to get back home, he's not going to say anything.

The odd thing about it is...why aren't any of the other guards coming through the house?  There's never just one poking around during a shift change.  Usually it's all of them coming in at once, a dozen people exchanging information and gossip and news and anything and everything else.   Right now, Cloud can only hear one set of footsteps making their way very slowly and deliberately up the hallway, and that cannot be good.  Because from the way the sound reverberates, whoever this is is trying to sneak into...

Cloud jumps up as fast as he can and races back to his son's bedroom, the memory of the fire and of Yuki's injuries and his wife's bloodthirsty, determined face springing to mind.  He can't let anyone else hurt Yuki, he just can't, he can't lose anyone else ever again, not like last time, please Aerith please, please, please, just let Yuki be okay, let his son be okay--!

Yuki is fine.  He's covered in a mixture of body paint, sweat, and glitter, but he's okay.  He jumps when Cloud barges into the room, which is more than understandable considering he's in the middle of undressing and has exposed the hot pink lipstick smear someone has pressed to his stomach.  “Dad, stop it!” he hisses, yanking his shirt back over his chest and turning away very quickly.  “Just get out!”

He does, but there will be no letting anything he saw go without comment and explanation.  He waits for a bit and knocks at the door again.  “Yuki, I'm not leaving.”

After almost ten minutes, the door is finally opened for him.  Yuki is clean once again and has changed into his pajamas, but there's a distinct scent in the air that lingers on him.  Cloud can't quite figure out what it is.  He sits down beside the boy, intent on talking about why he found him sneaking back into his rooms at this time of night and where on Gaia he had been to get so filthy, but the stench knocks him over, takes his breath away.  All of a sudden, he's back in Nibelheim, 16 years old and watching helplessly from inside a body he can no longer control as he's dumped into a tank filled with mako and left to die.  He shakes the memory from his head, but the scent is still there and it's coming from Yuki.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Cloud notes.

Those dark eyes, exactly like his mother's, look away from him and roll.  “So?”

“So,” Cloud replies, worried and disgusted at the same time with a hint of anger roiling underneath his skin, “there's only one reason for that.”

“You're so clever, aren't you?”

“This is serious, Yuki!  How long have you been using mako?”

Recreational mako use was nothing new, but for obvious reasons, it was thought to be a thing of the past.  Apparently not.  Cloud couldn’t say he’d never done it himself as a teenager in Midgar, where tiny vials of the stuff could be purchased on nearly every street corner both above and below the Plate so long as there was no one from Public Security on patrol.  It gave the regular folks of the world a small taste of what it felt like to be a SOLDIER, a high that included temporarily enhanced senses and a ton of synthetic confidence.  It wore off fairly quickly, and first-time users were often left with nausea and a killer headache after they crashed.

Yuki didn’t seem to be exhibiting those symptoms, so Cloud could only assume it wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

Not much was known about the side effects of what was effectively a self-administered mako injection not dissimilar to the ones SOLDIERs received at Shinra.  They were much weaker, of course, but most off-label uses before this involved mixing other illegal substances with mako to enhance the high.  This stuff was diluted, sure, but it was still mako, straight from the Planet. Who the hell knew what this could do to a person’s body with prolonged exposure?

And his own son is shooting it into his veins, slowly destroying himself from the inside out.  Cloud is determined to put a stop to this even if that means locking Yuki away from the world until the storm has passed.  He will not let his son waste his life like this.  He will not take the chance that Yuki has inherited his susceptibility toward mako poisoning and could be only one high away from slipping into a coma, or worse.

Yuki shrugs, still looking away from him.  “Why do you even care?” 

“Maybe because I'm your father,” he replies, “and I don't want to see anything bad happen to you.”

His son scoffs.  “It was just a party, Dad.  Not a big deal.”

“No, it is a big deal,” he counters, taking hold of his son's shoulders and forcing Yuki to face him.  “Do you have any idea how dangerous mako is?  What it could do to you one day?  You're fourteen years old, Yuki; this stuff could kill you.”

Yuki still isn't meeting his eyes.  “Fuck you, okay?” he grunts, shaking himself out of Cloud's arms.  He stands up and takes a few steps away.  “I just wanted to feel like a normal kid for once in my life.”

Cloud ignores the swearing.  He can tell they are getting close to the root of the problem, and that's more important.  He'd said “normal kid”; is this about rebelling from the expectations and pressure put on him as the prince?  Yuffie's counselors and advisers are sometimes quite harsh with Yuki under the pretense of preparing him for inheriting the throne.  In reality, Cloud knows that at least some of it is due to the fact that he is half-eastern.  Yuki will be the first mixed-race emperor Wutai has ever seen, and none of the officials can really agree if the country is ready for him or not.  They themselves aren't ready for him, because most of them still cling so tightly to the traditional aristocrat's idea that non-Wutai are somehow beneath them, and that mixed blood is tainted.  

He remembers the speech one of the extremists gave the night Yuki was attacked, and although he hasn't heard anything of the sort with his own ears, he has heard rumors from some of the residential workers that certain of Yuffie's advisers had been disappointed that his son survived.  It's no secret that they all hate Cloud, but being unable to take it out on him directly, they poke, prod, question, and attempt to forcibly mold Yuki into the kind of ruler they want him to be, to make sure that his undesirable eastern heritage doesn't interfere with his ability to competently govern his people.

Cloud can't say he doesn't empathize.  “Normal kids don't do drugs, Yuki.”

The boy lets out a loud grunt, slamming his fists down on his desk.  His back is still turned to Cloud as he screams, “But normal kids know if they're a boy or girl!”

The silence that follows that statement is embarrassingly long, and it takes Cloud much longer than it should to understand what his son is saying, to parse the words and formulate an intelligent response.  A boy or a girl?  What in the world does gender have to do with anything?  His mouth is hanging open slightly, and he's peripherally aware of Yuki turning towards him and glaring at him, the sharp gaze falling heavy and intrusive on his skin as his son awaits some kind of response.  When he can form words, all Cloud can manage is, “So...you’re trans?”

Yuki's eyes drop, and his entire form goes slack as he sits down on top of his desk.  “Yeah?  No.  I don't know!”  A sigh escapes him, and when the boy looks back up at him, his dark eyes are shining with tears. “I don't know, okay?”

This is serious, but Cloud has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to do.  Comfort his son, of course, but beyond that?  No idea.  So he does the only thing he can think to do and hugs Yuki.  “Hey, nugget, it's okay,” he whispers into the boy's hair. “Don't cry, alright?  You don't have to have yourself figured out just yet.  Nobody's gonna pressure you to be anything you're not.  Just take some time and—”

“Everybody pressures me,” Yuki interrupts.  “Maybe you don't notice it, but I do!  Everybody calls me a guy, calls me the prince, or calls me your son, and sometimes it feels so wrong that I just want to punch them!  But then it's like...other times, I don't care, you know?  It feels okay to be called a boy.   But it makes me so frustrated, because where do I get off being angry at people when I don't even know what I am?”  

Cloud is completely out of his depth here, but he can't let it show.  He can't let his discomfort show, lest Yuki take it as a sign that his struggle is unfounded.  He can't let Yuki think that he's being rejected, that this moment of uncertainty is grounds for any amount of distrust or hatred from his parents.  Because it's just the opposite.  Right now more than ever, Yuki needs him, needs strength from his father to make it through this without breaking down, and he's not going to let his child suffer alone just because he's unsure of himself, unsure if he even can help, unsure if he'll only make things worse.  The pressure to be a perfect father was immense, but Yuki didn't need him to be perfect.  Yuki just needed him to be there, to hold him when he thinks the world's coming to an end, and to make sure he knows he's strong enough to come through it.

What he decides to do, when Yuki has mostly stopped crying, is to take to the worldwide network.  Cloud turns on the boy's laptop and opens up a browser page to the Moogle search engine.  He coaxes Yuki onto his lap and tells him to type and search, that they'd try to find an answer together.  And he does, and they spend hours there reading articles and watching videos and, most importantly, talking about what Yuki thinks about everything he's reading. 

Eventually they come across a page that lists a variety of different gender identities.  It begins with cisgender, which Yuki is vehemently sure he is not, and transgender, which they've already marked off the list as well.  Then there's non-binary, a term they'd encountered earlier that Yuki had taken a liking to.  As they read on, though, they discover the word genderqueer, and a few minutes later, genderfluid.

Yuki's eyes light up.  Cloud can almost feel how excited he is with every word he reads.  He gets through to the end of the paragraph and says, “That's it, Dad.  That's me.  It's—that's exactly what I feel like.”

“Okay,” Cloud replies, feeling incredibly relieved himself.  He can't even begin to imagine what his son feels like right now.  He's grinning ear to ear, and it's the most beautiful thing Cloud has ever seen.  “Genderfluid.  Alright.  Have you been thinking anymore about pronouns yet?  Not that you have to decide right now, but—”

“No, yeah, I think...I think I like 'they.'  Yeah.  'They' and 'them.'  That feels pretty good.”

Cloud nods, but before he can say anything else, before he can assure Yuki that changing his mind later is always an option if he needs to, Yuki's stomach growls audibly.  He can't help but laugh.  He's getting a little hungry himself.  Glancing at the clock, he notices that it's nearly 7am already.  “Hey, you know what we should do?  We should take my bike and go down to that 24-hour diner for breakfast.  Just you and me.”

Yuki's eyes glisten with mischievous pleasure.  He looks exactly like his mother.  “Mom will kill you when she finds out we went without her.”

He gives his child a wink.  “I won't tell if you won't.”

-1.6- "It's a boy."

-13- Although he does his best, it's hard at first to overwrite the part of his brain that thinks of his child as "he."  He's honestly pretty bad at remembering to use Yuki's pronouns in the beginning, but eventually he starts catching himself before the "he" can escape his mouth and replaces it with "they."  It's awkward at first, because every time he messes up, he can't help but think how hurt Yuki must be, can't help but cringe and hope that this mistake won't be the last straw for his child, the moment when they give up on ever being accepted by their own family.

A few months after the initial introduction of his child's preferred pronouns, he sits Yuki down after a particularly tense and silent dinner and apologizes.  "I know it's important, and I really am trying, I promise.  It's just hard sometimes."

Yuki nods, but he--no, they--won't look at him.  "Yeah."

"Are we still okay?" Cloud asks, putting an arm around his child's shoulders.

"...yeah."

"You don't sound too sure."

The silence hangs between them for a long time, which tells Cloud that, no, they're not still okay.  There's something else Yuki wants to get off their chest, and even though Cloud wants them both to clear the air about everything, the choice to speak up has to be Yuki's.  If not tonight, then maybe another day, but now that Cloud knows something is bothering them, he can't let it fester for very long.

Just as he's about to press a kiss to their forehead and tell them they don't have to talk right now, they whisper, "I miss Nanko, that's all."

Cloud pauses, uncertain of how to proceed.  The subject of Nanko is a touchy one, hard to maneuver without making Yuki intensely upset or viciously angry.  He tests the waters with, "Nanko was very important to you.  Makes sense you would miss them."

"I guess."

"But..." and he can only hope as he runs his fingers over his child's hair that this doesn't end badly, "...you don't need Nanko anymore, right?"

Yuki shrugs.  "Guess not."

"And if you hadn't lost them--"

"You used to make fun of Nanko."

There it is.  This is the source of Yuki's discomfort, and Cloud has been trying to work out what he would say about this subject for months now.  "I did," he answers, meeting their eyes even though it’s the last thing he wants to do.  He wants to say more, to explain everything and apologize again all at once, but he pauses to let Yuki finish expressing himself.  Themself.

"You and Mom used to make fun of them right in front of me.  And then you laughed when I got angry."

"Yes."

"You thought Nanko's gender stuff was a joke."

"I did."

"So...do you think I'm a joke too?"

Cloud's heart starts pounding.  He can't just say, "Oh no, of course not, Yuki!" and move on, because that won't help anything.  And pointing out that Cloud had been the one to help him find the terminology and the language with which he could express his gender identity, although strictly speaking the truth, is bound to only make things worse.  Cloud has done severely wrong by his child, and it's not something he can ever fix.  Unintentionally, he's left scars on Yuki's heart that will maybe fade over the years, but they will never go away.  He can only take ownership of his mistakes, admit them instead of dismissing Yuki's very valid fears and concerns, and focus on changing his behavior in the future.

So he hugs Yuki close, lays a kiss on their forehead, and says, "I'm sorry for the things I did and the way I acted when you were little.  There was no excuse for it.  If I could go back and change it, I would, Yuki, in a heartbeat.  But I can't.  Instead, all I can do is make sure I respect your identity from now on.  And I do.  I know that sexuality can be fluid; it only makes sense that gender can be too, and I wish I had realized that before.  You're not a joke, nugget.  Don't let anyone ever treat you like you are, especially not your mom or me.  All I ask is that you continue to be patient with us while we relearn how to think about you, and that you never, ever let us get away with misgendering you.  Because if we're allowed to, then your friends will think they are, too, and so will your teachers, and Mom's advisers, and the entire country.  You'll be in charge one day, and I don't want you to have to fight to be respected then.  So start fighting right now, and begin at home."

He can't quite see Yuki's face, but five minutes goes by very slowly as neither speak, and when they raise their head from his shoulder, there is a small damp spot in his shirt.  "Thanks, Dad," Yuki says.

"I love you, nugget," he responds, and although Yuki just nods on his--their--way out of the room, Cloud feels like a weight has been lifted off of him.  

He hopes Yuki feels it too.

-14- "So, I've been thinking, right?  About what my legal titles will be when I inherit the throne.  I need you and mom to go to bat for me with the advisers, because I'm not just a son of Leviathan, you know?  But it's too wordy to say 'sometimes a son, sometimes a daughter of Leviathan,' that's a crap title.  So this is what I came up with instead: 'Their Imperial Majesty, Kisaragi Yuki, Child of Leviathan, Sacred Ninja of Da-Chao, and Rightful Emprex of Wutai.'  Will they go for Emprex, you think?  I mean, I could use 'Ruler' instead, but I kind of like the sound of Emprex.  It was a pain in the ass to get them to call me Heir, and I guess I'm willing to compromise about Emprex, but at the same time, I should get the final say, right?  It'll be my country, and it's my title.  Why can't they just use gender-neutral language all the time, anyway?  Wouldn't it make things so much simpler in the long run?"

-1.7- "It's a boy."

No.

Yuki is a healthy newborn, perfect and tiny and the most beautiful thing on the Planet, and that's all that Cloud has ever asked for.  Son or daughter, neither or both--it doesn't matter.  They are his child, and he will love them with everything in his entire being until the day he dies.

-15- For their 17th birthday, Cloud buys Yuki a teddy bear.  Well, he can't actually go out and make the purchase himself, because his health doesn't allow it, but he commissions Yuki's bodyguard Jun to do it, gives her explicit instructions on what he wants, and tells her not to bother with anything that isn't perfect.  In the end, she can't find anything to suit his specifications, and so he calls Tifa, still living in Edge, to see if she can help him.  He can hear her smile when he tells her what he wants, and she lets him know that a specialty shop recently opened in town that lets people custom-build a stuffed animal.  As long as she can find the right kind of ribbon, it should be relatively simple.

The finished product arrives two days before the party.  Cloud opens the box to inspect its contents, and he hasn't been this happy in months.  He undoes the ribbon around the bear's neck, attaching the small charm he bought weeks ago, and ties it back.

It's perfect.

Later on that night, after the main part of the party is over, after the food has been eaten, after the advisers and counselors and public officials and other Important People of Wutai have offered up (as Yuki calls it) their “politically-correct, ass-kissing gifts”, the Imperial family has their own celebration.  Cloud has managed, with some help from Yuffie, to get up from his wheelchair and have a seat next to his child.  The nurse assigned to him for the day protests, but he waves her concerns off.  Yuki looks happy to see him up and about, but there's a certain sadness behind it.  Everyone in this room knows it's only a matter of time before he dies, but none of them are willing to admit it.  

His doctors tell him that he shouldn't give up fighting, but he knows he won't make it to Yuki's next birthday, so he has to make this one count.

He saves his gift for last, and the emotion that crosses Yuki's face as they unwrap it gives him chills.  Tears well up in their eyes as they grip the teddy bear in their hands.  Cloud puts an arm around his child, and they melt into his side, unable to control their emotions.

The bear is as identical to Nanko as possible, with one change.  The ribbon around the bear's neck is now a color gradient, rather than the neutral-palette plaid of the original.  The colors might not seem significant—pink fading into purple merging into blue—but Yuki immediately understands.  And the charm Cloud has attached to the ribbon is unique as well: an emblem that blended the stereotypical male and female symbols with an infinity sign.  

When Yuki is nearly composed again, Cloud asks, “Any thoughts about a name?”

Yuki hums thoughtfully, holding the bear out in front of them and considering it very seriously.  “I think...Jiikyu.”

Cloud smiles, immediately recognizing the source of the name.  Jiikyu, as in GQ.  Genderqueer.  “That's an awesome name,” he says, laying a kiss on their forehead.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome, Yuki.” 

#;;yuki #;;mom #;;dad #;;nanko #;;headcanon #;;backstory