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babyleostuff · 2 months

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jealousy, jealousy | choi seungcheol

fluff (+ a bit of angst) 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!cheol x gn!reader 𐙚 wc: 1.1k

. . . seungcheol getting jealous of a fictional character

“cheol, it’s just a fictional character,” you sighed, trying to explain for the tenth time since you got out of the movie theatre that, yes - the main lead was hot, but no - you wouldn’t ever leave seungcheol for him.

sometimes you wondered if he was turning thirty or ten next year.

you didn’t mean to be all heart eyes at the movies, but it wasn’t your fault the main lead was good looking, not that it even mattered - seungcheol had his celebrity crushes too, but you didn’t go around and whine about it. “you know it doesn’t mean anything, baby,” reaching over, you ran your fingers through his hair, like you always did whenever he was stressed or anxious, turning him into a puddle in your arms in a second.

“mhm,” your boyfriend mumbled, and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter, not sparing you a single glance. you sighed and dropped your hand.

any other time you’d find this situation quite amusing - cheol jealous of a fictional character you happened to gush over, if not for the fact that you knew exactly how this would end.

with a silent treatment and an extremely pouty boyfriend.

normally you found that side of him very endearing, but dealing with a jealous coups was not an easy task, partially because your boyfriend happened to be one of the most stubborn people in the world.

now it was him and his pout against the world.

“you know i love you,” you said, and turned your body away from him towards the window.

if he was going to act like a child, then so be it.

“i’m a fucking idiot” seungcheol grumbled to himself, pulling his shirt over his head with a bit too much force, hitting himself in the head in the process. “fuck.”

he couldn’t get the image of your soft gaze and gentle voice out of his head, when you tried to cheer him up in the car after he acted like a complete asshole. he was the last person that deserved your sweet affection, and he was so mad at himself for acting like a fucking toddler instead of pulling the car over and throwing himself into your arms to beg for forgiveness.

“are you okay?” suddenly your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. you peeked through the door, and rubbed your eyes, already wearing his t-shirt that you always wore to sleep. the genuine concern in your eyes, and your adorably sleepy expression made seungcheol want to bang his head against the wall.

how could he be so stupid, and get jealous and angry at you for finding a fictional character attractive?

"uh, i'm fine, i just hit my head," he said quietly, not really looking at you. usually you’d immediately coo at him, and kiss the spot where he hit himself - of course you knew how much seungcheol loved your attention when he injured himself, even if it was just a scratch, but now he could only watch as you nodded and left without a word.

he sighed, picking up his toothbrush to finish up his bedtime routine. there was no way he’d sleep in your bed tonight, seungcheol wouldn’t be able to lay next to you knowing how much he hurt you.

besides, there was so way you’d allow him to cuddle you after how he acted, and that was something he would not be able to stand.

looking at his reflection in the mirror for the last time, seungcheol turned all of the lights in the bathroom, and padded over to your shared bedroom to take his pillow, and a blanket from the closet.

he’d take the couch, it’d be less painful than sleeping in the same bed without being able to hug you.

“what are you doing?” you suddenly asked, your voice laced with sleep. you pushed yourself up to take a better look at your boyfriend, who was standing at his side of the bed with what looked like his pillow and a blanket, his expression reminiscing one of a kicked puppy. “you have to be kidding me, choi seungcheol.”

you looked so disappointed, and… annoyed? that was his last straw, and fuck every part of his dignity he had left - he’d beg on his knees for you forgiveness if that’s what it took.

“ ‘m sorry, okay?” he said, his voice breaking. you could bet that if you turned the lights you’d see your boyfriend all teary eyed, not that it would surprise you - seungcheol was usually quite emotional when it came to you and your fights.

“i know there was no reason for me to get jealous and act like the biggest asshole about it, you didn’t deserve any of it,” he gripped the pillow tighter as if it would help. “and then i got so embarrassed of myself, i didn’t have the guts to tell you how sorry i was. please forgive me baby, i’m so sorry.”

“oh, cheol,” you sighed and opened your arms. without a second thought, the boy threw the pillow aside and ran into your embrace, his strong arms wrapping tightly around your waist as if he was afraid that you were about to run away.

“i'm not mad at you,” you pressed your cheek against the side of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. “okay, maybe i was at first, but that's only because you seriously act like a child sometimes.” seungcheol groaned, as if he didn’t know that already.

you sat like that for a moment - your arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, with his head buried in your neck where he placed gentle kisses, just like the fight never happened.

"did you seriously want to go to sleep on the couch?" you asked, kissing his forehead.

cheol leaned back, revealing the pouty lips, and his big doe eyes you knew so well. you could swear some day he’d be the death of you. "yeah, i wanted to. that was the plan," he admitted shyly, his thumbs running over your exposed hip.

"you're so dramatic, cheollie," you sighed and shook your head, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "why didn't you want to sleep with me, though?"

your boyfriend groaned again, hiding in your neck like it was his safe space, pushing you back onto the bed with the force that he tackled you in. "i wouldn't be able to cuddle you," he murmured after a short while, like he was scared to admit it.

"again, i didn't hear you." the truth was you heard him perfectly fine, but what was better than making your usually confident boyfriend shy and blushy.

"i wouldn’t be able to cuddle you!" he huffed, looking at you again. "happy?"

"very much, darling," you smiled at him. “now stop being a drama queen, and come to bed.”

seungcheol nodded like a child that was just promised an ice cream, and scrambled out of your embrace, quickly grabbing his pillow from the ground. you smiled to yourself, watching your big teddy bear of a boyfriend crawl back into bed.

“no more fighting, okay?” you murmured, your cheek pressed against his chest. “we just wasted a perfectly fine afternoon on your whining, you big baby.”

seungcheol knew you didn’t mean to make him feel bad about what happened, he was sure you were probably used to his antics by now, but it didn’t change the fact that if it was up to him he’d spend the night worshipping you in every way he could just to show you how much he loved you.

“i’m really sorry.”

“it’s okay baby. let’s just sleep, yeah?” you said, and snuck your hand under his t-shirt, dragging you nails over his tummy. “and you know i’m yours, right? and that won’t change. ever.”

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attapullman · 1 month

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Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend.

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps.

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you.

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix.

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always.

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation.

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher.

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar.

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men.

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin.

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest.

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after.

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out.

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor.

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along.

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock.

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly.

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck.

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited.

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers.

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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nvuy · 25 days

Text

so… about that drink you ordered — boothill

summary. boothill has a pity party at a bar and notices a familiar face that he wants to smash into two.

notes. sort of requested official unofficial sequel sort of to hijacked. you can read this stand alone. not saying you should, though. teehee. this is so uninspired. i just like this concept a lot. i also just like rivals to lovers. i’m also riding on the coattails of the “boothill is largely illiterate.” whether it’s actually canon or not who knows. let me be. he’s still not released LMAOOOO.

warnings. the usual banter, little bit of threatening, but nothing major.

Boothill was at a loss. The mission was a bust, there was no response from La Mancha, and the dreamscape was beginning to grind his gears. So many loud noises, the poster signs were following him around, and this so-called SoulGlad was not as good as it was advertised to be.

This bar sucked, too. The bartender had been giving him the stink eye for the better half of an hour now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to sick him right in the face for it, break his nose, and give him a beating.

The bartender wasn’t scrawny, though. Some big bulk of meat with tired eyes, scruff and mousy brown hair. His chest looked like it was about to pop the buttons of his vest. Dude looks absolutely repressed. Probably works minimum wage.

The bartender abandons a blue inky pen and his notebook that Boothill snoops in. Nothing interesting. Just pages of tabs and tabs of people he doesn’t know, nor care about.

There’s music from the stereos in the corners, though surprisingly, considering it’s not a club—that one is next door. It’s a conjoined building. The only thing seperating the bar and the VIP private rooms of the club is a wall and a locked door. Comforting—and Boothill would have lost his mind already.

It’s also dark. Granted, it’s two in the morning, but the low lights can’t be good for normal people. Not to mention the group of women in the corner that have been hoarding the few slot machines for about thirty minutes now.

Every so often, a chime will go off, and one of them will start busting into tears.

He’s here alone. Not for any particular reason. He’s waiting for a response from somebody, and what better way to pass the time than people watch and pretend he’s not nosy.

Also he feels super important sitting at the counter of the bar.

He almost jumps at a whisper in his ear.

A reddish drink in a ribbed coupe glass is gently dropped onto the counter space beside him. There’s a cucumber slice on the rim, and it also looks like it’s been dusted with sugar.

Boothill turns his nose up. Gross.

The bartender glances at the figure who slots into the seat next to the ranger. “Can I get you something else?”

“Hard whiskey.”

Huh. His eyes snapped to the right. Very familiar. Almost unnervingly so. Just in case, he scoots himself away by an inch, sitting closer to the edge of the barstool.

The bartender blinks, unsure as he pulls a tumbler from the rack. “For you?”

A finger prods the Ranger’s cheek. “For him.”

There’s a zap from the finger, like a small electric shock. Like static charged from the friction of the weird material of the barstools.

“Thanks, Gal.”

“No amount of flirting is gonna make me clear your tab,” Gallagher warned before sliding the whiskey over to the Ranger. Boothill had barely moved, now acutely aware of his own face plastered on a wanted poster behind the bartender’s head. “Try not showin’ up here frequently. Bad for my image if I keep serving crooks.” He points to the Ranger, and then to you. “Both of you.”

The bartender then is called over by a group of women who are giggling at a booth in the corner.

Boothill was sure he was going to lean forward and scrap with you over the counter. He could already feel the terse skin of your neck in his hands.

“You followin’ me?”

“You followed me first,” you say harshly.

The ranger let out a laugh before picking up his drink. “It was only a job. If you got offended, that’s your problem.” He then holds the glass close. “You g’nna do that thing again?”

“‘Thing?’” you repeated.

There was a smug grin on your face. You rested the chin in the palm of your hand.

Oh. He was so going to throw you over the counter and smash a bottle over your head. “Y’know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t play stupid.”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Boop.”

Your finger pressed to his chest. You snickered when he stared down at the brief flashing of yellow beneath his joints.

Then, you flit your finger upwards and flick his nose.

He grabs your hand with the intent of pulling it from its socket.

“Now, that’s a dangerous game to play,” you remind him. “I’ve got you in my hands, remember?” Your free hand lets go of your glass, and there’s a small flash of yellow light on the pads of the gloves on your hands. A flicker is all it takes to showcase his entire makeup in your palm. You spin it slowly for good measure.

Then, the image disappears and you snatch your wrist from his hand.

“What do you want?” Boothill mutters. He’s absentmindedly staring into his drink while swishing it around. The ice cubes softly tap against the glass.

“Insight. You’re a Galaxy Ranger, right?” He can’t lie to you anyway. You pretty much know everything about him. Your main profession is definitely stalking and being a thorn in his side. Your fingers held his chin up softly. “Tell me about it.”

He blinks, dazed. “That’s it?”

“No.”

He removes your hand from his chin. He holds his glass protectively. “Then quit pullin’ my leg. Cut to the good bit.”

You sigh. “You’re no fun. Do you come to bars just to mope?” You pull a dramatic frown for good measure.

“Do you come to bars to piss everyone off?” he shoots back. Despite his tone, his fingers are gentle around the glass. Any more firm a hold, and the drink would shatter and spill all over the counter.

You grin.

You tap his nose again. “Just you.” Then, you shake your head. “I’m here ‘cause I got a bar crush.” You then point to a table behind Boothill’s head in the corner. “Blondie with the nice eyes and the rings.”

After a moment's hesitation, the ranger turns and follows your finger.

Sure enough, you’re not convincing him to spin around so you can shove your hand into his sockets. There is a blond man at a table dressed in green, winking at an opponent over a game of… poker? Is that poker? The game with the chips and stuff. And dice, too. They’re thrown over a board, and there’s a couple of people who have tuned in to watch the entire thing unfold.

“His name is Aventurine. Or, that’s a code name, I think. He’s Sigonian. Works for the IPC, incredibly insecure, has a gambling addiction, needs to eat lead…” You stopped short, counting on your fingers as Boothill turns back to you. “Isn’t he dreamy?”

Boothill narrows his eyes at you. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

You shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.” Then, you make a noise. “Eh, I’m lying. Lots of people are boring. I only know the basics ‘bout most of ‘em. It’s the higher ups I’m interested in. Case in point–” You gestured to the blond man again, now scanning over his cards. “–Mister Big Shot. And all his loser coworkers. I don’t like the IPC.”

Boothill quietly sips his drink.

At least you can both agree on something.

He wants to yawn. He doesn’t have the function to do that anymore.

You talk too much.

He cuts you off, and fiddles with a few buttons on his arm. “What can you tell me–” A small image of a woman projects into view from a small lens near his wrist. “–About her?”

You lean closer to the image. Pretty.

She has lovely purple hair and eyes to match. It’s an unassuming photo. She’s not even looking at the camera, not even close to it. She’s standing next to a little boy with sparkling eyes and a uniform that starkly resembles the hotel staff in the waking world of Penacony—oh, the bellboy. You forgot his name.

You hum. “What’s her name?”

“Acheron.” He spits it nastily, as if tasting vitriol on his tongue.

You lean back against the counter. “I’d have to dig deeper. Can’t say I’ve seen her around before.”

“Well, that’s disappointin’,” he huffs before the image shrinks and disappears back into the lens. “Thought you were better than that.”

Your brows knit together.

“Are you trying to rile me up?” It was working. Curse you and your hot-head. It would get you killed one day.

Boothill grins.

Then, he raises his glass to you. “Yep.”

You wanted to pull him apart right there, like a doll.

Instead, you whisper, “tell me about La Mancha.”

Boothill casually sips the whiskey. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll dig up whatever I can find about that Acheron girl.”

Boothill then lets out a small giggle. “I already know who she is.” He wasn’t lying either. You could tell by how he grinned. “I was testin’ ya.”

Oh, great. He’s figured you out again. Not that there’s much to decode beneath the layer of self-doubt and hostility.

You could feel your face burning.

He grabs your cheeks before you can turn away.

“You ain’t here ‘cause you got some ‘puppy crush,’” he accused playfully, squishing your skin like it’s clay. “You already told me ya know everything about blondie. Who’re you really here for?”

He’s not stupid.

He’s also twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.

God damnit.

Your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass. The cucumber slice has since fallen into the cosmopolitan, and it’s giving the entire drink a strange watery taste.

The bar carries on. There’s a hoot from the table with blondie, who’s now, since the last time you stared daggers into the side of his head, collected some more of his poor opponent’s chips.

You pull your face from his grip. “Nobody.”

“Not even me?” Boothill presses. “You seem to love followin’ me around. In and out the dreamscape.”

You grit your teeth.

“The bartender,” you mutter finally. “I’m here for the bartender.” Currently, Gallagher is half asleep on the other side of the counter, trying to negotiate with some drunkard over the pricing of a scotch.

You eye him warily for a moment.

“There it is.” He pats your head like a dog. “Knew you’d come ‘round, pumpkin.”

You’re trembling with rage. “Kiss my ass, you cyborg scum.” You were considering throwing a punch at his perfect face.

“Rude.” Boothill flicks your nose back and you grunt. “I’m tryin’ to be nice wit’ you. You followed me here.”

You wanted to leave now. He sucks when he knows he has the upper hand, even if he’s well aware you can make his arms tear his own head off.

But you’re not going to do that. You need him. You made that clear.

The sound of a slot machine goes off somewhere to the right. There's cheering from a bunch of women.

You turn back and stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Maybe you should just knock yourself out. Whether by downing an entire bottle of bourbon or smashing it over your head. It was a hard choice to make.

You watch him through your peripherals, noticing he’s pinched a napkin from the pile on the counter.

“Lookin’ very pretty tonight, by the way. Hard to keep my eyes off ya.” He was writing something down with the pen from before. “If you were anyone else, I woulda had to take ya home. ‘Specially after ya bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then, you pause. “Excuse me?”

Boothill folds the napkin into a square and holds it to your lips. “Open.”

“You are not–”

Too late. He’s pushed it to your teeth, and you instinctively clamp down on it.

Oh, this sucks. This sucks bad.

He knows it, too, from the way he’s grinning at you like a shark and snickering.

He presses his warm lips to your cheek. The scent of whiskey faintly wafts in the air.

You stupidly freeze, hands curled around his wrists when his cold hands tilt your head so the tip of his tongue can press to the corner of your lips. You could stop him. You could.

You didn’t.

You smell like strawberry, the same as that other night. You look just as good, too. Shame you haven’t put anything on your lips. He would’ve loved to be stained a nice pink again.

He slides his whiskey next to you.

Then, he finishes what’s left of your drink. Dickhead. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me.” He taps your nose and stands up. “You know where to find me.”

With a tilt of his hat, he leaves.

You pull the napkin from your teeth. Are you serious?

Face burning with humiliation, you hastily unfold the tissue, fingers shaking around the glass of whiskey. It’s heavy on your tongue; disgusting, bitter, everything you’d use to describe that stupid cowboy and his abomination of a body.

Scrawled in blue ink is a line of numbers. It looked suspiciously like a phone number.

Below it in blocky letters are the words: Keep In touc H. ♡

There’s a crudely drawn horse with a hat in the corner.

#$. the macrocosmos #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill #hsr x you

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

hiii!! i love your writing so much i think i’ve read every single thing you’ve ever posted. i’m genuinely obsessed 🫶🫶 i was wondering if you could write something where the reader and remus have been dating/talking for a little while and she hasn’t had her first kiss yet and she starts to get nervous everytime she thinks he’s abt to kiss her and she runs away?? i’m ngl this is based off of very real events in my life 😭😭

i love you so much!! hope your doing amazing

Hi gorgeous, thanks so much! This is soooo relatable of you haha, I have a library of hilarious stories about my very hyper friend who kept literally springing away from guys she liked who were trying to kiss her, but it does make for some very interesting (and often very sweet) conversations!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

On your first official date with Remus, the two of you went to a drive-in movie. You kept your seatbelt on the entire time.

You only realized halfway through, mentally kicking yourself for being so jittery you’d lost all sense of normalcy, but by then it felt too late. It’d be awkward to take it off halfway through the movie, try to play that off as casual. You’d made your bed. You didn’t unbuckle until Remus dropped you off at your house at the end of the night.

On your second date, you’re determined to be less uptight. You want him to know that you really do like him, even if your nerves make you jump and flinch whenever he gets close. At the Italian restaurant, it’s difficult to find a pasta dish without garlic, but you manage it. You’re a girl with an agenda. The two of you split a chocolate cake for dessert. It’s delicious, probably, though you can’t focus on much besides Remus’ story and the way his mouth moves as he tells it. How he tucks one corner of his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s trying to hide a smile.

You have to hope belatedly that you haven’t somehow smeared chocolate all over your face while eating. You’re not at all confident you would’ve noticed.

It’s a short walk back to your place, and you manage to jabber the whole way, a masterclass in self-sabotage. Remus doesn’t seem to mind, his hand light and cordial on your back as he guides you up the steps to your door. You savor the touch. It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to spring away.

“It sounds really interesting,” he says graciously as you finish your tangent about the book you’ve just read. “I’ll have to pick up a copy.”

“I can lend you mine,” you offer. “Maybe I can bring it the next time we hang out?” Your voice tips up hopefully at the end of the question, and warmth touches your cheeks.

A similar pinkening spreads across Remus’ freckles. He smiles at you, the scar across his lip stretching. You’re spellbound.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You might be imagining it, but you could swear his eyes flit to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says. “I really like talking to you.”

Your voice is soft. “I like talking to you, too.”

He takes a step towards you, and it’s like your muscles stage a coup. You take an involuntary step backward, a smile plastering itself uncomfortably on your face.

“Thanks for everything,” you say brightly. “Goodnight!”

You spin and go for the door handle, and you’re nearly inside before you hear Remus’ quiet “Wait.”

You turn. Lead in your bones.

Remus is holding his palms up as if to show you he’s got no weapon.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just wanted to…you know I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to, right?”

You’re frozen stiff.

“Like, even if I thought there was a chance you didn’t want to, I would never…” He shakes his head, looking lost. Guilt settles like a stone in your gut. “I guess I’m a bit confused. If you don’t want to do anything, that’s completely fine, but sometimes it seems like you want me to kiss you, and then you don’t…”

“Rem,” you say. You feel like you’re breathing through a straw. “Remus, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, it’s not your fault—”

“No, it is. It’s not—I don’t want you to think I’m scared of you or anything. I’m not, it’s just, I get skittish.” You can’t make yourself look at his eyes, your gaze stuck just shy of his chin. Your face feels aflame. “It’s not you. I’m just nervous.”

“Oh.” It’s a soft thing, more exhale than anything. Then his fingers curl under your chin, tipping your face up. “Well, you can relax, love. I was never going to make a move unless I got a clear signal from you first. But we can just take that off the table completely, if you’d like.” He gives you a small, gentle smile. “I only want you to feel comfortable.”

Your heart zings right up into your throat. “I do feel comfortable,” you blurt. “I don’t want it off the table.”

Remus’ eyebrows flick upwards. “You don’t?”

“No,” you murmur, bashful.

His eyebrows come slowly back down, puckering slightly as he tries to figure you out. His eyes narrow until his lashes kiss. His tongue pokes into his cheek, just a little. You miss nothing. You find yourself taking in a quiet breath, steeling yourself.

You move across that tiny bit of air between you and find him there waiting.

It’s everything you could’ve hoped for and yet startlingly simple. Remus’ lips are warm and soft, pressing into yours with an intensity that you suspect is nonetheless restrained for your benefit. He tastes like chocolate cake.

His mouth meanders over to the corner of your lips, granting one quick peck to your cheek before making its way back to the center of your mouth, reverent. He backs away slowly, easing you out of it.

“Wasn’t really expecting that,” he admits.

“Me neither. Was it alright?” Your voice is a bit breathy. “I’ve never done that before.”

For a moment, he’s quiet.

“That was your first kiss?”

You swallow, rubbing your lips together as you nod.

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “you’re a natural.”

A giggle spurts out of you, dizzy with the taste of him and the novelty of it all. “You mean it?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He mimes drawing a cross over his heart. It occurs to you that you both seem infinitely more at ease than you have since dinner. The corner of Remus’ bottom lip goes between his teeth, his cheek dimpling. “I mean, there is something to be said for practice, though.”

You don’t fight your own grin; it comes out in full force. “Mm, I think I’ve heard something about that. Practice makes…defective, right? Something like that.”

“C’mere.” Remus rolls his eyes at you, but as his arms wrap around you his smile mirrors yours.

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kpopnstarwars · 4 months

Text

tw: 18+, man this shit is literally just smut, i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not, i'm down so fucking bad, dom coups and sub reader (sorta), blowjobs, fingering, hair pulling bc i love that shit, swearing, both are horny out of their minds, i can't write smut but i sure as hell tried, lmk if there's anything else,

you don't think you could ever get tired of the sight of choi seungcheol above you.

his strong thighs are spread wide, framing your shoulders as you kneel between them; one of his hands cups the nape of your neck, his fingers electrifying on your skin. worst of all - or best, depending on your perspective - is the look on his face. he looks like he wants to devour you whole, like he's going to ruin you, like he's going to make you cum so hard around his cock that you cry.

you hope desperately that that's what he's planning.

the look he's giving you is making you dizzy. his eyes are lidded, something burning deep within them that makes your cunt slick with arousal. a smirk plays across his features as he watches you, toying with a strand of your hair just to see the way you shiver, leaning into his touch.

slowly, he drags his broad palm along your skin until he cups your chin, tilting it upward so you can gaze up at him. your lips part slightly, your breaths coming out shallow.

you'd let this man do anything to you.

'alright down there, sweetheart?' he queries, the sound of his voice innocent in comparison to the way he bites his lip, not taking his eyes off you for a second.

'cheol,' you gasp, fingers clutching at the fabric of his trousers. 'c - can i? please,'

he chuckles, loving the glazed look in your eyes, as if he's your world. lifting his hips, he allows you to yank down his trousers as he slips his fingers back into your sweet smelling hair, tugging a little because he knows you like it. he practically drinks in the way you moan against his thigh, lost in his scent, lost in him - you're beautiful.

you relish the way he shudders when you take his cock in your hand. truly, you could stay there all day, biting marks on his thighs while jerking him off, but you desperately want to taste him, to have him heavy on your tongue.

abruptly, you engulf his tip in the heat of your mouth, exulting in the moan that rips from deep in his chest. his fingers tighten in your hair, and you groan around his cock at the feeling, taking him in further, wanting more of him - needing more of him.

hollowing your cheeks, you find that you're drunk on him. you're drunk on the feel and taste and scent of him, on the way he can't help but buck his hips with how good you feel, on the way his face twists with pleasure.

'stop,' he chokes out, voice dropping an octave lower. 'fuck, i w - want your - '

he doesn't finish his sentence, instead leaving your head spinning as he lifts you up so you're straddling him, one of his hands gripping your thigh as he moves your underwear to the side. hastily, he slips two fingers in, making your back arch as he scissors them.

you're mewling, your legs shaking when his hand withdraws, and everything slows down again as the tip of his cock notches at the entrance of your cunt. you dig your nails into his shoulders, thighs clenching at the stretch of him. a deep groan wrenches from his throat, and he buries his face in your neck, skimming his lips over your collarbones as he sinks into you.

your eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

'cheol,' you whine. 'please, m - move.'

he smiles against your skin.

'as you wish.'

#wrote this after approximately 36 hours after knowing about cheol's existence that's how hard the brain rot went #scoups #s. coups #s.coups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt #cheol #choi seungcheol x reader #svt x reader #ficlet #hard thoughts

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smuttyaf · 5 months

Text

Tag, You’re It

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

wc: 4.3k

dom/sub, slapping, exhibitionism & very rough sex

The houses that you grew up around stand tall and sturdy after many years on the residential street. Trees still holding their colourful leaves while some skid amongst the ground when the wind picks up. Your free hand was buried into your pocket, feeling over the sherpa lining while the other tore the cigarette from your lips and flicked it to the ground.

Heels click against the asphalt, your ears drawing in the sound of music playing from your phone. The sun was already setting on the horizon as you made your way home; school had just finished an hour ago yet it was as if it was nearly the evening, however you were happy.

It was finally Friday and you were delighted to lay in your bed, order in food, and watch whatever movie seemed interesting on Netflix. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip when you felt the gush of wind blow through you, hand now going into your other pocket and welcoming the warmth.

The familiar sound of Harry’s Mustang caught your attention as it peels down the road, the engine could be heard over the music in your headphones. The smell of burning gas fills your nostrils as the presence of it next to you quirks your interest.

Black tires are nearly on the curb as the vibrating hum from inside of the vehicle pours out. Your eyes flick between the side view mirror to the tinted window rolling down, leather seats in your vision. The song in your earbuds comes to an end revealing the loud whistle floating in the space, it makes you roll your eyes and settle your movements.

“Hey baby,” The words were muffled causing you to tug one bud out and turn towards the black coupe.

“Hi,” You say while giving a faint smile, body turning and leaning into the vehicle. The smell of mint and weed was welcomed with the gas in the air, only making your nose wrinkle and eyes look towards green ones.

His hair was messy today, as if he woke up and simply just ran his hands through it and thought it would suffice. His leather jacket was around his shoulders with his usual black attire, fingers dressed with thick sliver rings as they tap against the wheel of the car. A beaming smile was set along his lips which only meant trouble in your eyes.

Harry Styles, the local bad boy who always found himself in mischief. Whether it was for skipping class or dealing weed behind the local corner store, he had a lengthy record already that only grew every other month. Despite everything, it didn’t help that he was a delinquent who was handsome as well; brown curls, heavily tattooed, and face crafted by cherubs, he was hot but not someone you would want to be caught with.

“You go to St. Martins, right?” Harry continues, eyes peering over his black shades and into yours. You couldn’t help the tingle in your spine, it’s happening.

“Uh yeah…” You answer, eyebrows knotting in confusion. Hmm… What exactly did Harry want? Why all of a sudden was he talking to you.

“I go to the public school across from it,” He reveals, only making you let out a laugh.

“I know… I hear,” You say, eyes flickering between his car and him. The whole town knows what Harry’s car sounds like, you could tell he was coming from miles away.

“Is it really that loud?” He says sarcastically, eyebrows pushing together with a bright smile. You roll your eyes in response, your body relaxing a bit while your hands shift around in your pocket.

“You’re a senior too?” He ask, one hand leaving the wheel and landing on the middle console, making him lean in closer.

“Yeah,” You simply respond, looking at the way his hair falls over his forehead.

“What a coincidence…” Harry remarks, smirk now stretching across his lips as he leans his head to the side. “You know I always see you walking when I’m driving home… I can always drop you off?” He suggests. You feel your heart drop in your chest and stomach twist.

As much as you want to get into this dangerously handsome man’s car, you know you shouldn’t. Yes, you both grew up in the same town together and are around the same age but, you don’t know Harry. You bite down on your bottom lip, fingers twisting in your jacket as you pull away from the door and stand straight.

“I appreciate it but I’m good,” You say, another faint smile spreading on your lips as you watch Harry’s head now lean back, charcoal frames covering his eyes completely.

“Oh come on… It’s cold and my ride is nice and warm,” Harry remarks, lips curling and foot leaning off the brakes as the car begins to peel away slowly. You shake your head and begin your previous movements towards your house. Yes, it was cold outside but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, you didn’t need a ride from him.

“I can cut your walk down by three minutes,” He continues, the heels of your boots echoing against the concrete.

“I’m good!” You call back, hand slipping out of your jacket and taking your headphone to put back in your ear.

“Let me drop you home,” Harry responds, only making you roll your eyes again, chewing down on your bottom lip.

His calls proceed ranging from “I can bring you home,” to drawn out “Hello’s,” but to each one you ignored. Your feet continue to carry you but at a much faster pace than before. The only thing you can think in this moment is where the hell is anyone to witness this.

Soon, you are near the local hiker trail of your town, your head still tucked down at your feet as you peel away from the side walk and cut towards the path. Now you were stepping on dry leaves with your heart pounding through your ears, you let your head twist around swiftly to where you see Harry’s coupe.

Windows up and blowing smoke in the air as it was parked against the curb. At that point you begin to jog lightly through the forest; boots breaking sticks and hands swishing by your side as you tried to navigate where you go from there. It wasn’t normal for you to take this path home, you always stick to your usual route but now there was an obstacle in your way.

Chest heaving and heart beating uncontrollably, you kept turning your head around to see if he was still even following you. Maybe you were actually going crazy thinking that the Harry Styles would be following you just because you declined a ride home from him but, just as you twist your head around to look in front of you, you immediately bump into a warm chest, eyes peering up and locking with his.

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” He questions, voice slow as he steps closer to you, making you take one back. A smirk rests on Harry’s lips, arms linking together with the smell of his scent filling your nose.

The only thing you could do was stare, you were not expecting Harry to be standing in front of you right now. Where did he even come from and how could you not have heard him. Now your chest was pinching with pains as your nerves were driving you up the wall.

“I asked you a question.” Harry states. Lips in a line as he took another step towards you.

“I—I don’t need a ride home,” You mutter, fingers going to the ends of your black skirt as you feel over the pantyhose there.

“That wasn’t the question.” He says, hand now tearing away from him and gripping your elbow. That only makes a gasp slip from your lips and eyes bulge.

“Let go of me,” You mutter, trying to break free from his hold but that only makes him apply more pressure.

“Answer my question,” Harry insists, the strength he has on your arm pulling you closer into his chest.

You swallow once again, the wetness between your legs already beginning to flood your panties as you try to not break character. You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes flickering between the sliver zippers on his jacket to his olive globes.

“Yes.” You say calmly, the trees rustling as the sky begins to fade to grey.

The heat of Harry’s palm is welcomed across your cheek, his hand tearing away from your elbow and gripping your hair as he tugs your head back to look at you with a grin on his face. You bit down harder on your bottom lip to try and suppress yourself. Your hands move away from your skirt and hold onto Harry’s biceps, your eyes peering up at him through your mascara coated lashes as you gently try to push him off you.

“Let go,” You cry, only making the grip he has in your hair tighten as he tugs your head down. A hiss leaving your lips making your eyes flutter.

“What are you gonna do about it? Huh?” Harry smirks, pulling your hair again and that makes your eyes close and a painful moan escape. The feeling of your head throbbing as his fingers toy with the hairs, it had your thighs pressing together and teeth going back to dig in the flesh.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He mutters, eyes searching for any hesitation. Fuck you were so turned on, the way he can be aggressive with you one second to loving the next.

One night after Harry snuck through your window, with shared spliff between the both of you following a heated make out session, he somehow manage to get you to confess to one of your most intimate desires. He agreed to do it however, only on his terms; which only made you grow with excitement because you never knew when he would play along to your fantasy. So, when you opted to act clueless to him and he encouraged the idea that you both don’t know each other you knew what was about to happen, and that made your heat throb between your legs.

“Yes,” You whimper, lips immediately welcomed with Harry’s, the taste of mint burning on yours. You moan immediately, hands relaxing against Harry’s arms as you let yourself get wrapped up in him.

One of his hands fall from your hair to roam down your back and cup your ass, pushing him deeper into you and welcoming you into his warmth. His other hand ran down the nape of your neck to hug the skin there, tongues twisting around each other as you submit yourself fully to him. Harry’s scent fills your nose, just the smell of his cologne alone had your knees bending in weakness. You couldn’t help how aroused you are, the feeling of his growing member pressing against you only reassures you that he wants this too.

“On your knees.” He commands, tearing away from your lips. Fingers now lace in your hair as you let your legs squat down and look up at him, your hands falling to his hips and running over his thick bulge.

Black nails fumble over each other as you undo his belt and relieve him, tongue running over your bottom lip looking at hard he is; angry veins running along the base to tip varying in size, you take one of your hands off your hip and let it dip between your thighs, the way his cock looks in front of you made you want to come from the sight.

“Hmph,” You hum, when you feel Harry’s hand tug your hair back to make you peer up at him, his face cold with lips glistening with the mixture of you both.

“Did I say you can touch yourself?” He asks, only making you shake your head slightly. This causes him to yank your head again. “I asked a question.” He stated, voice strong and raw. God, you wanted him to fuck you right there.

“No,” You say, hand tearing away from your thighs and going to fall to his pelvic bone, your other messaging his thigh.

“Good girl,” Harry hums, his fingers relaxing and massaging your scalp as you lean forward. Hands going to the base of his shaft as your tongue dips out of your mouth and runs over the slit of his head, licking over the dip before letting your lips suckle his crown.

Saliva coats your lips, sinking deeper and deeper until you find a good rhythm, head slightly bobbing while feeling him stretch your throat with each flex. Harry’s left hand welcomes itself on your cheek, letting himself have a grip over your mouth and making his hips rock into you. You halt your movements, eyes fluttering up to look up at him as he delve into your throat, lips spreading around his thick member letting him thrust into you.

“Gonna be a good girl for me,” Harry says, eyes hooded and fingers tensing against your jaw, making you moan as you tear away from him.

“Yes,” You breathe out looking up at him, hands going to the base of his shaft and running over the coated member. He looks so sexy staring down at you; hair framing his face, teeth tucked on top the skin of his lips while he focuses on tearing your throat apart just the way you want.

Your response causes him use to use the grip he has on your jaw to make you lean forward and welcome him into your mouth once again, hand now massaging whatever you can’t fit while the other ran up and down his clothed thigh.

The sound of Harry’s dick rocking into your throat fills your ears as tears begin to swell your waterline, the thickness of him down your throat only making it ache as he halts his hips, fingers holding you still as he shoves himself down, his waist halting as you take him all the way.

You watch his head knock back and the fingers in your hair relax, a sigh of relief escapes him. He holds you like that for what felt like two minutes until he pulls his hips back, a deep breath drawing from you before he’s rocking into you like that four more times and you feel your throat burn from the stretch.

A pleasant hum leaves your ruined throat as Harry pulls himself away from you, letting a trail of saliva link between your lips and his cock. “Look so perfect like this,” Harry sighs, hand slipping from your hair and wiping the string of spit.

You blink up at him, holding back tears as you feel your throat burn in pleasure. You were afraid if you spoke it would come out as a squeal, so instead you bite down on your swollen lip at the piece of thickness in front of you, glistening in your fluid.

Harry watches your gaze go to his cock, a smirk now adoring his features. His grip on your jaw releases and goes to your shoulders, bringing you back to stand up, his hands now falling to your hips and turning you around to shove you against the dried out stream that had trees framing it with others further back. It makes more privacy for the area because of the hanging branches.

Your feet stumble over the loose rocks, while your chest presses against the old tree. Harry’s hands feel your backside in his grip before taking your skirt in hand and peeling it over the flesh. His fingers immediately going to your stockings, ripping the material causing you to let out a small gasp when you feel the cool air hit your bottom.

“Fuck… Look at you,” He whispers, his hands going to your lace panties and pressing his fingers against your heat, the cold metal from his rings erupts a broken moan to escape your lips. Three fingers rub against you, playing with your clit, making the wet spot you were squatting in spread against your folds.

“Baby,” You cry, voice raw and raspy, it basically pained you to talk. Your nails dig into the dry lumber as you push your hips back.

That lands a hard smack to your cheeks, a whimper now leaving you and eyes fluttering shut. All you want was Harry to fuck you till you see stars; you want him to fill you up so bad you will be walking funny tomorrow.

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl,” Harry hums, the feeling of his hand spreads against your red cheeks were he places three more strikes on your flesh, heavy and painful due to the added feeling of the rings on his fingers. His chest against your back, member aligned with your heat and rubbing against you, making your head knock against the tree.

“Baby,” You moan, voice small as you feel his breath against your ear. Your eyes open as you prop your foot against the stump. Your backside sinking back and nearly making the head of his dick enter you.

“Want me so bad, don’t you?” Harry questions. Running himself between your dripping folds which only has you arching your back into him. You nod your head silently, eyes turning to see the position you’re in. Harry was completely towering over you, hips parallel with yours as his lips were warm against the skin behind your ear.

“Talk to me love,” He breathes into you, making you whimper and push yourself down onto him more. The head of his dick rubbing against your clit and sending pleasure up your legs. “Beg for me.” He continues into your ear, making your heart pound in your chest. You were so turned on, you want nothing more than for him to fill your walls.

“Please, H. Please let me feel you,” You mumble, left hand tearing away from the wood and skimming against his neck to run into his hair. “Please baby… Been so good to you.” Mutter dazedly, hips gently rocking against his movements.

That makes Harry hum, the noise vibrating against the skin of your neck as you feel him draw away from you and let his head breach your hole. Your tongue escaping your mouth to wet your lips as you feel him push into you, spreading your pussy blissfully as he sinks into your dripping heat.

“Mhm my good little girl.” Harry mumbles into your ear, hips meeting your backside only to draw back to dive into you again.

A raspy cry escapes you, the euphoric feeling of him filling you up just where you loved him the most. Your walls welcome him home as he picks up his motions, his lips burning into your skin as he buries himself in you with each thrust. The sound of your whimpers and torn moans was met with the wetness between your legs.

Your pussy throbs with the feeling of him diving into you, the fluid running down your inner thighs making you feel as if you were underwater. Harry’s dick continues thrusting into you so forcibly that it had you curling your fingers into his hair and into the flaking cracks of the tree.

“You love the way I fuck you.” Harry urges, his hand leaving your hip and wrapping around your throat, the feeling of his rings digging into the skin as he squeezed. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“Yes,” You mutter, your legs slightly quivering from your pussy going sore due to how hard Harry is pounding into you.

“Wanted to be fuck like this all along, huh,” He eggs on, voice so deep in your ear it was if he was your conscience. That had you biting down on your bottom lip, your eyes barely peel open to look at the broken twigs in your vision bouncing from Harry’s movements behind you. The feeling of your oxygen being slowly cut off from the stern hold he has on your neck.

“Dirty girl,” He teases, the hand on your hip shoving your back down on him with each thrust. “Wanted to be my slut for tonight,” The name he gives making you moan, and causing your legs to shiver once again.

“Yes, all yours,” You moan breathlessly, your pussy throbbing with the bubbling feeling in your stomach as your back dips down even more to accept the feeling of Harry spreading you apart.

“My good little slut.” Harry hums. You whine as his pace continues, eyes begin to flutter from the lack of air and your climax climbing up your spine.

The intense burning sensation in your stomach causes your hands to grow with sweat as he never slows down his movements, the way he was in you and whispering how dirty you are for getting off to this has your mind in a warp. It felt so good to get the fantasy that you always held in the back of your mind to finally come undone before you.

The fact he pretended to know who you were, yet continued to bother you until he had you vulnerable, you were so turned on playing back the moment of him slapping you and tugging on your hair for playing dumb to him. Just those thoughts had you expelling more wetness out of you and tug Harry’s head deeper into your skin.

He’s thrusting into you roughly as the sunsets along you both with the trees covering your sweaty clothed bodies. “So sexy,” Harry breathes into your skin, his nose brushing up against the back of your neck as the grip on your throat never loosens.

“Fuck,” You choke, vision going blurry as you felt the spit in your throat go down achingly slow.

The pulsing feeling in your clit draws up your spine and makes your toes curl in your boots, knees going weak but Harry didn’t stop his restless movements. Your lungs hammer in your chest, begging for an inch of oxygen as your pussy is drips with your sweet mixture. Your high taking over your nerves and releasing yourself all over him.

The hold Harry has on your neck relieves its grip while the one that forces your hips down was now wrap around you; lifting you into his chest as he keeps on going. Lips still pressing against your hot skin, breath blowing the tiny hairs there while the hand you have in his curls in lets go and falls into the wood.

“God you feel so good,” He rasps in your ear, the foot you had on the stump slipping and making your chest completely lean into the tree now, back meeting his thrusts even more.

The feeling overcoming your climax had you in a complete frenzy, your legs quivering as whimpers and the sound of the wetness emerging from your pussy fills your ears, your eyes begging to close but with each lunge of Harry hips they were jerking back open. Your sight being met with the darkness of the sky and the bunched up leaves by your feet.

“Love fucking your pussy,” Harry grunts, his hand leaving your throat to grip your hair in his hands and tug your head back. A whine tears through your throat, head now looking up at the natural cravings into the tree as the feeling of his hips begin to slow down.

Wet kisses press down your neck as the feeling of him draws out of you before seeping back in, the grasp he has on your hair relaxing as he begins to massage your scalp, his movements of his rolling hips slow until his seed is sinking into you.

It makes Harry groan, his hand turning your head and locking your lips together, the taste of him on your tongue as you drink him in. His hips meeting yours sluggishly until he pulls out of you, his member leaving your sore pussy and letting the fluid of you both spill out. You sigh out from the feeling of his thickness leaving and the mixture running down your ripped up stockings.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Harry breathes against your lips. The hand he has on your hip slips between your folds and catches the fluid between his two fingers, bringing them to your face.

Your focus goes to them and licks the substance off, tongue twisting between each digit to get every drop.

“My dirty girl,” Harry rasps, his lips sinking back onto yours to taste you both.

The pounding in your chest subsides, your fingers releasing the strong hold they had against the wood as you lean into his touch. The once muffled noise in your ears welcomes the sound of Harry’s jacket jingling.

The bubbling feeling of excitement from your accomplishment tingles your ears and lets a smirk tear and break the kiss. It makes faint one run along his, two fingers that are clean from your tongue holding your jaw with the same grip he had when he was ruining your throat.

“What?”

“If you can do this, I’m sure you’re up for the other fantasies I have…”

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #smuttyaf #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #hs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fandom #harry styles fic rec #dark harry styles #harry styles kink #harry styles one shots #harry styles dominate

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peachdues · 5 months

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THE SWEET FAR THING (TEASER)

Knight!Kyojuro x F!Royal!Reader

Kyojuro my beloved, it is your time to shine again.

Have a sneak peek from my Royal AU featuring one of mt favorite tropes — sworn protector/guard x royal.

Obviously this will be super NSFW, who do y’all think I am.

CW: suggestive/horny content ahead.

Scene context: angy Knight Rengoku slips into your chambers late at night following a failed coup attempt.

He’s angry and you know why — you’d directly disobeyed his orders and launched yourself headfirst into the chaos which erupted in the Great Hall.

His presence in your rooms is daunting; a dark anger ripples off him like waves of heat roll off stone in the summer, and yet he says not a word as he slowly stalks toward where you stand near the edge of your bed.

A predator stalking his prey.

Only when the tips of his boots meet the toes of your slippers, only when you feel the blustering heat rolling off his body and enveloping you within its suffocating warmth, does Sir Rengoku open his mouth.

“Where.” It is all he says, his voice low and rich. His eyes are twin pools of molten ore, but even now, you can see the rage simmering within their ochre depths.

“Where.” He repeats, though his tone is harsher.

“‘Where what, Sir Rengoku?” Your voice is as soft as the shadows cast around the walls of your chambers by the flames crackling merrily in your hearth.

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Your wounds,” his face twists as though the very thought of any harm befalling you is offensive. “Where are they.”

It is not a question, but a demand; one that you know spells trouble if you should answer truthfully.

Trouble that piques your interest nonetheless; one that stokes a curiosity within you that you know is dangerous.

You pursue it anyways. “I am unharmed.”

The knight’s mouth curls into a snarl at the obviousness of your lie. “That is not what the healer claimed.”

“What good is the word of a healer against the crown?” Defiance rears its head within you, eager to both rise to his challenge and to see exactly how far you can push him. “Is my word not law?”

Rengoku scoffs as he steps closer, his leg slotting between your thighs and forcing you to lean back into tour bed frame for support. “It may be so,” he admits, though the fury in his eyes make no such concessions. “But empires built on baseless laws are inevitably doomed to fall.”

“Meaning?”

The Knight’s eyes flash. “Your words are horseshit and you know it.”

He’s right and but you’ll be damned before you admit it.

“You overstep,” the bite of your glare is belied by the way you’re forced to shift your weight awkwardly from foot to foot, as you try your best not to think about the burning press of his thigh between yours. “Now kindly remove yourself from my chambers.”

Rengoku makes no effort to move and his obstinacy thrills you.

Instead, his hands rise to the front tie of your dressing gown and begin tugging, slowly undoing the haphazard knot you’d fastened in your haste to make yourself decent.

Your fleeting moment of triumph is chased away by the breath which lodges in your throat.

“What are you doing?”

Your knight — your fiery, loyal, compassionate yet utterly insufferable knight — slides a single hand between the parted folds of your robe, coming to rest on the dip of your waist covered only by the thing fabric of your nightgown.

The weight of his palm feels like a brand against your skin. “Since you refuse to be forthright about the extent of your injuries,” Rengoku says, pushing the robe away from your shoulders. “I shall have to take inventory of them myself.”

Your dressing gown drops to the bed behind you before sliding to the floor to puddle around your feet. Wordlessly, Rengoku steps away just enough to kneel before you, though his eyes remain locked with yours.

You are wading into treacherous waters, and you know you are without any raft or life preserver which could keep you afloat.

“I shall scream,” you warn, though you do not mean it; not really. You intend only to give him an out, a means to come back to his senses before the blazing heat of his stare consumes you both. “I shall alert the rest of the palace guard.”

His fingers skim up the length of your shin, a phantom caress that is a mockery of how you truly wish for him to touch you.

“My duty is to guard the Crown and ensure no harm befalls it, your Majesty,” Rengoku’s breath follows the path carved by his hands up your legs. He pauses at the knee-length hemline of your nightgown, his chin resting against the slight bend in your leg.

It nearly frightens you how much you adore seeing him on his knees, peering up at you like you are the embodiment of salvation itself.

“So by all means, call forth the Guard,” the Knight’s fingers slowly push below the hem of your nightdress, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Call forth every living creature within the palace, for all I care. They will see only the Princess’s Knight, carrying out his sworn duties and managing her every need.”

Your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as Rengoku’s fingers tease higher and higher up your thigh. “And what are my needs, Sir Rengoku?”

Your flame-haired protector only hums. “To have your wounds tended to, for starters,” and it takes everything in you not to let your head fall back with a cry as Rengoku presses a single, chaste kiss just above your knee.

But the sweetness of the gesture is undercut by the darkness of his gaze. “And to be punished for directly defying the orders of your Guard.”

yes daddy punish me —

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kyojuro rengoku #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny rengoku #kny kyojuro #kny smut #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer smut #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic

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semisgroupie · 1 year

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KUNIGAMI + MATING PRESS

kunigami rensuke x fem. reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: jealous kunigami, possessive kunigami, rough sex, breeding, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, clothes ripping (he’s an impatient man, what can I say?), size kink (kinda), mating press, hints at babytrapping, light choking, hint at multiple rounds

synopsis: he just wants everyone to know you’re his

a/n: part of the bllk boys and their favorite position anthology (will make a masterlist soon)

Kunigami would never refer to himself as the jealous type. No, not jealous at all.

He just hates the way other people eye you whenever you two are out. He hates the way people want what’s his. It’s as if the necklace adorning your neck with his initials never really existed or if people couldn’t see how his arm was always around you. It’s not like he could always pull you in to have an intense makeout session (even though he had done it plenty of times). There was just something more that he needed to do, he needed the coup de grâce.

As he sat to really think it over, it finally struck him.

Breeding.

If he fucked you full of his cum and bred you then he wouldn’t have to worry about the lingering eyes, the stupid muttered comments, everything that pissed him off. But after some more thought he had to think of something more.

He had to think of the perfect position where he could breed you. Every time you two had sex, he would fill you with cum but it wasn’t enough. In every position he tried, his cum would just end up on the bed sheets as it leaked out. So he just had to find the perfect position. He looked through all the positions that could be good, missionary was perfect but you leaked out so much cum. Riding him was really good too but by the time you both woke up, there was a puddle of all the cum that ended up leaking out on the sheets. Doggy was one of his go-tos but it posed the same problems as all the other positions.

Then he stumbled upon a position that caught his eye. “Mating press?” He thought it was just a position popularized by all those hentai clips he caught Raichi watching when they used to live together. That would be a great position. He could keep you up and make sure all of his potent seed filled you up. Fuck, he could feel himself getting hard at the thought of it.

You two had just come back from a skillfully planned date night. He decided to wine and dine you and while you two were out he could feel the pit of his stomach churn whenever someone stared at you for too long. It just made him want to ravage you right then and there, make everyone watch as he fucked you full of cum and bred you like you deserved. But he had to wait, just wait until you were in the privacy of your bedroom.

Once you two were inside he pulled you into your shared bedroom and his hands were all over you, almost ripping off the dress you wore for date night. “Ren baby, the zipper is in the back. This is my favorite dress, you don’t want to ruin it do you?” You brought his hand to your back where the zipper was and he quickly brought it down so your dress could pool at your ankles.

He quickly took your bra off and pushed you onto the bed, “takin’ too long.” He mumbled as his hands went to undo his belt and he dropped his slacks so they looked at his ankles then turned his attention to you. He forced your legs open and his hands went straight to your panties, tearing the flimsy fabric in one swift movement. Just as you opened your mouth to protest the air was taken right out of your lungs.

He forced your knees to your chest and lined his cock with your entrance, he dropped his head and spit on it then pushed it inside you. “Fuck!” That was all that could leave you at the moment, not the complaint you quickly pushed to the darkest corners of your mind. He leaned down and kept a bruising grip on the backs of your knees as he bottomed out. “I don’t need you to say a fucking thing besides my name and how good you feel. I want my name to be imprinted in your brain, you don’t need to think of a single thing but that. Hell, I don’t even think you’ll be able to form a coherent thought by the time I’m done with you but you can try.”

He tightened his grip just a little more as he put more of his weight on you, then he started thrusting. His thrusts felt so heavy, his hips snapped into yours and you felt like you could feel the tip of his cock in your throat. You could barely gather your thoughts as he pounded you with animalistic thrusts. He dropped his head and his mouth explored your chest, licking, sucking and biting whatever piece of flesh he could get his mouth on.

The wet and loud smacks of his hips against yours filled your ears, practically animalistic growls and groans left your boyfriend’s mouth. “You’re all mine got that? I’m gonna breed you to prove it. You don’t even understand what builds in my chest whenever I see someone eyeing what’s mine. Once you’re round and full with my seed, no one will question if you’re mine, there will be no second doubts or second guesses. They’ll know I’m the one who fucked you full of cum and if it doesn’t work this time, then I’ll put you right into this position every single day and fuck you full of my cum over and over again. I won’t fucking stop until you’re all round and swollen with my child, whether you like it or not. Got that?”

He moved one hand from the back of your knee to grip your face and forced you to make eye contact with him when he didn’t get the response he wanted. “Answer me.” He snapped his hips into yours harder, the faint jingling of your anklet could be heard with the wet sounds of his cock filling your pussy. You tried to gather your thoughts, trying to understand what he wanted to hear from you so you just did what you thought would be the right thing and nodded. “Good girl.” He loosened his grip on your face and moved his hand down to rub your clit while he thrusted.

“I’ll make sure you’ll never forget who you belong to, you’ll never forget that you’re mine. You’re mine, all fucking mine.” He continued thrusting and soon he felt all the telltale signs that your orgasm was nearing, you gripped his cock in a vice grip and your legs twitched and trembled. “Cmon my love, tell me who you belong to and you can cum. You can make a mess all over my cock and I’ll breed this fertile cunt. Just say who you belong to.”

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as the coil in your stomach tightened and tightened, getting closer and closer to the point where it was going to snap. “I’m yours Rensuke! I’m all yours! Please breed me!” He rubbed your clit faster which finally let the coil snap inside your belly. You cried out his name and your hands flew to his shoulders, digging your nails into the flesh and leaving your mark on him. He thrusted a few more times but your words were just enough to send him over that blissful edge. He bit down on the plush flesh of your tit and his hot cum flooded your pussy.

He kept his hips pressed against yours as he kept pumping more and more cum into you. His hands moved to under your hips to hold them up as his cock stopped twitching. He slowly pulled out and was very satisfied with the sight in front of him. As his eyes moved to your pussy, he saw how most of his cum stayed inside you while your pussy clenched around nothing, like your body wanted this just as much as he did.

“Fuck baby, you look perfect like this. You’ll need to get used to staying in this position because this is the only way I’ll be fucking you from here on out but for now, catch your breath. I haven’t emptied my balls in you yet and I don’t plan on stopping until I’m 100% sure you’ll be bred.”

Kunigami just reassured himself that he wasn’t a possessive or jealous guy, he just needed to make sure that no one would eye what’s his.

taglist: @litepowee @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear

#blue lock smut #kunigami smut #kunigami rensuke smut #bllk smut #tw:unprotected sex #tw:creampie #tw:possessiveness #tw:jealousy #tw:choking #tw:breeding

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kkydult · 12 days

Text

— Drift away

est.bf!s.coups x gn!reader - fluff - nana tour w/ bf coups (?) - 0.6k

“In just a few hours we’ll be breathing a different kind of air” you mumble as your head rests on your boyfriend’s shoulder, you’ve been asleep throughout the flight on and off and you just felt the need to remind him of your presence as if your weight on him wasn’t enough,

“Pizza and wine air mhm” Cheol hums back, it’s mostly inaudible to you but you nod your head nuzzling into his neck gently letting it drive you back to your sweet slumber.

Soft pokes on your cheek wake you up, you look around disoriented your brain confused by the sudden change in schedule. Any other week you would be busy, working, studying, planning but today you’re on a plane and you’re with your favorite person so it’s not a bad change.

His calming voice brushing softly against your ear brings you back to the moment, you look at him wide eyed obviously clueless as to what he said you watch his lips curve up his stare only filled with adoration for you.

“We’ll be landing in 5” you register the information with a swift nod and start getting your stuff together.

Landing felt safer than ever just being close to him, all the stressful parts of traveling seemed relaxing just having your fingers tied with his walking through the airport. It made you wonder.

Now it was past 11pm and while you’re both tired the urge to just take in the night in this new city felt like the right move. The plan would be to get a cab and drop the bags at the hotel, so you could walk around the city into midnight.

The air was cool but you could feel the gentle spring heat, his fingers naturally travel to your face brushing your hair down as it flows with the wind the both of you cheesing at the scene. The drive through the city is so peaceful the landscapes feel picture perfect at every turn even in the dark night.

“It’s really pretty here Cheolie” your voice sounds whiny but it’s only cause you’re grateful and you don’t know how words could convey that feeling, but he feels it just looking at you, just knowing you’re enjoying yourself,

“You’re really pretty here” the words come out like a thought that escaped and the cringing look on his face after says it all, you give him a cute pose to tease him and it works, his eyes rolling at you as soon as you pose.

The moment you step out into the city the liveliness takes you by surprise, the streets are buzzy with life and your hotel is right in the middle of it. Neither of you minded it because you were going to be here for a short time so you would be out most nights anyway.

You’re in and out of the hotel after dropping off your stuff, mutually deciding that this night you would enjoy the night view, strolling the historic streets, walking past all sorts of people, with his hand in yours, fingers intertwined. You can’t help but look at him the way his eyes glisten under the city lights, his soft smile as he takes it all in and all of it coming back to you,

“What..?” his smile grows wider as breathes out a gentle laugh, you just shake your head dismissing his curiosity, you can feel his gaze linger for a moment before returning to the city.

Time felt inexistent for the both of you, you just found yourself at an outside bar right by the port, clueless on how you landed there or how you’d find your way back, it felt insignificant compared to the moment you were living in right now. The breeze felt right, the music felt right, his touch felt right, everything felt carved to perfection just for you to enjoy this night together.

“Baby..” you look up to your boyfriend from your phone, he has your hand held in his cupping his cheek, his head tilted to rest on your hand turning slightly he places a soft kiss on your palm eyes shutting for that second.

The way he looks at you is the way he always looks at you it’s soft, adoring, loving he wouldn’t have to say anything for you to know, just in those kind eyes you can tell and it always brings you butterflies, suddenly your heart is skipping beats as if you’ve never experienced it before.

“..I want to be everywhere with you”

#via writes ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #3rd gen kpop #scoups #choi seungcheol #seventeen fluff #seventeen scoups #seventeen seungcheol #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seungcheol fluff

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coupsjin · 8 months

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not close enough

╰┈➤ bf!seungcheol x afab reader

╰┈➤ summary: both not ready to loose their virginity, you and cheol try something new

╰┈➤ warnings: mdni, dry humping, dirty talk, kissing, making out, pet names, squirting, overstim, oral (giving) etc. lmk if i should add any more!

a/n: as a coups bias... this killed me

wc: <1k words

"hey cheol?" you call as you walk into his room, your boyfriend lying down lazily with his phone in his hand - he turns his attention to you.

"yes, love?" you now join him, his hand immediately going to your thighs.

"well, i was thinking." you paused, nervous "y'know how we talking about ... it? the other day?"

a couple days ago, you and cheol had a serious talk about if you were ready to have sex. you trusted him with all your heart, but still weren't sure about losing your virginity. thankfully, the thought the same.

he smirks, "yes what about it?"

"how about we try something new today?" you asked, already horny thinking about it. this perked his interest. he rests his back on the headboard, curious. instead of telling him (a bit embarrassing you thought) you started to demonstrate.

you took off your pyjama pants, surprising him. you threw them to the side, and next you slid down his shorts just enough for you to sit. you climb on his legs, now straddled on top of him.

"is this okay for you?" you asked, your pussy already drenched for him.

"oh yeah.." he said shakily, "it's more than okay. keep going." you had never seen cheol like this, breathless and gazing at the cloth that kept more away.

you slowly rock your hips back and forth, carefully watching his reaction. his jaw slightly drops, muttering a breathy "fuck.." while he pushes his head against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut.

as you picked up the pace, your moans get from breathy to full, filling his ears while he kisses your neck. over a couple minutes you get into a rhythm, cheol unknowingly bucking his hips every time you rolled your hips closer to him. his dick was visibly harder and longer than you imagined.

"fuck," you thought, "i can't imagine his dick actually inside me."

you were getting unbelievably close, your moans turning into whines. this drove cheol crazy, grabbing your hips and taking control. he rocks you harder and faster, thrusting his dick onto your clothed pussy. for the first time, you fall apart on his cock. you squirt, letting out a huge amount of liquid onto his dick.

"oh god fuck!" he yells, feeling your warm liquid wrapping his horny dick. he arches his head back, his brows furrowing as he feels his desire to penetrate your pussy.

he suddenly flips you onto the bed, now towering over you with his dick still rubbing your clit.

"shit, this isn't close enough baby," he moans, now groping your chest. your legs are shaking from overstimulation, your moans turning into yells every time he thrusts onto you. he's so desperate, moving every which direction to get the pleasure he needs from you. in this moment he is incredibly hot, facing towards the ceiling.

he finally comes, his cum dripping out of his boxers.

"come here, princess. lick it." still aroused from his behaviour, you sit him down and are between his legs. licking his cum, his back and neck arches, moaning the loudest he has tonight.

"oh... fuck!!" he yells. "please suck my dick y/n, please." he begs, still caught up in ecstasy. he whines as you lower his boxers, caressing his length slowly. cum is still dripping out of him, you lick his tip with your tongue, cleaning up the rest of his dick.

"shit!" he moans while covering his eyes with one of his hands. the other pushing your head down as you he fucks you in the mouth, his moans getting louder with every lap.

"i'm close.. oh god!" he manages to get out, now thrusting into your mouth as he grips onto the sheets and your hair. he cums inside of your mouth, giving a loud moan and a sigh of relief.

"swallow" he says weakly while looking at you. you swallow, tasting his cum for the second time.

"why didn't we do this sooner?" he laughs, taking you into his arms while rubbing your back.

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #seungcheol scenarios

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Dirty Work 40

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Feel very off today IDK.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Please, please,” you puff, reaching between your legs, “please, I can’t–”

Your words are wobbly and loose, your legs too. As you touch Loki’s chin, you feel the slickness smeared across it. He only nuzzles further into you as your thighs twitch around him. You choke and beg through your shallow breaths.

He hums into you, reaching around to snatch your hand, pulling your arm behind your back. You whimper, wavering on your feet. Before you can lose your balance, he takes your other hand, guiding it alongside your other, locking both against your lower back.

He moans as he drinks you up. You put your feet flat and shake as another wave crashes down on you, the water slakes over you, the humid air adding to the sweat beading over your skin. You cum again and again and again. Each time, he grows more devoted to his task, twining your nerves together until you’re wrought.

Your leg buckles and gives. He releases your hands, once more grabbing you by the hips and holds you up. He eases you down slowly as you shake weakly. Lower and lower, he keeps your ass in the air as you drop down on your hands and knees. You’re senseless and lost in the ravages of pleasure.

When you come again, all your strength drains from you. You can’t take anymore. He lets you go as you collapse onto the porcelain and groan. He drags his hands down your legs as you roll onto your side and heave. He snickers and traces up your arm.

“You’ve been very good, pet,” he growls and stands, stepping over you as he pushes the door open.

He leaves you there, the door open as the shower continues to pour down on you. You catch your breath but can’t move, not right away. You’re so very tired. Worn out by more than his unprecedented attention but by everything. The day seeps back into your mind and coils your muscles tight.

You get one knee under you, then the other. You climb to your feet and shut the faucet off. You emerge and stumble, reaching for a towel from the rack. You wrap yourself in the fluffy cotton and look at the open door. You hobble towards it, finding Loki… Mr. Laufeyson in your bed. He stretches out, his arms bent behind his head, as his nakedness is concealed only by the blanket folded at his waist.

You turn off the bathroom light and cross to the bed. You flinch as you sit, swollen and oversensitive. You dry yourself off stiffly and stare at the wall. The glow slowly fades and you’re left dull and worn. That’s all this will ever be. You have your use and when he doesn’t need you, you are just there.

You stand and drape the towel over the wooden arm of the sofa. You look around, searching. You pad along to the closet and fold the door back. There’s your stuff. You fish out a night gown and return to the bed. You wonder why he’s still there.

“I’ll stay,” he reaches to rub the silk between his fingers, “in case… my brother thinks to attempt another coup.”

“Oh, thanks,” you utter, refusing to look at him. “Would you like the light off?”

He takes a breath, “ah, I should’ve brought a book. You always do enjoy it when I read to you.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, “the light?”

“Off, is fine,” he replies evenly.

You flip off the lamp and lower yourself down. You keep your back to him, hand clinging to the edge of the mattress as you fight to keep your breath steady. You just want to cry. You feel so heavy but flat. As if you’ve been run over.

“Pet…” he says gently. You don’t answer as you stay as you are, right at the very edge, making yourself as small as possible. “Suppose you are tired…” he mulls quietly, “yes, you should rest.” He flutters his fingers against your waist, “as should I.”

He shifts behind you and brings himself closer, looping his arm around your stomach. He urges you back, putting you flush to him as you grasp slips from the mattress. He nuzzles your crown and his hot breath fans across your scalp. He sighs and embraces you tighter.

“I’m certain I did little to lessen your fatigue,” he snickers, “though I don’t think you will complain. Surely, you didn't sound unhappy at all.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you agree.

You feel him tense and he puffs a longer breath into your hair. He slackens his hold on you but doesn’t draw away. He hums, “sweet dreams, pet.”

✨

You sway between bouts of dull sleep that makes your head ache and hollow restlessness that has you squirming against the body behind you. Mr. Laufeyson sleeps undisturbed by your fidgeting, much to your relief. That last thing you need is him waking up unhappy.

When at last he wakes, he does not free you. He pushes you onto your back and covers your mouth with his. He kisses you until you can’t breathe and when he pulls away, he gazes down at you. You just look back at him emptily. He frames your chin and tries again. This time, your cheeks dimple as you attempt a smile.

He recoils and sits up, putting his back to you. You think he’s displeased but you can’t tell. He can seem so when he’s thinking. What could he be agitated by anyway? You’ve only let him do what he wants.

He’s silent as he rises and dresses. You do the same, picking a plum skirt and a white blouse. You sit to pull on your stockings and catch Mr. Laufeyson watching you. His eyes crawl up from your leg to your face. He quickly turns away.

“I have some calls to make,” he takes his phone from the side table and brusquely marches to the doors.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you confirm.

He stops, his hand on the door handle and his head tilts. He seems about to say something before he rips the door back. He swallows loudly before he finds his voice, “my mother should have breakfast ready, you may join her.”

He leaves and the door closes a bit too harsh for your comfort. What now? What have you done? And what calls does he need to make? Perhaps he got one. Maybe she… No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t matter.

You go to check your reflection and tidy up. You peer around the room. You can’t stay in here. It just reminds you of last night and all your confusing thoughts. Not just thoughts, feelings.

You let yourself out and look up and down the hall. You go downstairs and wade through the quiet morning lull. Gertrude is in the kitchen chopping fruit with a large knife. You don’t know what to do, you think you’re too early.

A figure startles you as its shadow darkens over your shoulder. You shuffle aside and turn to face Odin as he enters, an empty cup in his hand. Gertrude comes forward to take it from him with a “good morning, sir.”

“Ah, there she is,” he greets you, “have you had a coffee? Tea?”

You shake your head, “no, but I…” You don’t want one. You don’t want anything but to be alone. You turn our head to look out the window at the rustling leaves brushing against the pane.

“I always found the morning air did me more good than caffeine,” Odin says, “would you like to see the gardens?”

“Sir, I–”

“Please, enough of that,” he waves away the formality, “you would do me a favour. It isn’t often I have someone to walk with me.”

You look at him and bite your lip, “of course.”

“Wonderful,” he proclaims and waves you ahead of him. You go around to the back entry way and stop by the door. You look at the mat then around. You don’t have any shoes.

“Ah, these will do,” he bends and pulls out a pair of plaid gray slippers, “a bit big but we can go slow.”

He turns them towards you and stands, waiting for you to step into them. He has a pair of leather shoes already on his feet. You thank him quietly as you slide your feet in. He opens the door for you, again letting you take the lead.

He points you across the veranda and offers his hand for you to descend the steps onto the stone path. You take each stair carefully, not wanting to lose the overly big slippers. As you get to the bottom, he rescinds his hand and offers an arm instead. You hook yours through his and let him guide you.

You quickly lose yourself in the scenery and your worries. The green leaves, the creeping vines, the fluttering petals. It’s all so beautiful. You don’t belong there.

You lower your head, as if just looking upon it all is a crime. You should be at home with your father. A pang jabs deep between your ribs as you think of him. You haven’t even called. You’ve barely given him a single thought. You must be as selfish as he always accused you.

You keep your feet moving in tandem with Odin’s but pay little attention to your path. He slows and stops you as a trickling plucks in the air. You peek up and see a large plinth with water flowing down the sides. A wonderful fountain in the midst of a square basin dug into the earth.

“I come here to think. Or not to,” he explains, gesturing you towards a carved wooden bench. You sidle along and sit and he lowers himself with you, his arm still entwined with yours. “I can see you are in need of both.”

You shake your head and focus on the flowing water. Your cheeks pinch and your lips tauten across your teeth. You can’t cry. Not in front of him.

“You are homesick?” He asks gently as he pats your arm with his free hand.

You nod.

“It is only human. I remember…” he leans against you, “when I was young, if ever I truly was, and I went away from home for school. I was so very excited. My whole life I’d been sheltered, eh. My mother had me close all the time. I went to a private school with walls that shut out the world. And after the years of what felt like a prison, I couldn’t wait to be away, to be free.

“And my first day alone, sitting in my dorm, so proud of the Hendrix poster on my wall, I broke down. I bawled for hours. I couldn’t stop. I’d never ever cried like that. But I went down to the RA and asked to use the phone. I called my mother and…” he snaps his fingers, “in an instant, no tears. And even when she hung up, I was alright, because I knew I could always call her back.”

You sniff, your eyes stinging. He doesn’t know you can’t call your father. You don’t want him to know that.

“You went to college?” You ask.

“Mm, yes, wasted a bit too much time there,” he sighs, “but you won’t fool me, girl. Who do you miss so much?”

You shrug and hang your head. You don’t even know if you really miss your father. You know he doesn’t miss you. All you know is he’s sick and you’re hear, sitting in this splendour, buying new dresses, and eating fine cheeses.

“My father…” you croak.

“Ah fathers, they are… complicated.”

You nod and gulp tightly. You lift your head and peek over at him, “he hates me.”

The words strangle you once they’re out. There it is. The truth. There’s no taking it back.

It only took you thirty years to figure it out. You never had anything to compare it too but seeing Frigga dote on her children, just her asking you how you are, sparked the revelation. Then there was the other side, the dejection, the constant reminders that you are only good for what you can give, not what you are. That’s the only way your father ever treated you.

“I’m certain he doesn’t,” Odin coos gently.

“No, he does,” your lip downturns and tugs on your cheeks, “I always knew it but I wanted so desperately for him to love me that I… I told myself… that he did or that he could.”

You tear your arm free and stand. You hide your face as you try to smother the sudden eruption of sobs. What is wrong with you? You sweep away, facing the foliage at the other end of the fountain and heave, shoulders shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimper. “I shouldn’t–”

“Do not apologise. I won’t accept it,” he insists as he rises and hovers close to you, “you’ve nothing to be sorry for. How you feel is not an offence.”

“I don’t want to go home,” you turn to him, “I want to disappear.”

His eyes sparkle and his features soften, “dear…”

“No, I do. I don’t want to be here or anywhere. I don’t belong. Not here, not there, not on this planet.”

“Oh my,” he puts his hands gently on your shoulders and angles you towards him, “you feel that way, but feelings are not always true.”

“It’s true. I’m… I’m just a maid. I’m not… I’m not…”

“You are exactly where you should be,” he says, “you are here with me.” He pulls you against him, trapping you in his arms. He brings a hand to the back of your head and cradles it, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. He rocks you gently, “you are safe and you are wanted.” He pets your hair as he holds you, “you are worthy.”

You bring your arms around, clinging to him, clinging to safety. You bury your face in the soft fabric of his shirt and weep. You weep until you're dizzy and raw and spent. And when you’re drained, you don’t let go. You can’t.

You just want to stay here with the birds and the insects and the rippling fountain. You want to hide away in this menagerie and never come out. Yet you know you must. Not right now, not just yet. But eventually, you have to tuck it all away again and face the world.

For now, you’ll just let him hold you.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #marvel #avengers #mcu #thor

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wakkass · 8 months

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It's impossible to put into words how much I love designing characters, especially for AU.

Yes, I recently had an avatar AU, and I really wanted to draw Katara from there (and also Zuko). I usually draw a static pose in order to display all the details of the clothes. This is such a kind of character sheet that helps me to better imagine the scenes in my head.

If you're interested in reading about the AU itself, then there will be some information about it.

I apologize in advance for mistakes in the text, English is not my native language. But, I hope, this will not interfere with understanding.

In general, my AU concerns the ending of the series, because at some point it seemed unrealistic to me. There is too much positivity with the obvious problems of the post-military space, as well as little logic in some moments (for example, I don't understand what Zuko was doing in Ba Sing Se. Did he abandon his newfound throne to the mercy of fate with the risk of a palace coup? Did he not feel the effects of a lightning strike? The longer I think about it, the surreal it seems to me).

At some point I thought, "this is all like Aang's dream, in which everything is intentionally good. As if this is the ending he wants, but it's unattainable." And then it dawned on me. But it really looks like his fantasy about the future after defeating the root of evil. This explains why Zuko recovered so easily, why everyone is just relaxing and having fun without a drop of post-trauma. Because Aang wants everything to be so naive and simple after defeating the Fire Lord. Because he's dreaming about it.

I know this is a very hackneyed narrative technique. It's pretty easy to say "this is someone's dream" to deny any events. But I found it curious, especially against the background of the episode "Nightmares and Daydreams", where Aang's dreams already simplified the reality around him. For me, it's like a lead-up to the finale, where he actually sleeps.

You ask, "but why is he sleeping?". I also asked this question, and the answer to it killed me. Because during the battle with Ozai, when the stone hit Aang in the wound, he fell into a coma. His body was paralyzed because his brain perceived it as a repeated lightning strike, again fatal. The avatar's state was the only one that did not allow Aang to die, but only to fall into a coma. And instead of an epic battle, we have a little helpless boy spending a huge amount of energy just to maintain his life.

The second Aang collapsed, he disappeared, leaving Ozai alone with the remnants of his temporary power. And no one else saw the avatar…

I'll leave the intrigue for you about this, but for now I'll tell you about the concepts from the art.

Naturally, everyone searched for Aang, and, naturally, they did not find him. Katara and Zuko were the only ones who did not participate in the search, for several reasons:

Zuko was rehabilitated for a very long time after being struck by lightning, and Katara nursed him (I'm sure there are a lot of fics about this topic. The only difference is that there is no romance here. The focus of my AU is not on it, but on the problems of the consequences of the war). He survived, but he had major problems with his heart, digestive system and spine. Who noticed the cane in his hands? Yes, Zuko couldn't walk without it. From now on and forever. He was physically unable to leave the palace, and Katara maintained at least some of his condition.

Even after Zuko's rehabilitation, it was necessary to keep the power in his hands. Imagine what a shock the Fire Nation experienced when not just the former Fire Lord was overthrown, but the country's policy changed dramatically. Now Zuko needed to keep power in his hands and establish a new regime as soon as possible, before his opponents raised armies and people against him. This boy, who recently sat quietly at a military meeting, needed to show unprecedented strength and power to everyone: both officials sought to turn the situation in their favor, and the people who wanted stability and prosperity. But how to do this if Zuko couldn't even breathe normally, and getting out of bed required tremendous effort? It was impossible… Anyone else would have given up, but not Zuko. He has never given up without a fight and has never turned his back on danger, even if he risks dying.

It hurts me a lot for him, too. Fate has never stopped pushing Zuko against obstacles, but this time he couldn't rely on himself. He almost couldn't bend, his body almost didn't obey. He was an easy target and there was nothing he could do about it. This helplessness irritated him, saddened him, oppressed him. The only thing that wasn't broken yet was his spirit, and Zuko was barely able to maintain it in such conditions. If it wasn't for Katara, I don't know if he would have coped in the end. She was now his only support, his only ally in these cold oppressive walls, the only rational grain in his doubts.

You ask, "Where is Iroh? Where is Mai?"

Iroh, along with the White Lotus, took on a mission to liberate the Earth Kingdom from the Fire Army and establish relations with the kingdom. In fact, Iroh now shared power with Zuko: uncle was engaged in foreign policy so that his nephew could focus on domestic policy.

With Mai, everything was much simpler: after getting out of prison, she was completely disappointed in the guy who always left her. She sent him a letter, where she finally ended their relationship, and left with her family somewhere far away. Perhaps she and Zuko will cross paths again and will be able to establish a relationship. But not now.

Katara remained to help Zuko not only with treatment, but also with his policy. As a resident of an almost disappearing tribe, as well as an able leader, she helped him with projects and plans to improve the quality of life of the population and actively participates in them. She performed those missions that Zuko can only entrust to her. After all, she was a friend he could rely on and to whom he could open his feelings.

In her design, I wanted to reflect the combination of two cultures: Fire and Water. I was based on the designs of the "12 Kingdoms" (if you haven't watched this gorgeous anime or haven't read ranobe, I strongly recommend doing it. This universe is no less interesting than the avatar's world, I'm sure you'll like it), because the palace intrigues and the plot with winning the respect of the court reminds me very much of the story from there.

One day Zuko's legs finally gave up, he could not get up. All the stress he was going through was breaking his body so much that at some point the Katara's treatment stopped working.

It was a very difficult moment for both of them. Zuko has just started to promote his ideas and defend his rights to the throne, and Katara sincerely did not know what to do. If the truth about the true state of the Fire Lord had come out, all the ill-wishers would not leave this opportunity and attack, this couldn't be allowed. They urgently needed to create the appearance that everything is in order, but how?

Zuko came up with a very brazen idea. He asked Katara to use bloodbending on him to simulate walking. It was a very difficult request for her, because this skill represented the worst face of the war, it was created to torture people. And the last thing she wanted was to torment Zuko. She hesitated for a long time, he saw it, but he couldn't wait. He couldn't stop, it wasn't a luxury he could afford. Therefore, he went out, trying not to get up and move much.

Naturally, at some point his weakness was noticed at the most inopportune moment. Naturally, at this moment Katara couldn't let Zuko fall. Imperceptibly under her sleeves, she moved her friend's body like a puppet, causing him as much unbearable pain as most would not stand. But Zuko was not like that. He stood it.

It looked like this to me somehow:

They were both very depressed that day. He was suffering physically because of Katara's bending, and she could not believe that she had caused the suffering of a person dear to her. It broke and scared her, she opened the way to the Hama's madness, and was very afraid to fall into it.

Zuko assured her that it was impossible. Hama didn't have people to guide her, while Katara has friends. Maybe Zuko didn't consider himself the best moral mentor, but he promised to be there in the most difficult moments for Katara, and now he won't leave her.

This encouraged her and opened her eyes to her own cowardice. She was afraid of the darkness of Hama, and instead of curbing it, Katara hid it in herself, ignored it. And that's what it led to: the person who needed her help suffered. But she didn't want to run away anymore. She wasn't going to give up without a fight and turn her back on those who needed her.

At the beginning, Katara trained on herself, experiencing the same pain as the victims of bloodbending. Careless movement of blood through the vessels could cause internal bleeding at any time, it was very dangerous. The Hama's voice in her head pressed on her conscience, saying that innocent people felt all this pain, and only Katara was to blame for this.

Later, she learned to control the flow of water on puppets, like Hama. The point was to pass water through the threads without bursting them. Absolute control was required here, and Zuko taught her the techniques of firebending for self-control. This was necessary for Katara, because the Hama's voice in her head did not subside and did not allow her to correctly distribute her forces. It seemed like Katara was about to stumble, but Zuko wouldn't let her do it.

Gradually, Katara mastered this skill and tried to draw blood on Zuko's legs. The effect was unexpected. Her great willpower and desire to help him resulted in healing. Zuko began to feel his legs, and Katara discovered the reverse side of this bending. No, she didn't heal him completely, it's too early for him to get rid of the cane. But maybe one day she will become so strong that she can do it.

Katara realized that there was no evil magic, there was only evil intent. This was her first step towards learning to look inner demons in the face, and not to hide them in herself when it was possible to hurt others.

But what about the other design?

Katara's father sent her a letter asking her to return. Her family needed her help, because she was the last waterbender, a carrier of culture and skills, as well as a healer of a new level, the daughter of a tribal leader.

At home, everything was not the same as before, moreover, everything taked shape as a Northern Tribe. I really like the idea of the comic "North and South" about the problem of assimilation. Only here has Katara accepted all aspects of its culture, even the most unpleasant ones, and she would not give up so easily when this newfound knowledge was in danger of disappearing.

Actually, I wanted to draw her outfit of this arch. I wanted to redesign the costume for myself, because I like to do it. I kept the front strands of Katara, we don't talk much about them.

I would really like to describe the path of the rest of the team and what they do, of Aang and what happens to him. But I'm already tired of typing, and you probably read.

After all, the post is more about designs, and not about the AU itself, so the goal to reveal some of my ideas has been achieved in principle. Maybe sometime later.

Hope you enjoyed reading this :3

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #atla fanart #atla au #avatar fanart #katara #zuko

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itsprashimusic · 2 months

Text

Wildest Dreams Warm Realities

"Say you'll remember me"

Summary - A Formula 1 driver is on vacation in Goa with his family. A woman and her friend group are also on a vacation in Goa. Is this destiny?

Pairings - Charles Leclerc x indian!fem!Reader

Warnings - hindi words with english translations at the end, your best friend has a name (Sarah), mention of animals getting harmed, reader has hair. Happy reading🩵

W/C - 2.6k

A/N - the train is from Mumbai to Goa. Let me know if I missed anything.

Navigation | "Say you'll remember me" | "Standin' in a nice dress" | "Starin' at the sunset" | ..babe"

The horn sounded nice and loud, it could be heard by the people who stood on the road outside the station. It indicated that the train was now leaving CSMT and heading to its final destination. You had this trip planned out with your friends since the beginning of the year. All hotel reservations were made and all tickets were booked since this was the busiest time of the year to travel.

It was the middle of December. You had 3 different invites to 3 different weddings, an invitation to meet one of your good school friends, and a desire for a true Goa trip with your friend group. But all of that was about to go down the drain because you were standing on the platform hearing the train engines start and watching it slowly pull away. You went out to grab some hot samosas for everyone but were now panicking, “Bhaiya jaldi karo, train jaa rahi hai!” you yelled at the poor dude who was trying to hurriedly wrap the piping hot samosas. You got the black thaili, gave him a 200 rupee note, and ran off, “Chhutta rakh lena!” you said over your shoulder.

This could not be happening. It looked cute in YJHD when Naina was running behind the train, unfortunately you were not Naina. You were running after the train with your hair tied in a weird bun from the morning and were holding onto a black plastic bag with samosas in it, very much the opposite of how she looked. But then you saw it, more accurately, him. He was tall and had fluffy hair, like Bunny. But his hair was brown and he had green eyes, eyes which were filled with concern, eyes that were looking at you.

This distracted you, but when you realised the train was moving away faster, you started to sprint. Never in your life had you run faster. His one had held onto the railing, while the other was stretched out and gesturing to you. You grabbed onto his outstretched hand and jumped. This is where you mentally prayed that he would catch you, if not, you were surely gonna get jammed in between the train and the platform, get injured, or die on impact. Thankfully he did catch you. When you jumped, he reacted quite fast and pulled you with one hand and caught you by your waist with the other.

The both of you stood at the door standing incredibly close, breathing and processing what just happened.

You managed to recover and pulled away from him, his hands dropping from your wrist and waist. However, you did not notice his slightly disappointed face, which he quickly covered up.

“Thanks for..the help.” you weren’t really sure what to say. He didn’t say anything, he just kept looking at you. You started to worry that he didn’t speak English, right when he replied, “Sure, it was no problem.”

God that accent. He was definitely from Europe, maybe France. But just that one sentence got you craving for more. You wanted to hear him talk, it didn’t matter what the subject was.

The silence turned awkward, so you mumbled a final ‘thank you’ and ‘see you around’ before entering the first class A/C compartment.

You and your group of six(excluding you), had booked the train tickets separately. Two of your friends who were dating booked a coupe for themselves, and then gradually everyone else also got their tickets. You were the last to book and ended up in a cabin with 4 berths. You just hoped that whoever you would be sharing a cabin with would not bother you or make you uncomfortable.

You made your way to your friends’ compartment and gave everyone their samosas. By now it was no longer hot, just warm, but it was enjoyed nonetheless. You fell into the lively conversation and temporarily forgot about the brunette with capturing eyes and an alluring accent who saved you from missing a train. Once the clock hit 11 pm, everyone started getting ready for the night. You and your best friend went to brush and wash up for the night while the others got their beds ready. That is when you remember the mystery man.

Sarah was in the middle of brushing her teeth when you came out of the smelling washroom saying, “I nearly missed the train while getting you guys your food.”

“Wha id u o?”

“I ran like a mad woman and got saved by a stranger.” the second you finished speaking, she spit the foam out of her mouth, looked up at you, and asked you to elaborate. “Was it a guy?” you gave her a look, “Was he cute??” you gave her a more pronounced look and she started squealing. You had to cover her mouth with your hand. The train staff member who was in the other train car gave you a weird look.

You just smiled at him and dragged your toothpaste-covered friend into the a/c compartment. You gave her a towel to wipe her mouth with while she whisper-yelled more questions at you.

“The bhaiya was still wrapping the samosas, the horn went off, the train started leaving and I ran. I saw this guy, this gorgeous guy standing at the door. He held out his hand and I-” you weren’t even able to complete your sentence. ‘You had your DDLJ moment!’ Sarah squealed, jumping up and down with excitement. One thing you were glad to have in your life was Sarah. She was always happy for you, got excited for you, and uplifted you. And that is what she did. It took her five minutes of convincing before she left for her cabin with your 3 other mutual friends.

You headed back to your cabin, but this time it was not empty. A man and a woman were sitting on the berth below yours. They looked like a couple, foreigners. They looked at you, smiled, gave a nod of their head, and continued their conversation in what you guessed was French. As you shuffled around getting your bed ready another man walks, dressed in sweatpants and a tight-fitting t-shirt. It was the brunette who ‘saved’ you a few hours earlier.

Not knowing what to do, or if you should say something, you just continued making your bed in the upper berth. You realised that he also was sleeping in the upper berth when he tossed a few items up there. Once you were done, the couple’s talks died down and the woman asked, “Hi, we don’t mean to be a bother but we were wondering if you could just guide us on how to get the beds sorted. We are not exactly sure what to do.”

The brunette man had left the room, seemingly to make a call. You smiled at the woman, “Oh, no worries.” you gave her your name and she replied, “I’m Charlotte, this is my boyfriend Lorenzo.” You smiled at him and then turned your attention towards Charlotte and began explaining what to do. Both lower berths were done and soon enough the green-eyed man returned.

Charlotte said something to him in French. They knew each other. She turned to you, “and this is Charles, Enzo’s younger brother.” Even his name sounds regal. Before you could get a word in he said, “We’ve already met.” with a smile that seemed genuine. His brother gave him a questioning look and asked him in French. Charles gave a reply. It was now nearing midnight and you wanted to sleep soon. You were getting off at a station in the north of Goa, meaning you had to wake up early. Before you could head up to your berth, Charlotte asked if you could help Charles with his bed. She thanked you and then pulled her boyfriend out of the cabin and walked away, not really giving you an option.

You looked at him and he looked at you, confused. “Do you know how to set the bed?” you asked with a smile on your face. “Not really, no,” he said with a laugh, “I could use some help.” So you helped him set the bed. In the meantime, you both spoke about different things. You told him about the weddings and plans to spend as much time on the beach as possible. He told you about how one of his co-workers told him about Goa’s splendour and fun and how he and his family are spending their holiday together.

By the time the bed was set, you were sitting on your berth while he opted to stand, his height making it difficult to sit on the upper berth. It was now way past midnight. You were getting tired, though it seemed that he was wide awake. Charlotte and Lorenzo finally returned. Your conversation died down. You said that you had to get up early and were now going to sleep. They promised to keep quiet. You put your eye mask on and turned to the side letting the swaying motions of the train put you to sleep.

With the amount of excitement inside of you, you were not able to sleep for very long. You were well rested but woke up at 6 am. The three Monegasques were fast asleep (i have no idea of Charlotte’s nationality so let’s just say she is from monaco). You sat up in bed and for a good five minutes just admired the sleeping body opposite of you. You checked your phone and found out that the train was delayed by 3 hours. This was ridiculous. Apparently, a large group of animals were crossing the tracks when a train was approaching and it caused an accident.

You got out of bed and went to see if any of your friends were awake. Everyone was sleeping, except Sarah whose bed was empty. She was probably in the washroom. You decided that it was too early to do anything and so went back to your cabin, fetched your toiletry bag, freshened up, went back to bed, wrapped yourself in the itchy blanket, and opened Subway Surfers on your phone while your other hand held a cold sandwich. Your headphones played some music you had downloaded. An hour passed and you set a new high score for which you were proud. Charles woke up.

You didn’t notice at first, but he saw you as soon as his eyes opened. You looked adorable wrapped up in the cocoon of the blanket. It was when he sat up that you saw him and gave him a smile and a small wave. His cheeks turned red and he waved back. His thoughts of you at that moment ranged from pure and soft to vulgar and wild, and it all lasted for less than a second. He got up and went out. You decided that you should go and check if Sarah is awake. When you reached her cabin, her bed was still empty. Feeling lazy, you made the decision to stand by the train door and hopefully catch some cold morning wind.

Your hair went in a plait and you opened the train door which was left unlocked. The toilet door opened and out came the dreamy Monegasque. He came up to you, "Are you sure that is the safest thing to do?”

“Not really, but that’s the fun in it.” there was a sparkle in your eye when you turned your head to look at him.

“Are you even allowed to open the door?” his laugh made it clear he was fooling around with you.

“Technically no. But it wasn’t locked, so it's on them.” Your laugh sounded angelic to him. The hair which escaped your braid framed your face so beautifully, Charles could do nothing but stare at you. It took him a second to realise you were asking him something.

“Slept well?” he shook his head. “Not quite. The constant shaking made me restless.” “That happens. But eventually, you get used to it.” He asked how you slept and you answered ‘pretty good.’ He stood opposite of you resting on the wall behind him watching the wind blow your hair around as the sun began to rise. The pair marinated in comfortable silence until a staff member came and told you to move away and shut the door. The tranquil moment was broken, but neither of you wanted it to end. Without speaking a word, the two of you went inside the compartment but stayed outside your cabin.

“Well, we did speak last night but I do not know much about you.”

“In that case, what would you like to know?”

He leans against the train wall, his arms crossed, your pose mimicking his. He thinks for a second and proceeds to ask, “How often do you travel?” “Not very often,” you respond, “I sometimes go for a weekend trip to nearby hill stations, but that's usually the max I travel.”

“So no foreign trips?”

“I don’t exactly have the funds for it,” you chuckle, “between getting a visa organised, praying that my leave from work gets approved, to finding flights, I just find it not worth the effort. I would be spending three months of my salary for just 10 days of vacation which I would rather spend finishing work which equals more money.”

He seemed perplexed by your answer, confusion evident on his face. “And would I be right in assuming that you travel abroad very often?” you ask, a bit of a smirk showing. He smiles and looks down, his hair moving due to this movement. Your eyes were fixed on this as he answered, “You would.” “And why do you travel the world, Charles?”

He smiles, that lovely smile, “I-uh, I drive expensive cars for very wealthy people around the world.” You smiled, but something about that answer felt false. Like he wasn’t telling you everything, but it didn’t seem like he was lying. “Does that mean you know much about cars then?” “I’d like to think I do.”

The smiles never left either of your faces as the conversation continued. You mentioned how your brother works with different types of cars and how they are his life. “I should meet him then, test my knowledge about cars,” Charles said.

“Trust me you don’t, he gets very excited when someone mentions anything about cars. Once he starts, he does not stop.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind, I am a good listener.”

"Tell me something you like." the driver asked after a while of the train being halted. You looked out of the hazy window and replied, "The sun." He cocked an eyebrow. "I could go on and on about it." "Well, I did say I am a good listener," said Charles.

The conversation went on for what felt like hours. But soon enough you felt the train start to finally move. You both decided to head back to the cabin, but you were stopped when one of your friends called out to you to join them. You were disappointed, gave Charles a short apology, and followed behind your friend.

By the time you were able to go back to your cabin, the train had reached the final platform where you were getting off. You were hoping to catch a glimpse of Charles before leaving, but sadly when you returned to your cabin, it was empty save for your luggage and belongings. You gathered all of your items and met your group on the platform. The two cars which were rented for the next two weeks were there waiting for you. Everyone got in and drove off to the rest houses. You were the designated driver for Car 1, which gave you very little opportunity to think about not getting to say goodbye to Charles.

Little did you know that you would meet him once again, very soon.

Translations

Bhaiya jaldi karo, train jaa rahi hai! - Brother hurry up, the train is leaving!

Chhutta rakh lena! - Keep the change(money)

thaili - bag (in this case it is a black plastic bag)

A/N - i had so much fun writing this. i already have part 2 in the works. if this fic is well received, i'll post the next part. Hope you enjoyed reading🩵

If you want to find out more about me or my works, you can head to my navigation.

@sam-is-lost @juleswrites223

#itsprashimusic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x desi!reader #charles leclerc x indian!reader #desiblr #f1 x desi!reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine

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