#his body acting is phenomenal

[uuuhshiny]

Sean Bean in Stormy Monday

Aftercare

[ttsukiimi]

❛ I FVCKED MY BODYGUARD! ❜

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬  ⎯ Toji fushiguro is nothing but a bodyguard—or at least those are the words you keep telling everyone including yourself. But when you’re under him, moaning his name, can you really say that?

୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬  ⎯ bodyguard!toji fushiguro x actress!reader, smut (mdni), n!pple sucking & n!pple play, implied size difference, slight manhandling, softdom! & bigd!ck!toji, unprotected sx, mentions of ichiji, reader referred to as (doll, baby, princess)

'Famous actress 'suki' ttsukiimi facing backlash after allegedly being seen in public holding hands with her bodyguard! Fans step forward with pictures as proof!'

Your eyes rolled as you saw the news headline, and you wondered if someone actually sat down and wrote it.

For starters, Toji Fushiguro was nothing more than your bodyguard—and, of course, he had to accompany you in public because that was his job! And, while the holding hands aspect appeared incriminating, he was merely doing it to keep you steady as you went through the crowd.

You made an effort to clear your head for the upcoming night, but your mood soured with bitter irritation. Thoughts of Toji suddenly sprang to mind as you were trying to declutter your mind. You couldn't help but wander off to the feeling of his big hand encasing your smaller one, the waft of his cologne into your nostrils as he walked beside you and tried his best to politely push people out of the way.

He was just perfect in every aspect—tall, muscular, intimidating, you couldn't count how many times you'd wanted a simple touch from him to lead to something else.

Your phone snapped you out of your daydreaming, the chime of your ringtone echoing throughout the almost empty hotel room. Quickly, almost embarrassingly so, you read the contact's name, and inwardly smiled to yourself. Just who you wanted.

"Hello?" your sugary voice rung throughout the speaker. Toji could feel himself heat up from your voice alone, imagining the way your plump lips moved as you talked, and he cleared his throat.

"We're waiting for you outside, doll. Hurry up, yeah?" he mumbled, letting his hand hang back on the car's headrest.

You let out an acknowledging hum, not daring to speak with the way you clenched your thighs together—his tone and the deepness of his voice alone sending a shock of electricity through you. Not to mention the pet name.

Soon enough, you met with Toji and your chauffer, Ichiji, outside. You'd made sure to wear something risqué, and both men were more than glad to gaze at you through their peripheral, though toji made no attempt to hide his staring. 

The ride to your wardrobe stylist was silent, save for a few impatient grumbles from toji on how long the ride was going to take. He could really act so immature sometimes.

୨୧

You stepped out of the room, velvet material clinging to your body like second skin and gleamed at Toji. "What do you think?"

His throat congealed with breath. You appeared breathtaking; the stylist having done a phenomenal job of selecting dresses that accentuate your complexion and emphasize your curves.

Toji gave a playful suck of his teeth. "Eh."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your phone on a nearby table and checked the time. It was almost time to get going.

"Tojii, please help me choose. Y'know I can't rely on Ichiji." That, however, was a lie; if anyone was aware of actress-appropriate style, it was him .You merely wanted a justification to continue showing Toji yourself in small little dresses. Not that he couldn't admit he liked watching you do that.

Once again, the scarred-lipped man sucked his teeth. "Go with the black one, with the back cutout, I guess."

୨୧

It was finally time for the nomination. Toji grinned to himself as he saw you on stage, light sparkling in your eyes, making you appear ethereal. You competed with other actresses for best of the year.

The announcer began to speak, her voice sweet, but not as much as yours, he reasoned. And it would be an understatement to say that Toji, and the entire audience, were upset not to hear your name.

"Who the fuck even is that?" he whispered under his breath, but his eyes softened as he noticed the smile on your face when you heard your name for the second time.

Everyone's eyes were drawn to you as you strutted over to receive your award, fascinated by the glow you emitted, and the audience erupted in cheers. Toji let out a small cheer just for you.

When the event was finally done and the paparazzi and bothersome interviewers had left, you let out a sigh of relief. Toji took your hand and guided you to the waiting limousine, opening the door for you.

You hoped this wouldn't cause another news headline.

"Thanks," you mumbled before succumbing to tiredness and falling asleep, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

When you awoke, you were comfortably positioned on your hotel room's bed, with the blankets warming your restless body. Your initial inclination was to search around for Toji, but there was no sign of him. You sprang out of bed and began searching for him, only to find him just as he was about to leave.

He tilted his head. "Did I wake you?"

You shook yours. "No, I—Can you stay?" The sentence slipped through your lips before you could catch it. Your eyes widened and your cheeks burned with embarrassment, even more so when you timidly looked up at him to find him smirking.

"Doll." he hummed, walking towards you, making you look at him with a finger under your chin. "When are ya gonna just say it?"

Your heartbeat skyrocketed, not only from the contact and closeness of his huge body, but also from the look on his face.

"If you wanna fuck just say that."

Your knees buckled under your weight, Toji catching you in his arms. You both looked at each other's lips and back up, and in his arms, you felt like you were under a trance.

Lips soon collided. One kiss led to a make-out session, and that led to you being manhandled and thrown onto the bed. Toji crawled on after you, the angry erection under his black slacks poking through.

Your eyes widened in shock. "Toji.."

He hushed you with a quick peck, the unfastening of his belt and zipper sounding throughout the room. "Open your legs."

His hands lit fires on your skin as he slid them down to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart and whistling at the wetness gathered on your folds. "You're soaked baby. Ain't even touched you yet."

You whined and looked away, breath hitching as he teasingly gathered your slick on the tip of his cock. Toji clenched his jaw as he pushed the head in, everything in him resisting from thrusting everything in—knowing how small you were compared to him.

Who knew he'd be fucking the person he was supposed to protect?

"Breathe, baby,"

Nodding, you tried your best to follow his order. But, when he started moving, you completely lost it.

Strings upon strings of moans poured from your mouth, your legs locking around his waist as he found a pace. And even though to you his pace was pleasurable and a bit too much simultaneously, he was holding back.

Toji hadn't fucked such a greedy cunt in years, with the way you were sucking him in, it felt like you wanted to suck him dry. He hit your sweet spot easily with each thrust, groaning as he snaked his hands up your torso and pulled the neckline of your dress down to reveal your tits to him. "Knew they were pretty."

He leaned his head down to suck on your pebbled nipples, driving his girth in and out of you painfully fast now. Switching his attention to your other nub, Toji rolled your previous nipple between his fingers as he suckled on it.

Your back arched up into his touch and gave him more access to your body. "'S too much!"

"You'll take it," he rasped into your ear, hitting the spot that had you seeing stars so effortlessly it felt criminal. Your vision filled with white and blurred, liquid heat rippling through your lower stomach.

You gasped as you hadn't felt such euphoria in years, your job not leaving much time for love affairs, or for any affairs at that.

"I Think 'm close,"

"Ya think, princess?" he chuckled, deep and booming in your ear, his rhythm cruel and harsh on your poor, sensitive pussy.

Toji could feel himself slowly being hurled towards the edge of his high, and he could feel yours too with the way you clamped extra tight down on him. 

"C'mon, baby. Cum on my cock." he ordered, and your body instantly complied with his words. Your back arched further off the sheets, a broken cry bubbling from deep within your chest as you climaxed.

Toji's high came teetering soon after yours, and he made quick work of pulling himself out and letting his seed spurt over your stomach and tits. Your bodies were both messy and sweaty, and he appreciated the sight under him.

You had completely soaked the sheets, and Toji took pride in knowing he was the one who made you.

With a drawn-out sigh, he plopped down beside you.

"You think they'll write news about this too?"

"So you also saw that, huh?"

[midnightarcheress]

Simon thinks he could live like this.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: nothing he's just down bad 7 | gold rush masterlist.

“are you insane?!” Daniel shouts, slamming the door behind him and stomping his feet towards Simon with a menacing look, “you think you can just move her around like this?”

“she wasn’t safe in that house, this is for her protection,” he answers promptly, crossing his arms and taking a step in front of you, covering your frame from the irate man. if he could, he’d land a punch on his face in no time, not caring that technically he’s his boss.

“yeah? and you simply have to be here with her, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. you watch the scene unfold from behind Simon, brows knitted together and bottom lip nearly bleeding from biting too much. he’d managed to momentarily tranquillize you, bring you back to earth after the terrifying panic state, but the anxiety kept simmering underneath your skin, just waiting for another chance to take over your body.

“the shitty security system you put in her house wasn’t enough to prevent the bastard from intrudin’, the bloody alarm didn’t even go off,” he retorts, eyes shooting daggers straight ahead, “so yeah, i’m gonna stay with her for as long as it’s necessary. contract says to protect her, doesn’t it?” 

the two of them stay quiet, a silent staring competition on Daniel’s side, a mere warning on Simon’s side. he won’t budge, won’t allow you to go back to that house, hand you on a silver platter to the grim reaper hiding behind letters and eerie messages. 

Dan leans on his side to look at you, ignoring the mass of a man in front of him. “are you sure about this?” his tone is strangely soft, like a switch flipped in his mind, all anger vanishing. you nod, offering him a small smile that does a poor job of concealing how nervous you are about the situation. he purses his lips, taking one last glance at Simon’s unwavering posture before sighing in defeat.

it’s been two weeks since the mirror message that led Simon into comforting you, and two weeks since he had to control his own panic, trying his best not to spiral. it had been a while since he shared a living space, so staying with you feels like a dream that he’s constantly afraid of turning into a nightmare by saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, or even thinking about what’s happening. 

the safe house Price arranged is far from the size you’re used to, being at least three times smaller than your own house. but to his surprise, again, your reaction to it contradicts his expectations. it could just be you being a phenomenal actress, covering your resentment behind a beaming smile, but you seemed to have grown accustomed to his presence easily, didn’t protest once, never lamented the loss of luxury and privacy.

he wanted to deny the feeling, shove it deep down in his brain and lock the safe, but it was nice, the domesticity of it all. it was nice learning little details about your routine; how you only get out of bed the second time your alarm rings; how you’re definitely not a morning person, judging by the gruff good morning you mumble when you slide to the counter stool; how you love trying new recipes and quietly dance in the kitchen, freezing when you notice him watching you; or how you’re always carrying something to read, it being a book or a script.

it was nice making you coffee in the morning and seeing you rub your sleepy eyes, nice hearing you humming a song in the shower, nice catching a glimpse of you in lingerie when you forget to lock your bedroom door, nearly making him choke in his own spit by the sight of the small tattoo on your hip. is it a star? a flower?

he felt like he was playing house with you. a game where you’re his loving wife and he’s a devoted husband, where he could feed his delusions, live everything he was convinced he’d never have in this lifetime. inside those walls, he could do it all, except the one thing he longed the most – touch you. kiss the top of your head when you’re baking in the kitchen, run his fingers through your hair when you’re curled up on the couch, feel your soft skin under his fingertips when you lay in bed, bend you over the table when you pass by him in skimpy pyjama shorts.

“do you... wanna watch a movie?” you ask, remote in hand and head leaned back on the sofa, chewing the inside of your cheek and attentively glaring at the television. he tilts to the side, stirring his thoughts away and taking in the view of your features illuminated by the bright lights coming from the screen. it was easy to get lost in how beautiful you were, a magical creature brought to earth to bewitch him. 

your head suddenly shifts to where he’s sitting, and it hits him that you’re still expecting an answer. fuck. “uh, yeah, sure.” he mumbles, snapping back to the telly, swallowing the desires his throat dared to spill.

later that day, Simon steps onto the front porch for a much-needed nicotine fix, dark blues painting the sky as the last rays of sunlight vanish from the horizon. he hates the burning sensation of the smoke in his lungs, but always craves the lightheadedness and dopamine flush in his veins, no matter how many years it takes from his life. 

“god!” you jump, looking behind you and putting a hand over your chest to steady your rapid heartbeat, “you really are a ghost, aren’t you?” a chuckle falls from your lips after the startle, travelling the air like a lullaby, and he ignores the flutter in his chest that happens whenever you laugh.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” you shrug and turn back to your initial position, sitting on the steps and watching the crunchy tree leaves dancing in the breeze. he follows your gaze to the front lawn, bringing a cigarette from the pack to his lips, debating if he should truly smoke with you in there. you never complained, but he’s caught you frowning at the thin cardboard a few times around the house, so he decides not to light it.

“can i ask you something?” you blurt out, lifting your chin to face him, eyes searching for his, and his head dips, irises focusing on yours. one brow raises at your sudden curiosity and he nods, back propped against the column, waiting, “why Ghost?”

his jaw tenses, gaze shifting from you to the carton in his hands. the ever-dreaded question. “dunno. just a nickname.” lie. he couldn’t tell you how everything was taken from him and he faked his death years ago; how he truly became the ghost of man. you don’t deserve to be burdened with that knowledge, so it is just a nickname. 

he looks back to you, gauging if you bought his deflection or not. you’re still focused on him, vision flicking at every crease of his expression, waiting for any falter, but it doesn’t come. “you can call me Simon.”

the thin line of your lips breaks into a smile, cheeks rising and making his heart skip a beat. so much for easy detachment, “okay, Simon.”

the way i still have at least ten parts of this story in my outline but i'm so unmotivated to write it :(

[doobean]

AND BACK AGAIN ━ BAROU SHOEI + NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: Nagi doesn't know which one he should be more afraid of: your pink silicone strap on, or your boyfriend's giant cock.

contents: afab!fem!reader, dom!reader, sub!nagi, established relationship (barou + reader), m/m/f, oral (male + female receiving), handjobs, face sitting, barounagi elements, pegging, anal (male receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies wc: 3.2k a/n: starting off the new year strong with this fic LMAO a shameless part two of THIS that nobody asked for. Beta’d by @pipppinn

It starts with an awful joke. A gag gift from you on his birthday. 

In the box, which you had neatly wrapped in cacti themed paper, stands a big, pink dildo with a flared base and belt. You flash a wink at him while Barou only grumbles under his breath in the seat next to you, shoving the last slice of cake in his mouth. Nagi’s honestly surprised that he’s still hanging around you two, surprised that his old college roommate hasn’t killed him yet in his sleep for all the sexual and non-sexual acts he’s committed within the past two months. 

It’s almost unspoken at this point, Nagi notices. No one has brought up the status of the relationship, but Nagi thinks whatever this is, it doesn’t necessarily need an explanation. More often than not, Nagi spends his weekends over, body pressed against whomever he didn’t piss off that day, and participating in acts that his best friend might lose his shit over.

“You’re in an open relationship?!” Reo gawked at him during brunch one day. 

Nagi hadn’t seen him since his business trip in Hong Kong earlier in the year. The last time Nagi remembered telling Reo before he boarded the plane was probably something unrelated to his growing crush on you and Barou. And, during this friendly catch up meal, Reo almost gagged on his steak when he did tell him about his feelings and what you guys have done. 

“Not open,” Nagi corrected, because he’s pretty sure that you and Barou aren’t sexually seeing anyone else other than him and, if you guys were, well he’d feel pretty upset over it. “Polyamorous is what people call it.”

Needless to say, Reo needed a moment to rewire his brain to understand just how Nagi, self proclaimed loser and bum, got himself between the power couple on the block. Nagi’s also waiting for that answer, too. Though, he might just get to understand a little bit better tonight.

Nagi knows it’s only half a joke and half a misguided attempt to help improve the bedroom sex life, which was already phenomenal in his opinion, when you tell him, “I think you would look cute with this.”

To which, he responds, “Mine is bigger.” 

That makes Barou scoff, “She clearly meant with it inside of you, dumbass.” And Nagi thinks the name is slightly endearing, coming from a man like Barou.

But now the thought of this, the fleshy, realistic looking penis, inside of his ass? Nagi laughs, and he’s not really sure what to make of it. You’re giggling, hiding your face in your hands. At this sight, Nagi can’t stop the curious little voice in the back of his head that wonders what using it would be like.

The strap-on ends up sitting on your vanity as the three of you attempt to wrap up his mini birthday celebration. Barou’s gift turns out to be more thoughtful than Nagi originally would’ve thought. He had given him a grow lamp and a light meter for Choki. Barou then starts explaining the process and science behind it, but Nagi zones out the moment he throws in the words ‘photosynthesis’ and ‘self-care’ because Nagi was sure Barou was scolding him afterwards.

The sex toy appears by his face again when the three of you are laying in bed, limbs entangled with one another. You’re holding it in your hands, suspending towards the ceiling light to read the fine print on the side of the fake penis.

“Perfectly sized for beginners. The pink curved tip is made for working her g-spot or his p-spot,” you’re the only one laughing at the comment while Nagi and Barou exchange a look. “It’ll be fun, don’t you think, Sei?”

It would be a complete joke to Nagi if he were to lie about his curiosity. Since he’s first seen it, he can’t stop thinking about it. He takes the toy in his hands when you toss it to him. Nagi weighs it in his hands, then runs his fingers over the ridges and fake veins. It’s firm, yet still soft, and his own dick is now currently twitching at the mere idea of it up his ass.

His role in your relationship was to always dominate both you and Barou, as surprising as others would assume. He’s stuck his dick in Barou more times than he has with your mouth and between your breasts, which also kinda says a lot — but he’s not ready for that emotional conversation with a certain grumpy lion just yet. 

“Shoei, how does it feel when I stick it in?” Nagi successfully dodges a pillow that’s thrown his way because Barou still isn’t used to him calling him by his first name. What a tsun, he thinks.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that now?”

“Because you always complain about how full—”

“I do not complain about—”

“Boys,” you pinch both of their cheeks in unison, applying the pressure and strength of an entire wrestling team in your fingers. “Calm down for just a second. Shoei, it’s his birthday, he’s just curious.”

Bingo. 

Although his cheek hurts like hell, Nagi loves it whenever you end up siding with him. It always sets something dangerous and delirious off in the other male and Nagi loves getting the back handed treatment from it later on.

“Well,” Barou sighs and flushes, quite badly, while trying to say the rest as casually as he can. “It’s tight, no shit. Feels like sometimes my ass might tear from how rough you’re going… but it’s a good feeling once you get used to the size.” Barou coughs out the last bit into a fist.

Nagi shifts his face towards your chest and nuzzles against it, humming in content. “Hm, is that so? Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess.”

You giggle again and press a small kiss to his forehead, it makes Nagi melt a little bit. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.” you tell him, voice low and smoldering. “Plus, we’re all squeaky clean from the shower and have nothing to do for the rest of the night…” you trail off and glance at Barou, waiting for his reaction.

His response comes in the form of sitting up and grabbing Nagi by the thighs, positioning him face down against the pillows. Nagi feels his face burning up, feeling mildly exposed in this position despite being fully clothed, and he hears your weight shift around on the mattress, the sounds of metal clicking together, and then more giggling. 

Nagi doesn’t dare to move when Barou reaches over and pulls his sweats down to his thighs, and he doesn’t say anything when the other male begins tugging at his length by his side. Nagi bites back an embarrassingly loud moan as the cool surface of the dildo trails down his ass combined with Barou’s erotic handjob. He’s more turned on than ever in his entire life. His dick is painfully rock hard from just a few touches and a piece of plastic, soon he’s forming a damp spot on the mattress sheets as your hands start to knead his ass.

You press a trail of kisses down his back as your lubed fingers circle around his entrance. Nagi lets out a shudder when a finger slips in. It feels strange, this sensation, the pressure of something penetrating him. You take your time prepping him, cooing and sending reassurance to him but Nagi can’t seem to focus on anything right now. He starts to buck his hips against Barou’s hands, slowly getting addicted to the feeling of his ass getting probed. You soon add another finger, curling, and thrusting them in and out, while pressing wet kisses on his ass.

“You’re doing so well, Seishiro,” you praise, voice breathless. Hearing his full name while getting treated like this, it feels so fucking nice to Nagi. 

You then curl your digits again, this time to the left, and pleasure surges through Nagi’s entire body. The stretch and pull of his walls, it’s delicious, and Nagi starts incoherently babbling. Both you and Barou take notice and fasten up the pace, following the cues of his whiney voice and body until he’s completely out of breath and ends up hugging the pillow close, burying his face in it.

“I want more—” he gasps.

“Think you’re ready?” Barou grunts out as he brushes some of Nagi’s sweat covered bangs from his face. Slowly, Nagi glances up at him, the usual banter and light teasing dies in his throat as he nods weakly. 

The coolness from the dildo comes back again as you run it over his ass, slick with lubricant. One of your hands is gently stroking the side of his hips while the other positions the plastic length up against his entrance. Nagi sharply inhales and sinks his teeth into the pillow as the tip edges itself inside, tears already threatening to spill. 

It hurts, to say the least. There’s a small twinge of pleasure, but it’s mostly just burning pain, nothing like the expertise and gentleness of your fingers earlier. Nagi groans loudly when he finally bottoms you out and buries his face deeper into the pillow, trying his best to muffle the incoming sounds.

He feels Barou raking his callous fingers through his white locks, tenderly, mumbling that the pain will subside soon while his other free hand is still occupied on Nagi’s cock.

Nagi feels his heart pounding in his chest, and there’s a heat under his skin that’s making him feel almost lightheaded. He leans into Barou’s touch and can only make out a quiet noise signaling that he understood because, everything right now, is just too much.

You begin moving your hips in small increments, testing the size and his body’s reactions. “Are you okay?” You ask, voice soft as you thrust shallowly.

Okay would be an understatement. Nagi doesn’t know which is hotter: being fucked by you, having his dick being milked by Barou, or learning that he loves having his ass played with. Whichever it is, this is just about the hottest thing he can possibly imagine. Just like as Barou said, the pain subsides fairly quickly as Nagi slowly adjusts to the dildo a bit more every time you tilt your hips. 

“Y-Yeah—” Nagi pants, twisting his fists into the bedsheets. “Give me more, please…”

You let your thrusts grow deeper, faster, and the sounds from Nagi intensify in volume as the feeling grows fuller. He cranes his neck around to get a good look at you, wanting to see what kind of expression you wear when you’re fucking him, and the sight makes him feel like he’s breathing for the first time. 

You’re beautiful. The way your breasts bounce, half hanging out from your bra, your eyes are half-lidded with arousal as you watch him, gaze filled with liquid fire, intense and downright intoxicated. Nagi lets out another loud moan when you angle your hips to the left, hitting that special spot inside of him, causing his toes to curl and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Suddenly, a pair of rough hands grips the sides of his face and Nagi’s forced to face with Barou’s own raging arousal. “You’re being so fucking loud.” Barou presses his leaking tip against Nagi’s already gaping mouth.

It doesn’t take Nagi much convincing before lurching forward and swallowing Barou’s thick tip, lapping at his pre and watching the way his defined abs tighten with every lick. When you press against his prostate and make him sob in desperation, Nagi hollows out his cheeks and takes Barou’s length deeper with vigor, like he’s the only thing tethering him to the ground as you threaten to take his soul from his body.

Barou’s breath is ragged as his hips press deeper into his mouth, grinding into him with incremental thrusts that are almost too much, sending dizziness to Nagi’s head. Drool drips down his lips, Barou’s cock on his tongue feels heavy and full, but it’s slightly more bearable when Nagi looks up through his teary lashes at the other male’s flushed expression.

There’s a moment, a pause, where all he hears is breathing.

And then movement. 

Both you and Barou set the pace to be harsh and frantic, any sort of slight movement and Nagi finds himself wailing, the sensation being completely all consuming. No matter how much he wants to flail around, your hands are glued to his hips and Barou isn’t letting go of his face easily unless it’s for a momentary air break. 

Nagi immediately feels something coiling in his stomach when one of your hands glides down his ass to cup his balls, fondling them gently. He whines against Barou’s cock and bucks into the mattress desperately, the rest of his limbs trembling. 

“Do you want to take this every night?” You ask, giving his balls a slight squeeze. Nagi’s walls tighten around the dildo when you thrust it deeper, his cock dripping a steady stream of precum onto the bed. Then, you lean forward, he hears you and Barou exchange lewd moans and cries above him, before continuing, “Or do you want Shoei to fuck you? Want him to put his cock in you and spill his seed in your ass? I bet he’d cum buckets in your greedy little hole.”

Nagi bites into the pillow to keep the ragged sounds at bay, but it isn’t enough to contain the broken sob that tears through his throat as Barou finally pulls away, leaving behind a sloppy, thick trail of saliva. “I-I want…”

Barou is looking down at him and Nagi wants to feel upset, wants to say something witty back, but he can’t help but to think what he would feel like inside of him. 

Barou rubs his arousal and repositions himself to the back. You chuckle, knowing the answer, and slowly pull out, giving Nagi’s ass a farewell slap before kissing Barou. “Be careful with him, okay?”

“You’re going to baby him too much,” Barou grunts, but the way he places his hands on Nagi’s hips, carefully flipping him over so that he’s resting flat on his back, and the way he ebbs his tip over his hole — it’s gentle and almost tender.

You discard the strap-on and hover over Nagi’s face, your thumbs brushing over his perky nipples as you begin to lower yourself on his face. “Make me cum, cutie.”

“Mhm,” he bites his lips to stifle a moan as Barou begins sliding his length in. 

Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than the dildo. 

Nagi almost wants to scream as another rush of arousal courses through him.

It stretches Nagi even further as his walls clenched around his cock, balls tightening and cock jumping against his own stomach. He lets out a high, choked breath as you fully lower yourself on top, the sweetness of your folds engulf his senses and your hands immediately dart towards Nagi’s length, encasing it in a tight grip. You stop to palm at his tip until he’s whimpering and squirming, his hips rising into short, aborted thrusts, before you work your hand down to the base again.

Nagi’s knees rise, heels digging into the mattress, from the overstimulation and Barou takes this opportunity to quicken the pace. He takes hold of Nagi’s legs, setting them around his waist, and breathes heavily through his nose with several snaps of his hips. You thumb his leaking slit at the same time, gathering them up in your palm, and smearing the precum all over his head and around his shaft until Nagi is jolting and crying at every thrust.

“T-Too much—! I’m gonna—” but the rest of the words drown out, erased from Nagi’s mind, and he feels himself coming undone by your hands, streaks of heavy white painting his lower stomach and chest.

“Easy there, Seishiro,” you rasp out, hands finding home on his chest and you begin to fuck yourself on his tongue until he feels your slick liquid dripping down his throat. 

You cum with a cry, cursing up a storm, thighs shaking around his head that makes him foggy and dizzy, before rolling off and slumping to his side. You close the distance between his lips, tasting yourself and swallowing the rest of his sobs and pleas as Barou chases his own end. 

“We got you,” you murmur, pulling away and kissing Barou in turn. 

Everything still feels new and electrifying as Nagi is slowly trying to calm himself from his release — the burning in his thighs from hugging Barou’s waist, the steady rhythm pounding against his prostate, listening to the other male’s quiet but rough groans with every snap, the possessive grip on his hips — it’s an addictive feeling. Nagi doesn’t fight when the heavy feeling drapes over and swallows him whole, he doesn’t tamper with the urge to writhe and whine, and lets Barou devour him whole when he finally cums inside. 

Barou exits him so abruptly that Nagi can’t help but moan at the suddenness of his absence. He whimpers pitifully and thrusts up into the empty air, twisting on top of the sweat soaked sheets until a warm hand settles along the line of his brow. 

“Hey, calm down,” it’s Barou and he’s wearing a concerned expression, much to Nagi’s surprise. He lays himself beside Nagi and blows out a deep breath, covering his reddened face with palms. “Sorry if I was rough.”

On the other side of Nagi, he hears you sigh loudly, applying a chaste kiss to his cheeks before also settling down. “Did you like that, Sei?”

“Yeah,” he hums, and instinctively lays his head on your shoulder. “Felt really good, thanks…”

Then, you say, without missing a beat, “Wished you two would just admit your feelings for each other.” 

Barou’s cheeks flush and he tries to turn away to hide it, forgetting for a moment that Nagi is right there and gets a faceful of his surprised eyes. Instead of getting up, Barou glowers up at the ceiling. “There’s nothing to admit, he’s just a fuck buddy to us.”

“Sure thing,” you snort back and add another kiss to Nagi’s cheek, almost to sooth out the forming pang in his chest from hearing his words. “Maybe meeting earlier would’ve been neat? Imagine you guys becoming friends in middle school or something!”

Barou doesn’t know how to respond to that, and it’s you who ends up laughing, light and airy. Nagi stays silent and just grips around your waist, burrowing himself into your chest, inhaling your scent and lightly sucking at the area. 

“We should probably take another bath,” Barou says lowly. 

“Can we wait till later? I’m pretty tired and fucked out.” Nagi finally speaks but his voice is weak.

Barou looks like he was about to object to that but you quickly flash him a look and he shuts his mouth, only nodding and then pulling the blankets over the three of you. Nagi feels Barou massaging his back for a bit before eventually draping his arms over his waist. Nagi’s head stays cushioned on you while your fingers play with his hair. 

Everything about this feels nice and domestic, it makes Nagi wish he could be with you two permanently instead of thinking about the ‘what if’s’.

© 2023 DOOBEAN. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

[feizon]

LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU

warning: nfsw + fem!reader

summary: He was a typical workaholic who enjoyed the thrill of his job. Many claim that he never smiles but only those who he unveils his cold facade to would beg to differ. His eyes always sought out for order that needed to be restored but when he first laid them upon you, he held nothing but romantic intentions. But when he's away from you for to long, he needs a stress reliever he can always count on.

note: note proofread

I'm so down bad for this man that I came out of hibernation just to write about him. anyways enjoy!

He was always on the go, always ready to assist in any situation that my cause his beloved city harm. He had a very strong presence, one that demanded respect and cooperation from those who witnessed him perform his day to day tasks. He was phenomenal at what he did, leaving many in awe as they couldn't help but feel safe in his presence.

His eyes were always on the search to restore balance wherever needed as his stern and authoritive gaze was rather effective at many things, one of them was to enforcing the law while the other was leaving your panties absolutely soaked.

"m-missed you so bad Gerpard..."

You were currently in a heated make out session in the comfort of your shared bedroom. It started with innocent touches before your hands shamelessly lusted for the one another, always you managing to spark such a fire in him first. The exotic exchange of oxygen somewho managing to leave you both breathless, your body was already littered with love bites wherever his mouth made contact with your skin.

Today exchange of pleasantries was due to the time intervals between each time he left your body trembling in pleasure becoming longer and longer then the last. As expected his job is rather demanding, him being given a mission almost everytime he breathed made it harder and harder for him to return home to your warm and loving embrace each time he was dismissed.

He was the definition of warrior in the streets and loving in the sheets but when he needs a desperate recharge he seeks the warmth of your walls, squeezing around him so tightly while hearing you moan oh so sweetly. He was currently slipping you out of your very skimpy silk night dress as your panties were next in line. He slipped in two fingers with ease as it seems you had gotten needy during his sexual absence.

"I barely even have to touch you... "

He already has you seeing stars with you desperately clench onto his shoulder at how persistent he was at targeting those spots deep inside you with ease. He wasn't much of a talker in such sinful acts but boy did his actions make up for it.

"C-Cumming!"

He then slides his fingers out as he licks his fingers covered in your arousal, making sure you could see just how much he enjoyed the little rewards. He then hovers on top of you as he postions you into a mating press, you knees getting closer and close to your chest.

"m going to be a little rough today princess... tell me if it's to overwhelming for you..."

He says before kissing your forehead almost as an apology in advanced. He hooks the back of your knees over his shoulder as he strokes himself a few times, the smearing of his own pre cum making him let out a light moan at the feeling. He then slides in painfully slow to ensure that you felt the way he stretched your cunt out so well as his girth hand your toes curling.

Once he bottoms out he gives you time to adjust due to no amount of times of you taking him being enough to numb that tiny sting of pain. You then give him the greenlight and he starts to thrust slowly two or three times, in and out of your cunt, to test the waters before his pace quickens.

"mmm fuck...!"

The longer he went, the sooner both your bodies were covered in a sheer layer of sweat as his dusty blonde hair started sticking to his forehead a bit. He then began to leave open mouthed kisses all over your face as you were already a babbling mess due to his ministrations. The sound of skin slapping almost pornographic as his tip kissed your womb repeatedly.

He was so deep as it was evident from your belly budge of his big, fat cock. he pressed down on it, gradually adding pressure as he wanted you to cum so hard on his cock to the point that you would be sucking out all his pent up sexual frustration.

"Ah.. can feel you in my belly Gepard!"

You say as your arch your back off the mattress at how hard your orgasm hit you, feeling shock was all over your body from the impact. You were so tight now, practically trying to milk him for every second he wasn't embedded deep within your walls, just a few more sharp thrusts and he followed soon after you. His load was more than usual as some of it mixes with all the other love juices you both shared as it soaked your sheets.

He then gave you a passionate little kiss before pulling out of you completely, still a bit sensitive form his release.

"Hope I wasn't to much this time..."

@feizon

[a-a-lost-munchkin]

I’m not seeing enough people talk about Nerdy Prudes Must Die. Like, the song. Jon’s and Will’s performance there.

With each Hatchetfield musical, I’ve been able to pinpoint when I got the “oh fuck” horror-feeling. The moment where I actually felt like what I was watching was horror. “Nerdy Prudes Must Die” was that moment for me in NPMD.

Jon’s acting was phenomenal. Not just his body acting, but the way he literally convinced me he was a terrified kid. A terrified kid faced with the consequences of his peer-pressured actions, who only just started experiencing being liked and valued as who he is, and the realization that he’s going to be murdered and can’t escape it. The way he ran and crawled and begged.

“Please, nonononono, Max, please.”

And something about him begging for his life while his friends and classmates loomed in darkness in the background hit me hard, too.

The entire aura of the song was just sinister despite the few jokes it had and Max being, well, Max. Will’s acting went hard, too. Especially during the “will you pray for me” bit, where he looked borderline sympathetic towards Ritchie but in such a disingenuous way.

Not to mention the song fucking slaps.

This was all jumbled, but something something- sitting there and watching this kid run and fight and beg for his life, knowing the thing coming after him won’t stop no matter what and is incapable of reason, and being unable to do anything but let it happen got to me.

[jvngkook97]

Class Act

synopsis; in which Namjoon is the popular jock and you’re just another girl in the bleachers. OR what happens when the gentle giant takes notice of the introverted, yet dedicated fan?

pairing; college jock!namjoon x college student!reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, smut, s2l, f2l, college au, jock au

warnings; classic college tropes, angst in the form of cheerleaders(but not all!) misjudging reader, reader has some body image issues, but mainly just a whole bunch of sweet jock Namjoon for your pleasure, a letterman jacket kink rises to the surface, reader is awkward, joon is a patient angel baby cause he’s in lOoOve with reader so much 🥺 uhhhhm there will be sexual intercourse and it will be soft and cute with protection being used cause they smart cookies(and so are you!)

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 4,744

a/n; happy birthday to our favorite accident prone, gentle giant, dimple baby Kim Namjoon! like + reblog if you enjoyed. don’t be a silent reader! <3 feedback is always appreciated and helps to keep this writer motivated to put out more content — like this! all the love, always.

networks; @ficscafe, @thebtswritersclub, @btshoneyhive, @kflixnet

It was another chilly September evening.

The flood lights that surround the football field are bright as ever, allowing the football players to continue playing as the night continues on.

You secure your jacket tighter around your shivering figure, the unforgiving wind still somehow making it through the thick material no matter how hard you try otherwise. The people around you both cheer when your team scores a touchdown, and boo when the away team does.

All of that is trivial, however, seeing as your main focus is on the tallest member of the team, making it easier for you to decipher him amongst the other players.

Kim Namjoon. The gentle giant.

The bleachers erupt into a fit of cheers, hooting, and hollering, your team winning the game by a landslide. Not that you ever doubted it. Namjoon and the other players gradually make their way off the field and towards the locker rooms to get washed up. With your seat being next to the corridor that they walk through, you get a good luck as they go by.

Namjoon is waving politely at those that chant his name in earnest. He’s not the quarterback, but he’s just as popular, if not more. His talents are phenomenal when it came to the sport, everyone sure that he was going to get recognized by an agent and signed by end of his college career.

You join the rest of those that chant his name, though your voice is easily drowned out by those who aren’t afraid to scream their hearts out. For a split second, your eyes lock with his. That dimpled smile widens, and you woefully wish it’s due to you, though you know that can’t be true considering you’ve never gained the courage to talk with him.

You imagine it’s cause of you anyways.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

The following Monday you’re taking your normal stroll through the large campus courtyard. It’s littered with students that share the same goal as you, making it to their class on time. Up ahead, you see the jocks and cheerleaders formed in their usual circle located next to the fountain that’s planted dab in the middle of said courtyard.

You spot Namjoon easily.

He’s laughing from something that Cherry said, cheer captain and from what you heard, now ex of Kim Namjoon. From their interaction, you wonder if those were just rumors, or maybe they just ended on good terms. You wouldn’t put it past Namjoon to stay civil in that kind of situation.

Due to your zoning out on the dimpled male, you fail to watch where you’re going, and make the fatal mistake of knocking into Jin, another member of the football team. The action causes a domino effect from the force in which you accidentally plow him with, ultimately making Cherry stumble into Namjoon and having him catch her effortlessly. His face is worried as he asks if she’s okay, she says yes.

His eyes then flicker to yours, as does everyone around him when they realize that you’re the culprit.

“Aiiiiish! You should be apart of the team with that powerful of a tackle, y/l/n.”

Jin turns and jests at your embarrassed figure good naturedly, a grin on his face so as to show there’s no hard feelings on his part. The same sentiment can’t be said for a few of the cheerleaders who were collateral damage.

“You’re right, Jin. She’s certainly built like a dude.” Cherry’s co-captain and best friend sardonically chimes in with a smirk on her face. The comment creates scattered laughter throughout the group in agreement, all except for Namjoon, you notice.

Your face flushes at the jab, you being well aware that your chest wasn’t quite as developed as most women your age. Your lip trembles, and you bite it in hopes of stopping the tears that begin to build in your eyes. You make a show of deeply bowing to the group, mumbling a ‘sorry, please excuse me’ before standing up straight and briskly walking past.

Namjoon makes a step towards your retreating figure, promptly getting stopped by Cherry’s hand that curls itself around his bicep. His face that was once full of worry for his ex, still held the same expression, but this time for you.

He made a mental note that next time he saw you he was going to apologize on behalf of his so called ‘friends’.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

You make it to class without a hitch. The day drones on like it always does, and it’s not until that final bell rings do you sigh in relief. You clutch your binder into your chest, both arms folded around it as you step back outside into the courtyard, this time with the end destination being your bed.

You get close to the school gates before you’re stopped by a loud voice. A loud, familiar voice.

“Y/N! Hey! Wait up!”

You stiffly turn in the direction where the voice is coming from, seeing Kim Namjoon in all his beautiful, letterman jacket wearing glory make it to you in a second flat from his long legged strides. Your knuckles turn white from how hard you’re holding your binder now, something Namjoon’s eyes dart to as he gets close enough to stand a few feet away from your shorter figure.

His full, dimpled smile is on display, and this time you know for a fact that it’s meant for you only. Your brain malfunctions, and you miss the words that come out of his mouth next, the only thing you register is his lips moving to form said words.

You blink. Once, twice. His smile doesn’t falter, but he does lean in closer to your face, one slender finger coming up to gently poke the crease in between your brows that seemed to form without you knowing. It must be from how confused you are about the situation at hand.

As if time unpaused itself, your brain clears up enough for you to speak, though your voice cracks when you do.

“I’m–, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I was asking if you were available to accompany me to this new diner that opened up down the street. I wanted to treat you.”

His hands are stuffed into his letterman jacket, he’s rocking himself on the balls of his feet as he waits for your answer patiently. Eyes staying trained on your face, he surveys out of his peripheral the outfit you’re wearing. It’s cute, different, unique. He likes it, a lot.

Your eyes narrow, and for the first time does his usually confident smile begin to dim.

“Is this some kind of a bet?”

His eyes widen, face crestfallen at your misconception of his genuine interest in you.

“Excuse me?” Now it’s his turn to gain those creases between his brows.

“Are your friends going to pop out of the bushes and yell ‘gotcha!’?”

He doesn’t miss the way you elongate the word friends with a hint of distaste on your tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that his choice of company can be downright rude, and wonders what other slurs you had to endure by them before he transferred to this college his junior year.

“No, they’re not. I promise I only come to you with good intentions and on the basis of wanting to get to know you better. Is that alright with you?” He ends with a question, and once again awaits your answer. There’s no signs of malice or ill intent as he looks at you, but you can’t help the walls you’ve built over the years.

Pursing your lips, you reply.

“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to further endure the wrath of the cheerleading squad when your girlfriend finds out. So, good day.”

You pivot on your heel, decision resolute.

An enlarged hand grasps your own, and you stop in your tracks, back towards him.

“She’s not my girl–well, she was-but not anymore. We broke up awhile ago. Like, months ago. She even has a new boyfriend already, he’s a cool dude.”

He’s nonchalant when he speaks, his grip on your hand loosens when you turn your attention back on him, but he still keeps ahold on your hand incase you attempt to ditch him again.

“Only you would talk highly of an ex’s new boyfriend, I swear. You’re like a freaking unicorn.”

He lets out a bellowing, open mouthed laugh that seems to take over his entire face, his eyes crinkling, that reverberates through his hand and into yours, causing your arm to shake lightly as a result. A hint of a smile appears on your face that makes him gasp in pure delight.

He points at your mouth with a cheeky, dimpled, grin.

“There’s that smile!”

Your immediate reaction is to hide your face in your chest, an action he prevents you from doing as he uses his other hand to cup your chin and steer your gaze back onto his. His hand is still warm from its previous home in his jacket, you note, despite the cold air around you two.

“You shouldn’t hide your face, it’s pretty.”

From that point on, you were hooked.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Once again, you’re walking your normal route to class within the courtyard. Namjoon and his group of friends are a few yards away from you, but this time when he notices you, he makes a point to break away with haste, apologies spew from his supple lips to those he squeezes past to get to you.

Jin is the last to let him past, giving you an enthusiastic wave. Even Cherry and her posse give you smiles in greeting that you return. Namjoon’s arms encase themselves around your waist as he hoists your small frame and twirls you both in a circle. He’s still holding you up off the ground, and you slowly slide down enough to plant a soft, but meaningful kiss on his lips. You could feel him smile into it, and it makes your teeth clash for a moment.

When you mutually pull away for fresh air, you barely have time before he’s peppering you with kisses all over your face. From behind, Jin patronizes you both on your disgusting public display of affection.

“Oi! Get a room you two!”

Using one arm to hold you, he makes a point to flip Jin off with his free hand that makes you roll your eyes at their antics. You give him a few pats on his shoulder, your way of telling him to set you back down on solid ground. He pouts cutely, but obliges.

Throwing an arm around your shoulder instead, your fingers thread through his dangling ones over your shoulder as he leads you to your first class of the day. Too soon do you arrive, and he leans against the side of the wall next to the door with his lips already puckered in waiting. You lean up this time to oblige his height as best as you can, not noticing when he subtly leans down further to accommodate your height difference.

Inbetween kisses, he asks you a question.

“Am I still able to come over after the game tonight?”

His eyes are hopeful, smile widening when you nod in affirmation to his question. He gives you a loving pat on the head, before using both hands to secure your head long enough for him to plant a kiss on your forehead and then he’s off and heading to his own class with a wave of his hand, barely managing to dodge a gaggle of girls in time before crashing into them.

You wave back with a shake of your head at your clumsy giant, smile of your own adorning your face as a light hue rises in your cheeks of what’s to come.

You couldn’t wait.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Just like in the beginning, you’re back in your favorite spot on the bleachers to watch your now boyfriend own the field like he always does. Off to the side, not to far from where you are, you catch a snippet of conversation between a dude who looks way to formally dressed to be at a college football game and Namjoon’s coach. When Namjoon’s body hurdles by them with the football in hand, does the formal guy point at Namjoon with a serious look on his face. His coach crosses his arms over his chest with a puff of his chest, a smug smile on his face as he nods to whatever the formal dude is saying.

Huh. You wonder what that’s about.

You join the rest of the crowd around you in a standing, deafening applaud for the entire football team as they make their way through the corridor after a major win of the season. Your eyes scan the members in search of Namjoon’s loving eyes, but you don’t see him.

It’s not until your eyes shift back towards the field, do you find him with his helmet tucked under his arm, a beaming smile on his face as he talks to coach and mystery dude. The latter pats Namjoon on the shoulder as you make your way slowly down the bleachers to the stairs that lead to on the field. When your feet touch the astroturf and you begin your small trek to the three men, does the mystery dude bid his goodbyes and walk past you.

The coach and Namjoon are hugging each other tightly, coach shouting praises at Namjoon.

“I knew you would be something kid. I just knew it!”

“Thanks, coach. This wouldn’t have been possible without you!”

You walk up as they separate, and you have a wary smile on your face, your gut telling you that you just might know what transpired, but choosing to stay silent and wait for Namjoon to tell you himself.

If possible, his smile becomes broader when he sees you. Dropping his helmet to the ground, he ditches it in favor of holding your body tightly against him. You hug him back just as enthusiastically, his breath fanning your ear as he speaks.

“I did it, baby! I got recruited for a team!”

You gasp in astonishment, eyes watering due to how happy you are for Joon. This has been his goal for as long as he could throw a football, you couldn’t be more proud of him. Your arms tighten around his neck as you bury your face into him. He can feel your body shake with happy sobs, and can’t help the emotion of the moment when he joins you in the sobfest.

The coach is long gone when you two collect yourselves, Namjoon using his thumbs to wipe the tear streaks from your face as he smiles at you lovingly. Your nose is red and eyes are puffy, but he’s never seen you look more beautiful than you do at this moment.

He leans down to kiss you. It’s soft, slow, but full of passion.

“I love you, y/n.”

The words are whispered between kisses and instead of responding with words, you opt for action in the form of deepening the kiss with a mix of tongues as you battle for dominance.

He wins. He always wins.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Namjoon is manspreading on your bed wearing nothing but black boxers, arms behind his head as he watches your shy, hesitant body make its way past the frame of the door. Your arms are crossed over your chest in self doubt of how risqué you chose to dress yourself tonight for Namjoon’s pleasure – and your own.

It’s a sheer, black, silky slip that caught your eye in the mall recently. The lady that helped you pick it out reassured you that you would look so good that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. But, as you look at his now stiff body, face void of emotion, you conclude it must’ve just been her trying to meet her sales quota for that day.

Your body folds in on itself, your flight response immediately wanting to kick in and save you from your utter embarrassment at trying and failing to look sexy. Namjoon snaps out of his lust induced haze to see your fear stricken one, and he instantly hops off the bed to secure you within his arms with endearing words of praise spoken into your hair as he rocks you both side to side.

“I’m sorry, baby. My brain fried there for a second when I saw how gorgeous you look.”

He pulls away, but keeps his hands on your shoulders, rubbing the tops of them occasionally as his eyes rake over your perfectly curved, thick figure with both love and lust.

“Just gorgeous?”

His eyes snap to yours when your meek voice passes your lips, his brows scrunching in confusion. He goes to question you, but you beat him to the answer.

“I was trying to go for more along the lines of sexy–,” your eyes look everywhere but his as you continue, self deprecating thoughts fill your mind for a moment as you become your own worst critic. “–I bet if I had bigger boobs–,”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.”

His hand on your chin, makes you look at him. His eyes hold nothing but warmth when he speaks.

“You are sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”

Your eyes widen, a soft gasp escapes your lips. He trails one hand down your arm and to your hand, before he’s leading you both back to your bed. Guiding you to lay down, he then takes a moment to savor the way your body naturally parts your legs in anticipation of him being between them. Not wanting to disappoint, he kneels between your legs and uses the strength of his arms to hover over your form.

“I don’t want you ever doubting how I feel about you, okay? If you’re feeling down, let me know. I’ll be glad to show you otherwise.” A cheeky smirk adorns his face and your cheeks tint, small smile beginning to curl at the edge of your lips.

“There’s that smile I love.”

“Shut up.”

You pull him down by his neck to kiss him, it starts out slow and sensual, before turning into a kiss of pure need for one another. Your bodies react, his lower half grinds into yours and you can feel the effect you have on him. You whimper into the kiss, the weight of his crotch rubs deliciously into your clit that makes you want more.

“Please, Joonie. No teasing.”

“Fine, fine. One thing though, something I always wanted to try.”

You tilt your head in bewilderment when he pushes himself off of you to cross your room to the duffel bag that lays on the floor next to your desk. Unzipping it, he ruffles through the contents until he finds what he’s looking for – his letterman jacket.

He makes his way back to you and gestures for you to sit up, which you do. Grabbing the bottom of your slip dress, he helps you pull it off until your left nude in front of him. He bites his lip, and throws the jacket around your shoulders, encouraging you to slink your arms through the sleeves, which again, you do. He then sits back to both admire you and take in his fantasy come to life.

You wearing nothing but his letterman jacket.

His Adam’s apple bobs, pupils blown, as you yourself admire the jacket around you. The semi rough material rubs against your nipples and makes them harden. The scent of Joon is all over it, and you can’t help but bring the collar up to your nose to savor it with your eyes closed in content.

A shaky exhale is what has your eyes popping back open to witness Namjoon sink to his elbows between your legs. You whine at his actions.

“Joon, I said no teasing tonight.”

“Baby, please? This has been a fantasy of mine for a long time now, I just want to taste you real quick.” He whines back cutely, full on pout plastered on his face that you just can’t say no too.

You give a mock huff of feigned annoyance and let yourself plop back comfortably onto the pillows beneath you, he pumps a fist in the air in triumph that has you lightly hitting him in the back of his head with the heel of your foot to hurry up.

Then, he doesn’t waste any time.

He dives in, planting one solid lick to your outer folds that leads to the hood of your clit. He places one hand between you both to gently tug the hood of your clit up so he can blow softly on it. The cool sensation makes your body erupt with goosebumps, and then he’s placing a hard suck on your clit that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your knees unconsciously begin closing upon contact, but he uses his other free hand to hold one of your legs down, preemptively giving him better access to your core.

He switches his attention from your clit, and down to your now glistening hole, where he allows his middle finger to slide inside up to the knuckle, taking it out a second later to rub circles around your hole. Your hips buck, hole clenching around nothing, missing the intruding digit already. He continues this torturous routine until you start to become frustrated at your lack of relief, the edging beginning to take a toll on you.

“Namjoon, you better start–,” you begin to berate him, but your words turn into soft pants when he chooses at that exact moment to add two more digits into your hole at a fast pace, curling them to the point he’s able to feel your soft spot. His pace is unrelenting as you grip the sheets, back arching and mouth parting in a silent scream. Your toes begin to curl and he watches with hooded eyes as you come undone for the first time that night before him. Your orgasm washes over your spasming body in waves, and he’s quick to replace his fingers with his big mouth to lewdly slurp up your essence like a man starved for water. Some of it eludes his mouth to dribble down his chin and onto the bedding beneath you.

“Fuck. Namjoon. Stop. I can’t.”

You beg breathlessly, fingers gripping his hair in a vice to lift his head off your oversensitive pussy. He places one last wet kiss to each of your inner thighs, then trails up your body to your breasts. He takes one in each hand, gently massaging them to squish them together so he can take advantage of his big mouth and tongue to both lick and suckle each nipple with the same amount of attention.

You use the opportunity to come down from your high, to a still pleasurable, but not overbearing different kind of stimulation. After a few minutes, he uses one hand to push down his boxers enough to kick them off the bed with his feet. Getting back up on his knees, he reaches over the side of you to your side table drawer and fetches out a condom you make sure to keep just incase. He opens it and rolls it on, being sure to pinch the tip to make room for his own slick to fill.

He lines up his length with your still semi spasming hole, but looks up at you with a question in his eyes that gets answered just as quietly when you wrap your legs around his waist. Both of you let out a grunt of satisfaction when he stills, fully inside.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t realize your eyes closed on their own as your body adjusted to Namjoon’s girth. When you open them, you see his face hovering over yours with concern pooling in his.

“I’m good, Joon. You can move.”

Leaning down, he gives you a lingering kiss on your lips as he begins to move his hips against yours. He doesn’t go fast, choosing tonight as one to be savored. It’s an important one after all, he wants to remember it.

You thrust your own hips up in the slow, rhythmic tempo that he’s set, encouraging him to his first orgasm of the night. He buries his face in your neck, giving sloppy thrusts until he stills. Using what little strength you have left, you place the palms of your hands on his chest and push him until he’s laying on his back on the bed. You take your time straddling him, rubbing your folds against his length once, twice – it’s not until the third swing of your hips does he place his hands on your love handles in order to guide his length back into your warmth.

You chuckle at his impatience, and he glowers at you playfully.

“I thought you said no teasing?”

“Figured I’d give you a taste of your own medicine is all.”

You’re playing innocent, but he knows better. He lets you ride him at your own pace, letting his hands roam all over your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. Eventually, when he feels your walls begin to constrict around his own growing length, does he drop his hand where you two meet in order to rub soft, yet perfect amount of weight on your clit to help spur both of your impending orgasms.

Throwing caution to the wind, you splay your hands on his chest to get better leverage and a better angle, increasing your pace from a slow one to a fast one that has both of you a panting mess trying to chase your highs at the same time. You let out a broken whimper and he knows you’re closer to yours, but he wants to cum at the same time as you, finding the rare occurrence just another way of togetherness in his mind between you both when it does happen.

Easing his assault on your clit, he plants his heels into the bed to thrust up at a brutal pace, his cock pistons in and out of your sopping hole and you let out a sob at the orgasm that suddenly hits you at the same time that his does. He only stops when you can’t hold yourself up anymore and choose to lazily plop yourself off to the side of him on the bed, face flushed, eyes closed, and ready for sleep already.

He’s not too far behind you, wanting to crash after that love making session, but he needs to clean up first and so do you. He gives your ass a light slap and you groan into the pillow in reply.

“Let’s clean up, baby. Then sleep.”

You flip him off. He playfully bites your fingertip.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

The next day you’re both taking an early morning walk around campus, your small hand held tightly in his large one. Ever since last night, he takes any chance he can get to see you wearing his letterman jacket, so that’s what you’re currently wearing over your outfit.

You don’t mind though, in fact, you love it.

Like you love him.

So, you say it for the first time since he’s confessed.

“Joon?” He looks down at you with a curious look on his face, and waits patiently for you to speak when he notices how shy you’re getting. It brings him back to the first day he met you.

“I love you too.”

Your favorite dimpled smile makes an appearance. You two meet in the middle for a loving kiss. You go to pull away, but he secured a hand on the back of your neck to keep you a hair width away as he speaks lowly, honestly.

“I always saw you.”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“Saw me?”

“Yeah. In the bleachers. You went to every game. I even saw the sign you made with just my number on it, but it helped me get that winning touchdown.”

“You’re joking.”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

A puff of laughter escapes your lips, your lips grazing his during the act that has him chasing yours for another. His shoulders bounce as he lightly laughs along with you.

Another reason you love wearing his jacket? It lets everyone around you know that you’re his.

That you would always be his.

[sluttysanemi]

what if, hypothetically, sanemi needs you to jack himself off????

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

YOU.

a/n: coming back w my sanemi content w esha's ask cuz shes my gorgeous, gorgeous girl whos jst a sweetie pie

c/w: smut, handjobs, sanemi is obsessed w u lol

He can't do it.

 His palm is so rough. 

He craves the soft, warmth of your hand. How your fingertips slide and caress his delicate veins. The way your thumb wandered over his bulbous tip, as pre-gathered, and traveled across his shaft. 

He became desperate thinking about it.

It was late in the night. He felt himself stir awake, as his shaft abruptly jerked within the thin material of his boxers. Pulsing. His erection heavy and needy. His body became immensely eager. 

He glances at your sleeping physique, his cheeks heated. His chest heaved, flowing unevenly 

You looked delectable, he thought, sinking his teeth to his lower lip. Vile thoughts swiftly clouded his mind. He pondered the supple feel of your body, the sounds you'd emit as he traveled his hands over the delicate regions of your body. 

He shouldn't wake you, he reasoned. He shouldn't be so selfish. 

So he attempted to relieve himself, gently palming his hand against the rigid bulge of his boxers. He tried to recite it precisely, the way you would. 

Nevertheless, it wasn't the same. 

And he knew he couldn't bring himself back to sleep. 

So, he acted selfishly. 

Climbing himself on top of you, he gently kisses at your neck, striving to stir you awake. Heavy rushes of his breath rolled from his lips, gliding across your flesh.. 

You shortly awoke. Slowly adjusting your sight, you could feel his body's desperation. The stiff swell of his arousal pressing against you. 

He soon excuses himself as he whispers lovingly into your ear.

“I’m sorry baby– fuck.. I didn't mean to wake ya’ i’m just...”, His breath came forward shakily. “I just really need you, sweet thing.. please?”

You gaze at him wistfully. His pleas awakened you slightly. You nod subtly, as you watch Sanemi pull his eager cock from the tight confines of his briefs. It stood upright, as pearly beads of pre trailed.

You wrap your fingers around the base, prompting a desperate gasp from Sanemi's lips. You could feel him quiver and throb keenly. 

You begin to pump, your fingertips caressing the prominent veins. Your thumb skimmed along the underside of his dick. 

He shouldn't be that excited. So eager. Yet he couldn't help it. 

He struggled to contain his eager whines and groans as his body was overcome with ecstasy. He felt like a hound in heat. 

He bit his lower lip, grasping the sheets and watched your fingers glide over his tender cock. 

He loved how you caressed him. Nobody could have made him feel the way you do. 

He couldn’t pleasure himself. He could only truly feel good beneath your hands. But he didn’t care.

All he could think of was your touch, as he eagerly rocked his hips against your hand. He was driven to reach the height of pleasure. The thrill of bliss. 

“That’s it– That’s it. Fuck– I need it. I n–need it.”, He babbled, his hips ruthlessly striking against your fingertips. 

He saw stars. The Sacred Gates of Nirvana. And it was all you. 

Your touch.

Your caress. 

Your body. 

He was feeling phenomenal, his thoughts obscured with you. His body tightened, and his thighs trembled humbly. 

You were exceptional at providing him pleasure. He couldn't be more thrilled. 

[vivwritesfics]

Fake It Till You Make It

Chapter Five - The Unreputable

The Princess of Monaco is wild and out of control. She needs to stop being in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Charles Leclerc has had a spot of bad press since his very public break up. He needs some good PR. What better way to fix their problems than to pair them up?

1.2K

Series Masterlist

The Unreputable

Is the Monégasque Princess dragging Ferrari's golden boy down with her?

Now, dear reader, this is a bold claim for us here at the Monaco Press to make. But we've seen this happen before. We saw this happen with Frédéric Archambeau, the Instagram star from Paris. The party princess dragged him down to her level and, until his mention in this publication, he had faded into irrelevancy.

Even without his newfound relationship with Princess Y/N, Charles Leclerc is already a mega star. He is a phenomenal driver, with many eccentric adventures outside of his racing career. The latest of his adventures, it seems, is to join the royal family.

It should not have come as a surprise when Charles Leclerc was seen leaving a local dive bar with his arm around the princess. It wasn't a romantic scene. No, the party princess was hanging onto Leclerc for dear life as he helped her into his car.

The Hole In The Wall isn't the kind of place Charles Leclerc is expected to be seen. Where will the part princess drag him to next? And when will we see his reputation crumble?

She woke up, her head pounding as she looked around her bedroom. Her bedroom. She rarely ended up in her bedroom after a night like the last.

What had happened? She barely remembered anything past Charles arriving at the bar.

Sucking in a breath, she sat up and grabbed the pain killers she kept beside her bed. They were a lifeline on days like this.

As soon as she had swallowed the painkillers, she stood up and pulled an old, food stained hoodie over her body. She stood up, slipped her feet into her slippers and walked out of the bedroom, her feet dragging.

A yawn left her lips as she trudged towards her kitchen. She didn't notice the man sleeping on her couch as she opened the cupboard holding her mugs. The cupboard was empty, the mugs sitting in her sink.

She grabbed the first mug, the one that had 'Sexy' written in different fonts and colours, and made quick work of washing it up. It wasn't perfect when she placed it beneath the coffee machine and pressed 'Go'.

At the sound of the coffee machine, the person on the couch stirred. His eyes opened and he blinked, adjusting to the daylight shining in through the window. That was right, he'd managed to take care of her, but had forgotten things like shutting the curtains.

When he sat up and turned towards the kitchen, he watched as she jumped out of her skin. "Holy shit, Charles!" She cried, quickly placing her mug on the counter. "What're you doing here? You scared the shit out of me."

He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he stood up. "Good morning to you, too," he said as he walked towards the kitchen, stepping over dishes and takeout containers on the floor.

The couch hadn't been all too comfortable but, mostly, Charles couldn't believe that she lived like this. He couldn't believe that Henri hadn't gotten her a cleaner or somebody to help her live better than this.

"Want a coffee?" She asked as he leaned against the counter.

When Charles nodded, she quickly washed up another mug and placed it beneath the coffee machine. With her eyes half closed she pressed the required buttons and it started running, pouring coffee into the mug.

Once it was full and the machine stopped spluttering out coffee, she handed it to Charles. "Did you drive me back here last night?" She asked as she sipped from her own mug. (His mug was a giraffe, the long winding neck acting as the handle).

"Thought you might throw up in your sleep and die," he said and sipped his coffee. But, at that moment, it was far too hot and he nearly ended up spitting it put. He swallowed it down, ignoring the burn.

The party princess let out a snort. "Oh sunshine," she began as she walked past him, patting his chest. "You have no idea what you're dealing with.

She sat on the sofa and pulled her legs beneath her. Switching on the television, she flipped through channels as she sipped her coffee.

Charles couldn't help but watch her. She didn't seem like a princess, not the way she was now. Didn't look like she belonged in a palace, in a fancy dress and crown. She was just a girl, the same as anybody else.

He joined her on the sofa, sitting on the far end. "Do you remember last night, when you warned me about the state of your apartment?" He asked, and she couldn't help but look down, embarrassed. "You said 'it's not very princess like'."

She gestured to the mess around the couch. "You weren't expecting this, were you?"

Charles didn't want to admit that she was right, that he hadn't expected things to be this bad. "Why hadn't Henri gotten you a cleaner or a maid or something?" He asked, leaning back against the sofa cushions.

She shrugged her shoulders. "He tried. He tried several different times," she said, placing her mug on the coffee table in front of her. "I drove all of them away with reckless behaviour and because I was too much to deal with."

But still, Charles looked around. "So you don't even try to take care of yourself?"

Again, she shrugged her shoulders. "No point when I'm nothing more than the party princess."

She finished her coffee, stood up and placed the mug in the sink, along with the rest of them. "Can we get things nailed down?" She asked him, resting her hand against the back of the sofa. Charles didn't turn his head towards her. "Like, a schedule and shit? When we go out to dinner, events we're taking each other to, and stuff like that."

He didn't immediately recognise that she was trying to rush him out of her apartment, couldn't tell from the get go that she wanted time alone. He leaned forward, putting his half full mug on the coffee table, and turned to face her.

"Well, I can take you for dinner before my next Grand Prix. We can make it somewhat public, get in all of the papers."

A dry laugh left her lips. "Are you sure you want the party princess to drag you down to her level? Because that's what's going to happen next time we're pictured together."

Charles turned his full body towards her. "What're you saying?" He wore a frown on his face, one that didn't suit him. She realised it immediately. He looked so downtrodden when he frowned. "Do you want to break this arrangement off?"

Once again she shrugged. "Just giving you the option to get out before you end up like Frédéric Archambeau," she said.

"Who is Frédéric Archambeau?"

"Exactly."

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[rachalixie]

the love languages: chan

giving: physical touch

receiving: words of affirmation

chan’s touches range beautifully from playful and teasing to sensual and slow. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist from behind in the morning, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck that wakes you up in the best way. he’ll take every opportunity to kiss you during the day, a kiss to the cheek whenever he walks past you, one to the crown of your head as he sits next to you for lunch, one to the back of your joined hands when you’re taking a walk together in the twilight. at night, he takes his time running the palms of his hands and the tips of his fingers across the planes of your body, not leaving a single inch untouched by him. 

it took you a moment to get used to it, the constant feeling of his hands on you. you had mistaken it for possessiveness or jealousy at first, his way of staking his claim on you - but that was not the case. 

it’s in his acts of physical touch that he expresses his love for you best; he uses his words for everyone else, but his touches are reserved for only you. he holds you like a flame that needs to be protected, like you’ll go out if he doesn’t cradle you in his arms. 

chan, though he may be self-deprecating, is not unaware of himself. he knows he’s talented, knows he’s handsome, knows that he’s a phenomenal partner. it’s just that sometimes, he needs the words to confirm what he thinks is true. he revels in your compliments of his work, lights up when you tell him he looks amazing dressed up on date nights or in sweats and an old t-shirt right before bed. 

it’s through words of affirmation that you can filter your love for him into his head, like swords breaking through a near impenetrable fortress. 

minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

[uuuhshiny]

Sean Bean in Bravo Two Zero, P11

Come on, time for another round

[tasteracha]

please

word count: 1.7k

warnings: afab!reader, reader x chan, reader calls chan sir, chan calls reader slut (once), oral sex, soft dom!chan

synopsis: you and chan play out one of your fantasies

you’ve thought about it. him coming home, post concert adrenaline still high, still in his obscene concert outfit that makes your mouth water every time you see it. him acting like a stuck up kpop star, displaying the fame that he never lets himself think about, too humble for it. you acting like a fan, someone who only gets to imagine being with him in your fantasies. when it actually happens it catches you off guard, even though he makes plenty of noise coming through the door to let you know he’s home. you talked about it in the morning, laying in bed with drowsy eyes and puffy cheeks, but you didn’t think he would actually do it. you hadn’t been expecting him for at least another hour, at the very least.

he proves you wrong when he enters the bedroom, looking at you in almost exaggerated surprise. 

if you’re not in this bed in ten seconds i’m going to climb you like a tree, is on the top of your tongue. he looks phenomenal, dressed in sparkly black with sweat still dotting his brow, like he ran straight here without even saying goodbye to his members and staff. but you don’t say it - that’s not the role you want to play right now. 

“bang chan?” you squeak out instead, using your covers to hide most of your body in faux embarrassment. “what- what are you doing here?”

“i’ve seen you.” he says, stalking towards you like a predator. “at my shows. posting about me. writing about me. you think you can look the way you do, talk about me the way you do, and not face any consequences?”

your face burns up, and this time it’s real embarrassment. he’s not wrong - he knows you write about him, even if it’s mostly a power move against everyone else because while there are better writers out there, you’re the one whose arms he comes home to. you’re the one who he shares a bed with, he presses kisses to your skin, he loves you. 

“get up,” he orders, breaking you out of your shame, eyes passive as they roam over you. the urge to follow his order washes over you, tempting, but you stay put. 

“what?” you stammer out instead, ignoring the way the heat is already starting to form between your legs. 

“i don’t want to repeat myself. you do what i say, is that clear?” his voice is firm, tinted with a only do this if you want to that you only hear from years of being with him.

you slowly move out of the covers in response, movements timid as you look down at the shorts and old t-shirt you wore to bed. should you have worn something sexier for him? the thought sends another delicious wave of shame through you, warming you from your head to your toes.

as if hearing your thoughts, he stalks towards you and thumbs at the collar of the shirt, stretching it a bit so he can see your collarbones and notice the lack of bra underneath.

“look at you, ready for me like this,” he growls, digging his thumb into your flesh. “do you dress like this every night, hoping i’ll show up like this?”

you exhale shakily, not knowing if you want to press further into him or step away. the headspace is taking over slowly as your mind goes fuzzy. he removes his hand from you to unbutton his shirt and you hold back a whine of protest.

“no, keep it on,” you say, your own hand coming to rest on top of his, stopping his movements. “please?” you tack on, knowing he would like it. he likes when you beg.

sure enough, he groans and releases his shirt, letting his hand linger against yours for a moment. 

“on your knees,” he says, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down just enough to free his cock from his boxers. the jeans are deliciously tight on his thighs, held up without him trying. you’re on your knees before you know it, one second staring into his eyes and the next second eye-level with his hardening length.

“chan?’ you stutter when he moves to tap his tip against your bottom lip. he chuckles, stroking himself a couple times against you.

“that’s not what you want to call me, is it?” he says coldly, dark eyes looking down on you in condescension. you rack your brain, eyes flitting back and forth between his face and the cock in front of yours. mr. bang seems too clinical, too detached, so not that. chris is what you call him when he’s gently rocking into you, whispering declarations of love into your ear, so it’s not that, either. sometimes, when you’re especially in need of control, you call him your pet, but that’s not right. you land on one, testing out the flavor of it on your tongue before trying it. 

“sir?” you say tentatively, and he rewards you by pressing his length into your mouth. you moan around him in content, the taste of him hitting your senses making you more floaty than before. 

“that’s it,” he moans when you take him a little further into your mouth, and you don’t know if he’s referencing the title or the way you suck him in, but you don’t particularly care at the moment. you bob around his head like it’s where you belong, ignoring the ache in your knees. you don’t know how long you stay there for, letting him shallowly thrust into your mouth while you sit obediently, hands in your lap. you’re twitching to touch him, fingers aching for his skin, but one slap to your hand had you twisting them together instead.

he pulls back after a while, holding himself at the base. his soft noises, moans and growls under his breath, were spurring you on. now with the silence, you feel lost. did you do something wrong? you look up at him through your lashes, tears starting to form.

“oh, sweetheart,” he coos, brushing your cheek with his thumb. you nuzzle into his hand, grateful for the contact. “you did so well for me. but you don’t want me to come in your mouth do you?”

oh. it clicks into place. you shake your head rapidly, tongue flicking out to lap at the drool that’s pooled on your bottom lip. 

“on the bed,” he orders, his tone not matching the way he helps you to your feet, letting you steady yourself on shaky legs. he strips you of your clothes clinically, clicking his tongue at you when he notices you have nothing on under your shorts. it’s patronizing, the way he’s looking down at you. it’s lovely. “hands and knees.”

you get into position, listening to the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. you turn your head and pout at him, mourning the loss of the smooth silk that was adorning his body. 

“don’t look so sad,” he bites, kneeling behind you and running two fingers through your folds, making you jolt. “you’re so wet already. i can’t have you ruining my nice clothes, hmm?”

“no, sir,” you slur out, so gone for him. his hands grab at your ass, squeezing your flesh between his strong hands before spreading you apart for him. his cock teases at your entrance, making your heartbeat falter. he usually teases you, making you fall apart on his fingers or his tongue before splitting you apart on his cock. not today though it seems, given that he drives himself into you in one thrust. you choke on your breath, arms giving out as you fall to your elbows and let your head smush into the pillow under you. 

he starts slow, movements sensual as he lets you get adjusted to his length inside of you. it’s not enough.

“please, sir,” you moan into the pillow, voice muffled but reaching his ears anyways. your body moves back into his involuntarily, making him stop completely, buried in you to the hilt. 

“please what?” he says, smoothing a hand down your back to rest on the nape of your neck. he leans forward until his mouth is right by your ear, his breaths tickling your hair. “tell me what you want. beg for it.”

“please, please fuck me,” you gasp out, breath stuttering when he pushes against your neck. “use me, i’m yours.”

he snorts, pulling out almost all the way before burying himself completely again. 

“what a good little slut,” he starts up a harsh rhythm with his hips, grunting with the effort. “all mine. you’ve thought about this, haven’t you? while you touch yourself, you’ve thought about me. been saving yourself for me, hoping for me.”

“please,” you drawl out again. you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. for him to stop, for him to keep going and never stop, you don’t know.

“i bet you tell all your friends about me, how you want me so badly,” he continues, his breaths threaded out now, the first sign of him being just as affected by this as you are. “you’re going to tell them about this too, aren’t you? too bad they won’t believe you.”

he moves impossibly faster, burying himself impossibly deeper, hitting spots inside you that you didn’t think were possible. he folds himself over you completely, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder like he can’t help it as he comes inside of you, filling you up. you follow him as he chases the last bits of his release, shaking underneath him and whining when he pulls out and flops down next to you.

you finally let your muscles relax as you collapse into the mattress. he’s panting in time with your breaths, his hand coming to rest against your waist as he pulls you closer to him. you calm down together, breaths returning to normal and heartbeat slowing to something closer to a steady beat than the jackhammering it was running at before.

“that was,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence and grinning at you. “something.”

“we are so doing that again, chris,” you giggle, burrowing into his side as clarity returns to your brain. the press of your bodies against one another is a little gross with the sweat slicking your bodies, but you don’t care. after, that, you need him close.

“don’t you mean ‘sir’?” he says, arching an eyebrow at you. 

“say that again and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

[renthony]

Animation (specifically 2D animation) is my preferred TV/film medium. A piece of live-action has to go above and beyond to get over my personal bias of, "most things would be better if they were animated," but it's taken me a long time to figure out what, exactly, makes a piece of live-action really do it for me.

I think what it really comes down to, for me, is the little details. If your live-action doesn't have some level of nuanced physical acting, intense detailing in costuming and set design, a strong sense of visual storytelling, or kickass practical effects, I'm pretty much always going to come away thinking, "I'd like it better as a cartoon."

I think some of this is due to my issues with face blindness--I need characters to have distinct silhouette and costuming, or they will all blur together in my head. Animation tends to stress the importance of silhouette, so I have an easier time telling everyone apart and following who's who. That's not to say that this problem doesn't happen in animation, or that it always happens in live action, but I do think it contributes to my personal preferences.

Anyway, just for fun, a random shortlist of some live-action that I think uses its medium well:

Child's Play/Chucky. Half the appeal of Chucky (IMHO) is the incredible showcase of practical effects and animatronics. Each incarnation of the Chucky doll incorporates incredible advances in animatronic and puppeteering technology. I have on multiple occasions compared the Chucky puppeteer team to Muppet performers. That shit is its own art form, and it's incredible. The current Chucky show makes some use of CGI, but it's all to enhance the practical effects, and the puppeteers are all given the spotlight in the show's credits. I love that.

Killjoys. The incredible nuance to the actors' body and facial acting is mind-blowing. The set design and costuming are gorgeous, and there's a lot of very good detail worked into the visual space that would be hard to animate. They use their CGI well when they do use it, but a significant amount of the show seems to be practical effects and props. Additionally, Hannah John-Kamen's ability to flawlessly portray multiple characters is so good it's uncanny and makes you forget they're literally being played by the same woman. She changes her entire body language, and it's phenomenal.

Jordan Peele's entire body of horror. His films pack in so much symbolism and subtlety that I could probably watch them all a million times and still find new details. The nuance in the acting, the sheer detail packed into the costuming and set design, the use of color...god. It's unreal.

Crimson Peak, because the set design for that film...holy fuck. The costuming and set design in that film are pure gold. The acting is also phenomenal, but I could probably talk about the set design for hours. The house is a character in its own right.

Galavant and Our Flag Means Death, both for the same reason: both shows feel like I'm hanging out at a ren faire being goofy with my friends. They feel like I'm watching a LARP. They feel like they could easily exist in the same setting as Muppet Treasure Island, and at any second Kermit is going to show up and start singing, and it wouldn't be out of place at all. I think I'd also include Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves in this category, along with The Princess Bride and Labyrinth--all of which also include kickass practical effects, choreography, and costuming.

This isn't some sort of objective truth or anything. I just like that I've finally been able to nail down some reasons why I prefer animation, beyond just, "idk, cartoons are fun."

[fahye]

hi freya! your work with the TLB series is phenomenal and truly a gift to my life! do you have any advice for first time book planning/outlining, specifically in the realm of historical fiction?

oh boy. I rely on two guidelines for my planning process, and they are absolutely NOT historical fiction specific, but you can have them anyway:

make the romance (if there's a central one) more or less follow the romancing the beat structure, which is both simple and very flexible.

a structure-for-dummies version of four act structure, which boils down to deciding early on three key landmarks:

at the 25 % mark, something happens which commits the characters fully to the story, whatever that is.

at the 50% mark, something major happens which twists the direction and shape of the story - new key information is revealed, the second body is found, first sex scene, whatever.

at the 75% mark, the story tips towards crisis/disaster/the lowest emotional point.

...then I try to sketch out a dot point list of a roughly equal number of scenes to take place on either side of each of these (these are the four acts). this is how I make pacing work as early as the first draft, when I have very little innate sense of pacing and I detest doing structural edits.

ALSO: start as late as possible in the story (have the main inciting incident take place within the first scene) and finish as early as possible (diana wynne jones is particularly excellent at this; I will sometimes bend this rule if an epilogue is expected, but my PERSONAL opinion is that for the most part You Don't Need That Epilogue).

this may be helpful for you, or it may be no help at all. most writers discover what balance of planning/not planning works for them via trial and error. good luck!

[josephquinnswhore]

Hi

What about a fic where the reader and Pedro are working to together and one of them has an accident while doing a stunt

And that they were dating in secret and they go into panic mode when it happens

Bunch of fluff and angst

Accidents Happen

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x fem! reader

Summary: you insisted on doing your own stunts for the Kingsman movie, you get badly hurt.

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warning: doing stunts, weapons, knives, whips, head injury, mentions of blood.

Note: they’ll be on the set of “kingsman” cause I feel like agent whiskey does a lot of stunts lol (let’s pretend Pedro can use the lasso ;) Also love this idea thanks for requesting!!

Secretly dating Pedro Pascal wasn’t something that was easy to hide, he was the heartthrob of the internet and he was a very open book. His people pleasing tendencies had him opening up to everyone just to make them comfortable in his presence. It was fairly new, you’d only been together for just over 12 months, your first anniversary was spent at home over dinner and wine; watching your favourite movies, most of them being Disney or Nick Cage movies, cause let’s face it, he was a phenomenal actor.

Being an actor and working with your secret boyfriend was even harder. You were having to put up two acts, one in being your character Agent Brandy, working alongside other well known actors as a team of secret agents, playing the good guys, you’d read your script and to your surprise, Pedro’s character “Jack Whiskey” kills your character after she finds out that Jack was going to destroy the cure, there were a few stunts that production had warned and offered you may need a stunt double for. But you refused; you had done some stunts in other movies before, you knew you could handle a whip and lasso.

You and Pedro were in position, both in costume and in a room full of camera men and producers ready to watch you play the scene out, the scene in which had all the stunts.

“3,2,1, ACTION.”

You stare at Agent Whisky, brows furrowed and huffing, your hand lingering above your knife ready to fight after you learned of jacks betrayal. “How could you, Jack? Lives are at stake here, the world is at stake. It’s not too late for you to redeem yourself, just hand me the cure and we can work this out.”

He scoffs, accent heavy in his mock fury, “over my dead body, Brandy,” you grunt, “so be it.” Your hand is quick to reach for your knife, pressing the button as to extend the blade. He moves swiftly, quicker than you could react, the lasso in his hands within seconds, spinning it and catching your arms around your torso, the rope pulling tight making you drop the prop, pulling your legs together and you fall onto the mat on the floor. He leans over you, “should’ve minded your damn business, we could’ve been somethin special sugar.” He winks before picking up your knife and jams it into the floor next to you, you’re gasping and heaving as he walks out of the building.

“Cut! That was incredible, I want to reshoot the lasso scene, perhaps we can get Brandy tied up a little quicker, just to get more action into the scene.”

You’re untied from the lasso, Pedro offers you a hand in his costume, smile on his lips as you stand, wishing the warmth of his hands didn’t have to leave yours. You stand about 8 feet from him, in your defensive position, hand above knife ready for the scene to begin.

“Ready in, 3, 2, 1, ACTION.”

“How could you do this to us Jack, the world is at stake, millions of lives are at stake here.” You lower your hand away from the knife, going a little off script to make a more emotional scene, “please, just give me the vile and you can come back from this, we can get away from all of this agent nonsense.” You hold your hand out to him, a soft look in your eyes as you waited for him to surrender the cure that would save millions of lives. He scoffs, pulling his lasso out of his back pocket quickly, emotion quickly turned resentful, he swung the lasso quickly and your arms were bound by your torso. “Please jack, don’t do this.” He pulls the lasso tighter, encouraging you to shut up. “It’s a real shame you didn’t join me sugar, could’ve changed the world, you an me.” With a swift yank of his arm you fell, your body spinning off course from the mat you were meant to land on and your head hits the corner of a chair seat.

“Fuck!” You wail in agony, unable to hold the sore spot on your head.

“CUT. Get medical in here now, we’ve got a head injury.”

You feel lightheaded, your own cries of anguish are drowned out by the dozens of voices crowding you, unwrapping the lasso from your torso. Pedro kneels over you, his hands on either side of your face, his eyes full of tears with a fearful look on his face. “Fuck what have I done.” He brushes his hands over your head to get the hair out of your face, when he feels-something. He pulls his hand back to see it’s coated in slick warm blood, your blood. “She’s bleeding, her heads bleeding!” Pedro exclaims desperately, a man from the film crew tosses him a shirt, Pedro holds it to your head and sees how fast the white shirt is staining red. He can’t stop the tears from falling at how unresponsive you are.

“Move out of the way the paramedics are here!” Your producer exclaims. Pedro is hesitating to move, his body frozen in shock at what he’s done to you. The paramedics put a neck brace on you before picking you up onto the stretcher and wheeling you out to the ambulance.

“Pedro, for all our sakes and your own, go with her.”

He doesn’t waste another second following you, explaining to the paramedics, “she’s my fiancé.” He lies, they’re not, but he’s thinking he should after this, after this feeling of dread that he’s going to lose you, he’s never been so afraid in his life.

The wailing of the ambulance siren is drowned out by him being stuck in his head, guilt and self blame for changing the way he was meant to do the stunt on the script. How would you ever forgive him? He held your hand as it rests on your chest, the monitor connected to your finger reads a low, but steady heartbeat and low blood pressure.

He refused to leave the hospital, he sat on an old dinky green chair, the stuffing had started to fall out because the stitching was ripped. No matter how badly his joints ached he refused to move, the nurses bringing him water every so often as he’s dehydrating himself from having cried for hours on end. You were in surgery, they said that your head has actually split open, they weren’t sure how long it would take to operate or how long it would take for you to wake up, but he was feeling the guilt full force.

A doctor comes up to the nurse at reception and she gives Pedro a look. “Okay, thank you. I’ll pass it on.” She thanks the doctor quietly before standing from her desk and walking over to Pedro. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” He nods solemnly and stands, his legs wobbling from sitting for so long. His boots squeak on the hospital floors, he gets weird looks from other patients and nurses they pass as he’s still in costume.

“She’s stable, she had to have 50 stitches, she’ll be okay eventually but, it’s possible she may have short term memory loss, she may not-we just thought you should be aware of that possibility.”

Pedro frowns, “memory loss?” The nurse nods sympathetically, “it’s possible.” They come to a stop after what feels like an eternity. He stops outside of a room, the letters 31B on the door in bold letters. The nurse opens the door and Pedro’s heart stops beating in his chest when he sees you.

You’re connected to a few monitors, a drip is inserted into your arm. Your eyes are sunken and your skin is pale. Black half circles are dark underneath your eyes, you look so fragile, so unwell. “She lost a lot of blood. She’s due for another blood transfusion within the next two hours. You may take a seat if you’d like, I’ll bring you something from the canteen.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, sitting down in the leather chair that was slightly more comfortable than the one in the waiting room. His eyes feel heavy as they droop, exhaustion overcoming him from todays events.

Your head throbs as you come into consciousness. Your eyes blink hard in an attempt to open them. When they open your eyes are squinted, the bright lights pulling a groan from you, wishing the lights were turned off. You look around the room, head still attached to the pillow as your head feels to heavy to lift.

You see Pedro sitting in the chair next to the bed, his face is red and puffy, he has huge bags under his eyes and your heart physically aches while you’re remembering what happened to you. The monitor beside you beeps loudly and constantly, your heart rate becoming abnormally high for its usual base rate. The beeping wakes Pedro up, he shuffles in his sleep before prying his eyes open, looking at you starting right at him which startled him.

“Hey.” His voice was hoarse, vulnerable. “Hi.” You whisper, your throat in desperate need of water to rid your cotton mouth.

The nurse comes walking in, seeing your heart rate, “it’s totally normal waking up from surgery, so don’t panic. We’ll get some more pain meds sent in straight away, how are you feeling?” Your eyes are half shut, looking at the woman in scrubs as you groan, “sore.” She puts your clipboard back onto the end of your bed, moving to your right side to check your temperature. “36.2. Temps good. What’s the last thing you remember?” You frown, not wanting to remember the pain and guilt Pedro had been through at the sake of your pain.

“I remember doing a stunt with Pedro, I think I fell and hit my head and waking up here.”

Pedro shakes his head, knowing that’s not the whole truth. The nurse nods, “okay, get some more rest if you can. I’ll get those pain meds back to you as soon as we can.”

The silence in the room was defeating, the noise ringing in your ears as you internally begged him to speak. He didn’t, so you did.

“I know I didn’t fall, it’s not your fault Pedro, we both messed up.” You turn your head to look at him and he’s still in his costume which makes you smile. “I thought I lost you. They said you might wake up with amnesia and you’d forget me.”

You reach out to him, holding his hand and weakly caressing his knuckles. “How could I ever forget you baby?” He finally looks at you, brown orbs watering at your kindness. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” “You did everything right to deserve me.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Pedro questions, his finger hovering above the play button as it’s paused right before your and his scene, when it happened.

It’s been a couple of months since your incident, unfortunately due to the severity of your head injury you were unable to continue filming, your producers were kind enough to pay you for the entirety of the film. You had given them permission to use the last take they filmed, they said the chemistry and emotion the two of you had brought to the movie was something they wanted to keep, and the lasso scene they had edited to make it look like a full on action movie. Of course during this whole incident, people had found out that you and Pedro were dating. Some weirdo in the hospital snapped pictures of the two of you kissing, you addressed it and admitted that you’d been together for a while now. Thankfully the fans have been nothing but supportive, but they’ve been asking if you’ve seen the new movie, saying you did a phenomenal job, praising you and Pedro for your work. You decided it was finally time to watch it.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You exhale a shaky breath, Pedro presses the play button and he holds you close to him. His arms drawing circles down your arms to keep you grounded while you both watch the familiar scene unfold before you. “They have great chemistry don’t you think?” Pedro laughs, “yeah they sure do. Maybe they should just get married or something.”

The vulnerability of the scene nearly had you in tears, the music and editing was incredible. You tense as you brace yourself for the scene. You can’t will yourself to even blink let alone look away while it happens. You look to Pedro and sigh, “I’m okay, it’s just.. intense to relive all of that.” He kisses your temple, “I know baby, you’re so strong and I’m so proud of you.” You turn to him, “I’m proud of you too, you know.” He raises an eyebrow at you, “proud of me for what?” You snuggle into him, the warmth spreading between you like a house fire. “For not blaming yourself and for being there for me.”

“Always gonna be here for you baby.” You turn your attention back to the next scene where you were replaced with a stunt double who did the remainder of your scenes, so they decided not to kill your character off.

“Hey she’s pretty hot.” You jest. Pedro shrugs at the unfamiliar body with your face that’s been edited to it, “she doesn’t have an ass like you though.” He gives your ass a quick squeeze and you squeal. “You’re so lucky I love you,” his lips meet yours in a soft kiss, “I know honey, I am lucky.”

[dionysus-complex]

Medieval Christian culture was centered on the collective belief in the possibility of God’s real presence among humans and in several rituals, most prominently the Mass, that were meant to constantly produce and renew such real presence. Presence, in this context, does not exclusively or perhaps even primarily pertain to the dimension of time but contains a claim of spatial proximity. We call “present” whatever at a given moment appears close enough to be in reach of our body and its touch. The Christian God’s real presence, therefore, makes it possible to eat his body and to drink his blood. In modern culture, in contrast, beginning with the Renaissance, representation prevails over the desire for real presence on multiple phenomenal levels. Modern representation is thus not an act that makes “present again” what, after having been present, is now absent. Rather, the word subsumes all those cultural practices and techniques that replace through an often complex signifier (and make thus available) as “reference” what is not present in space or time. If, for all the problematic totalizations that they may imply, these characterizations of the Middle Ages and modernity can appear conventional, my innovative thesis lies in the claim that, ever since the historical moment we call the “crisis of representation,” around 1800, our culture has developed a renewed longing for real presence, a longing to which multiple devices dedicated to the production of presence respond without ever fully satisfying it.

From Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht, The Powers of Philology: Dynamics of Textual Scholarship (Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2003), 11