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gothicflowers · 6 months

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John Price x f!Reader

“Of course my love, always”

SFW + Fluff

“Hello, names John price. Laswell has told me all about you” the broad shouldered British man eagerly shook your hand.

You could feel your face heating up at the sight of him “All good things I hope”

“Well you are as beautiful as she said” he said before he could think.

“You always this cheeky” you ask

“Of course my love, always” he grinned

Stretching out your arms you look to John “Thank goodness we got all that paperwork done”

“Agreed, i don’t even want to look at my computer for the next week” John lets out a sigh and sinks into his chair.

“Understandable” you giggle at his tired expression “and with how late it is I refuse to cook dinner when I get home” your stomach rumbling since it was almost ten at night.

John perks up with a idea “Pub down the end of the street has good food, come with me”

Cocking your eyebrow you take a chance to flirt with him “You asking me out to dinner John”

“Only if you accept” a cheeky smile shines across his tired face.

“A dance studio” John asks intrigued.

“That’s the dream, I still work as a choreographer when I actually have time” you giggle at his surprise. Walking back over you hand him a cup of coffee.

“You sure are full of surprises” John never fails to be amazed at your talents.

“They charge you too much for rent for this bullshit” John grunts as he’s trying to fix the kitchen sink

“I know, landlord won’t even call a repair company for anything” your hands on your hips as you watch him work. He insisted you go back to watching your show, but who would pass up watching him in a fitted shirt and jeans.

“How about we stop trying to keep this place from flooding and you just move it with me” John’s expression was dead serious.

“You’re ready to wake up to me every morning”

John sets the wrench on the floor and looks at you with adoration “Of course my love, always”

“We should get a dog” you casually said as you made the way up the steps to his mom’s home.

“A dog” John had never considered getting a dog before, always on missions without someone to watch a furry companion.

“Yes, like a corgi” your fascination with the dog breed was something you loved to talk about.

“How about a fish”

“How long” you asked trying to gather your feelings. You’re still getting used to the idea him leaving not just as your boss, but as your partner.

“Two months, give or take a few weeks” John nonchalantly says as he throws the ball for the corgi puppy he got you.

“You promise to come back to me” you wrap your arms around him looking into his golden brown eyes.

“Of course my love, always” John leans in to kiss you.

You heard the front door open and close and a gruff voice trying to calm the excited dog greeting him.

“You’re back” you round the corner excitedly.

“As promised” John looks up at you and his body language visibly relaxes at the sight of you. Home.

“Sooner than expected” you smile

His hands pull you in close “Told the boss lady to speed things up, have someone waiting on me at home” a smirk comes across his lips as he leans down to kiss you.

You both relax on the beach watching the sunset during your much needed vacation. Sitting on the blanket with your drink in hand you watch as John shifts to his knees.

“I had a whole speech planned out for this. But I don’t think I’ll ever have the right words to describe my love for you. Will you marry me” John asks breathlessly awaiting your response.

You couldn’t get the words out at first, just nodding yes over and over. “Of course” you blurt out as a tear of joy falls.

“How long” you ask. You could tell by John’s body language he was not confident about this mission.

He sighs as his hand come to the back of his neck “I don’t know”

“You come back to me, promise” your loving voice says to him. You’d wait an eternity if that’s what it takes.

“Of course my love, always” John nods with a half assured smile, worried that he might break his promise this time.

“John, what happened” you caress his cheek looking at the stitched up cut. Hugging him gently not to hurt his slow healing bullet wounds.

“I’m alive don’t worry about the rest” he knew seeing the tears coming from your eyes he couldn’t let this happen again.

“You came back, and that’s all that matters”

“Of course my love, always”

“You don’t have go to the store with me, you’ve been gone nine months. Rest my love” you tell him. He hasn’t left your warm embrace all week since his return.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m going with. Being around you is my peace and rest”

“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat” the doctor says to you both. Your heart shatters into a million pieces. John’s heart breaks at the loss and watching the most important person in his life fall apart in his arms.

“Is it something I did, is there something I could have done” you sob.

“Unfortunately miscarriages are more likely in the first trimester. You did nothing wrong Mrs.Price.” The doctor softly replied as you cried into John’s chest.

“It’s going to be okay, we’re gonna get through this together” John whispers while kissing your temple.

“I love you” you say through the tears.

John’s hand squeezes yours “I love you always”

“Enjoy the retirement captain” ghost says to John. A bittersweet moment to their paths departing one another. They’ll meet again someday you’re sure, but not like this. Just as friends

“Take care Simon” John says softly

“Always John” Simon says with a soft smile.

“You ok love” you whisper to John as he sits up in the bed from his nightmare.

“You’re still by me, so of course my love, always”

John quickly grabs the ringing phone “Thank you for calling Artistry Dance Studio, how can I help you. Yes the owner is in, would you like to speak with her” if you would have told John fifteen years ago he’d be retired and helping run his wife’s dance studio he’d have laughed. But he’s happy.

“boy or girl” he softly asked.

“It’s a girl” the nurse said.

John didn’t have words, he only had tears of joy as the newborn was placed on your chest.

“Are you gonna be here to pick me after” the shy little girl asks John.

“Of course my love, always” he was wrapped around his daughter’s finger. He watched her walk into the preschool classroom and take her seat trying not to cry.

You all sat down outside on the porch enjoying the weather and John’s culinary skills that prepared dinner.

“Taste alright” John questioned.

“Of course my love, always” you happily replied.

Looking at your daughter you nod at John giving him the green light. “You know how you asked for another sister” John told his little girl. She nods excitedly.

“You’re getting two more little sisters” you happily say. Yours and John’s little five year old couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Can you grab your sisters blankets from inside” John asks his eldest daughter.

“If I do can I grab a chocolate from the jar” your daughter that is so much like her father asks.

John whispers to her. “Yes, don’t let your sisters see though. They’ll wipe the jar clean of what’s left”

“Thanks dad” her little voice whispers back.

“Of course my love” he smiles watching her run back inside.

John bear hugs all his daughters after handing them each a bouquet of flowers. The twins first ballet show and your eldest first solo performance. “You did such a beautiful job my loves. I’m so proud of you all” he turns to you after putting them down. He hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers “and you my love, as amazing show as always” he gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

You giggle “Thank you. You know, I should have gotten my assistant flowers as well.” Your finger hooks onto his belt loop discreetly, pulling him just a little closer “He actually hand sewed three costumes, I think I’m gonna give him something better than flowers.” you sweetly said. John’s face turns just a little pink at your words.

“Hey dad” your oldest runs into the house almost yelling “I passed my permit! Can we go practice driving now” she was overjoyed to learn.

“Good job kiddo, of course we can. Let me grab my coat” John was excited to teach her, but it also means his baby was getting older. She looks just like her mom only with John’s dark hair. And no matter how old she gets he still sees her as a chubby baby, gripping his finger as he rocked her to sleep.

“Mom! She took them again!” The oldest twin yells out from her room.

You sigh as your two teenagers always bicker over yet another pair of shoes, last week it was over a pink skirt. It wasn’t even theirs, it was yours.

“I’ll talk to her when she gets home, just wear her black ones” never in a million years did you think that this was the hardest part of having twins. Clothing and shoes.

“Oh love, come here” you pull a tearfulJohn into your arms. Today was the twins high school graduation. John was excited to see his girls graduate, but was devastated his little girls were growing up. “I’m just not ready for them to leave, they’re so big. My little girls” john says trying to choke back the tears. John cried when his oldest graduated and now as his twins do.

“You know, they didn’t get it from me” he looks down at you in his arms as you both cuddled on the couch. Looking at your adult daughters who all came home for Christmas.

“Get what” you laughed.

“One is a lawyer, one’s a doctor, one’s an astrophysicist. I could barely write a report. All those incredible brains are definitely your dna.” John points out.

“I’d say it’s a mix, I might be smart but they have your determination to succeed.”

Simon and John sit on the porch drinking tea. They’d been at their conversation for over five hours.

“Three” Simon repeated John’s words shocked.

John laughed “Yup, all three are getting married this summer”

“John my love” you whisper to John as he tosses and turns in the bed from his nightmare. It had been almost thirty years since his last mission. The nightmares are few and far between now days.

John opens his tired eyes and looks at you.

“I’m alright my love” his hand hold yours as you both fall back asleep.

“Grandpa! Grandpa! Come play with us!” Your youngest grandson yells for John. All three daughters and their spouses plus the seven grandchildren gathered in yours and John’s home for Christmas. Laughter filled the air as the children played. John’s arm still hung around your waist.

“And to think this is all because Laswell insisted I have an assistant” he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I almost told her no” you giggle.

“You never told me that” John said surprised.

Laughing at the memory “Laswell showed me your file. I didn’t even read it fully. I seen your photo and knew I had to have you”

John’s hand came down to your butt to give it a little pat “You cheeky woman” even in his older age John always flirted with you.

“Alright kids, smile” your eldest daughter tells all the kids as the photographer takes the photo. You made it a mission to get family photos done every two years. And this year was the easiest with all the grandkids being in their teens.

“Smile or I’m tickling you all till you buggers are blue” John says resulting in laughter from everyone.

“You look just as beautiful as the day we got married here” John says as he helps you to your seats at your grandsons wedding.

“Oh john, you always remind me. You’ll never let me forget” you kiss his cheek admiring his now aged face and grey beard.

“Of course my love, Always”

“Three daughters, seven grandchildren and fifteen great grandchildren” John’s deep voice pulls you from your book.

“Grandpa, how did you meet grandma” your great granddaughter asks.

“Come, all you rascals. Let me tell you about how I managed to get such a wonderful woman.” John proudly boasts.

The living room that once was just you, John and your firstborn has turned into a crowded room full of generations. Everyone gathered around in the living room as John starts his story.

“Promise you’ll wait for me” your old aged hand grabs his weak one. You smiled at the love of your life as you’re both surrounded by your daughters.

“Of course my love, always” he smiles as he looks around at the greatest love he’s ever known and the three beautiful women they raised. He closes his eyes smiling and took his last breath.

You open your eyes as you stood in your small home in the country. Your favorite record playing on the turntable, sweet sent of vanilla filling the air. You turn to the mirror. You’re young again. In the reflection you see him, standing in his faded jeans and a half buttoned up shirt. Turning to him you smiled

“You waited for me” you both walked towards each other meeting in the middle of the room. His arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close. Admiring the details on his face, just as he was the day you first met. Eyes filled with the same love he departed the wold with.

“Of course my love, always”

#call of duty #cod #flowerwrites #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #john price cod #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #captain john price x you #john price x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #john price imagine

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fastcardotmp3 · 6 months

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welcome to dot drops something that's been sitting in her tumblr drafts for 4 months Saturday I hope you enjoy your visit mwah! Steddie; Ballet AU; Dancer!Steve; mentions of cancer treatment; 1.5k words

Dress rehearsal is supposed to be a mess.

That's the point of it, really, to get all the mistakes out of your system and start the actual show run with a clean slate. Or at least, that had been the point of which they'd all convinced themselves when Steve was the one performing.

Bad dress meant good show, or so the old adage went, and so at least there was some ease of worry with the collective understanding that it won't happen on the night within the company.

That was the case when Steve was a student, when he was an apprentice, even during his time in the big leagues at Joffrey, but right now? At the end of a truly abysmal dress in this run-down theater on the edge of a town from which he'd once run away?

Steve is not the performer. He's the guy in charge.

And so he spirals.

He'd never wanted to be a director or an instructor or the head of a studio like this. It had never been in his plans. Steve was a man of action, where the people who do these jobs are the brains behind the operation.

Steve knows how to work hard, how to force his body and even his mind into submission until he gets the steps just right, but this? These past six months back in Hawkins temporarily helping out?

(God, please let it be temporary.)

He's not built for this. He's sitting center stage after everyone has left with only half the house lights to illuminate his misery and he's not. Built. For. This.

Not built for being a mentor or a leader or a role model; not built to handle the strenuous nature of his mother's legacy; not built to carry the name she's made for herself as a teacher and a choreographer and a shaper of young dancers.

Steve's not built for it!

They'd had a shitty fucking dress.

"Hey, uh, you gonna be a while? I kinda need to close up for the night."

The voice echoes across the empty space, bouncing off the high ceiling and straight up to land on the Marley floors at Steve's feet. The stage isn't built for dancers, much like Steve isn't built to be here, so they'd had to pull up the floors from the studio and drag them halfway across town just to roll them out here.

"Hello? Are you, like, alive up there?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he calls back, catching sight of the figure talking to him at the back of the theater, the young guy who runs the place and who Steve met a grand total of three days ago. His name is Eddie and he dresses more like he's running a music venue than a local community theater, but he's mostly stayed out of Steve's way so far. "Sorry, I'll get outta your hair."

"Sure," Eddie says, but he's just sort of leaning against the back wall by the window to the sound and lighting booth without an ounce of urgency to him as Steve drags himself to his aching feet and lugs his three separate bags of show stuff onto his shoulders.

There's an energy to an empty theater, one which has held a performance and one which now holds the ghosts of that performance, which tugs at the anxieties sitting buried deep beneath the more immediate ones.

Fears about his mom's health, about what will happen to the studio if she doesn't win this particular battle, about what will happen to him.

There's an energy here in the creak of the steps which lead down off the front of the stage and there's an energy to the plod of Steve's sneakers up the long, racked aisle between the seats.

There's an energy, but it's also not empty, is it.

"Hey, good show, dude," Eddie says, pushing off his wall as Steve grows nearer. "Like, talented kids you've got there."

Steve scoffs before he can help himself and then pinches the bridge of his nose in a grimace for not being able to help himself.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he grits out, thinking about his bed. Thinking about how he never made time for dinner and he has to be here early again tomorrow.

"Wow, resounding confidence on this one," Eddie snorts, and when Steve opens his eyes it's to genuine amusement, genuine curiosity in the tilt of a head and furrow of a brow.

"No, just," he shakes his head, "you should see 'em when they're really on their game, y'know?"

Eddie hums, and when did Steve come to a stop right in front of him? He's leaving. He has to leave. Go home. Think about all the spacing corrections he needs to fix tomorrow and run through with the girls before show time.

"Bad dress, good show though, right?"

Steve startles. Maybe a little too visibly because Eddie is actively holding back laughter at the sight of him.

"What, I've worked at a theater for four years and I'm not supposed to pick up a thing or two about the ballet?" he snarks good-naturedly. "Caroline, the lady who did your job before you, she was a chatty one, taught me everything I know about Giselle."

It's a knife between the ribs. It's a soothing sort of heat, like from a roaring bonfire.

"You--" he clears his throat, "you know Caroline?"

"Highlight of the job honestly, before she retired," Eddie shrugs.

"She didn't retire."

"Oh. She...?"

"Chemo," Steve doesn't know why he's saying it all so willingly, why after months of trying to run the studio without having to talk about how's your mom doing, sweetheart? he's opening up to this stranger with the curly hair and curious eyes. But he knows her. He's-- Well, he knows her. "I'm just here to-- to fill in until she can come back. So."

Eddie is studying him now. Curious eyes turned intelligent, knowing, sad with the weight of realization.

"You're the wonder boy," he says on a breath like oh, I get it now.

"The what?" Steve balks.

"Her kid," Eddie says like it's simple. He's leaning against the wall again, like he's not planning on getting back to work anymore, "she was-- Shit, man, she loves the hell outta you. Oh, you should see my son, he's in Les Corsaire this season! Oh, my boy, he's just gotten promoted to soloist, he'll be a principal in no time! Oh, the talent on him, the--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," Steve cuts him off, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up out of his chest in the process.

"You should tell her I say hi next time you see her," Eddie isn't remotely deterred by having his little, lilting performance derailed. There's a softness to him that deserves a smaller space, walls less prone to echo.

"I will," Steve nods. His bags grow heavy on his shoulders.

"And you should chill out a little bit," he says, this time with the kind of glint to his eye that needs a bigger space, needs to be up on the stage to the point where it has Steve floundering, "y'know, about the the shitty dress that, between you and me," he leans in conspiratorially, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "wasn't really all that shitty."

Steve sucks in a breath.

It strikes him somewhere old, the reassurance, somewhere young deep inside of him. The comforting from a mother that if he just works hard enough he’ll land that double tour in fifth some day soon, the unbroken promise that she would never give him special treatment as the son of the studio owner, but that she would never hesitate to reward him when he’d earned it on his own.

It strikes him because no one tells you how little reassurance the guy in charge is ever offered and it strikes him because it’s been such a long day and it strikes him because—

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead and Steve sees it, the attitude on this dude that his mother absolutely would have loved in an instant. There’s a performer in there, even just in the brief interaction they’ve shared so far. There’s a spotlight pointing inwards and a show begging to be dragged out.

“No,” Eddie drags out slow and curious, “you offering, ballet boy?”

Steve needs a sounding board and he needs another set of eyes and he needs his mom to be okay and the show tomorrow to prove that he can handle this for her if she’s not, but maybe what he needs most right now, on the other side of a spiral in a dark and echoing theater, is this.

“Meet me at Benny’s in thirty,” he says simply as he makes his way for the door. “Since you’re such an experienced test audience.”

Eddie’s responding laugh is bright and his eyes glitter with curious amusement and maybe this is what Steve needs because maybe all of this is one big rehearsal at a big new life in and old small town.

And maybe this is his chance to make a mess of it. At least until the real show starts.

#dot fic #dot post #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dancer!steve #community theater!eddie #sometimes i realize i have over 50 drafts and just need to clear one out for my sanity and today is that day fdjlsakf #one day i'll write a fleshed out dancer steve au but for now have some of This

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

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Bakugou Katsuki x darling

NSFW ABC's

TW: NSFW, a little yandere, bondage, breeding visualizations,

Aftercare

what are they like after sex?

Katsuki is spent after going at it.

He doesn’t really do things halfway – so when he starts mumbling into your neck in curt, growling groans while messaging your hips with warm hands – crotch against your rear – you take it as a warning to prepare yourself to get wrecked.

He’s cute like that – telling you without telling you.

And aftercare isn’t much different – not caring for you in appreciative words so much as in small affectionate gestures instead. Holding you in his exhaustion – big spoon – heavy arms wrapped around you snuggly as he places soft kisses on the back of your neck.

You’re both so sticky with sweat but too tired to feel icky – falling asleep – thinking it’s tomorrow’s problem.

Bondage

is there a rope-bunny? if so, which of you? what’s used? how and what is tied up?

Pent up after work with only a couple of hours to spare between eating dinner and going to bed – the two of you don’t always have the time to plan anything too kinky. Often, you’ll have to start in the shower and finish in bed before saying goodnight.

And besides, it’s not always Katsuki has the patience to bother with ropes, even if you do have the time.

He’s tired when he comes home, but horny all the same – and all he’ll want is to find enjoyment by using just his own two hands. Pinning you and feeling you between his fingers – raking in your soft flesh after a long day – groping you and manhandling you until you tap him with that specific look – telling him he’s being a bit too much…

Clingy isn’t the exact word you’d use as it doesn’t really describe the feeling of how weighty his muscle mass is when topping you. It’s rather something between over-eager and clumsily desperate.

Heavy-handed.

But other times…

If the two of you have the entire day together, and you’ve decided you’d rather have a stay-at-home date rather than go out – then he’ll insist you do something a tad bit more choreographed.

And fuck knows, he has all the equipment to make it happen.

Cum

how fast are they? where do they like to shoot it? what’s it look/feel/taste like?

You’re not entirely sure what to blame it on. Stamina or orgasmic constipation, or whether it’s due to his own hard-headedness – if he’s playing some bet on himself to see how long he can last. All you know is that when he finally releases, it’s like new year’s.

All anticipation and desires weighed on one final firework – drunk off champagne and consumed by the thought of bedtime straight after.

He likes being buried to the hilt when he blows – likes feeling it cream hot inside you and how you clench around him tightly as though you also love it when he gives it to you raw. Even though he knows you allow it only because he asks it of you.

You would probably say no – but Katsuki has a way of being really cute when he wants something. The way he’ll mouth kisses on your cheek and almost beg for it, asking you sweetly and breathlessly, “can I?” – you don’t really have the wits with you to tell him to pull out.

You find yourself wearing pads even when you’re not on your period.

Dynamic

who’s in charge? what type: dom/sub, sado/maso, etc…?

Bakugou’s domestic more than he is dominant. Almost motherly, he does the cooking and the cleaning – while also assuming the role of the man in your relationship with his round-the-clock profession – leaving for work after making breakfast for the both of you, kissing your cheek before walking out the door.

But as someone who, through pure habit, does everything without thinking twice about it – he’s absolutely stunned into a pleasant surprise when, in those moments, you decide to do something in his stead.

And the same counts for pleasures in the bedroom.

As in, he’s quick to roll over if you want to take the lead – if and when you place your hands down flat on his chest and push him down – mounting him with that very dauntless look in your eye – spirited and brazen – when you lord over him like something between a hovering angel and a demon bearing down on prey.

He can feel something in his gut rumble and yield as you roll your hips in exactly what tempo you’ve set – his hands held loosely at the swell of your haunches, doing nothing but encourage your reign.

But even though he may like and even want it, he’s not one to ever request such a thing – so aside from those times you take the initiative all on your own, he gladly takes care of the both of you all by himself as though it’s the only obvious thing to do.

Expertise

are they any good?

Precision and expertise are as though written in Katsuki’s constitution.

However…

If there’s a time Katsuki’s ever clumsy, it’s when he’s drunk with lust for you. When he’s got his hands on your waist and his mouth on your face – when he’s grinding himself against you and only has the mind to focus on how lucky he is to get to be the one that fucks you every night.

But a little clumsiness doesn’t mean he’s bad at it.

Albeit he’s a bit overbearing – being dizzy with overwhelming arousal – he’s equally concerned with your pleasure as he is his own. And though he’s not one to ask if he’s making you feel good, he’s always looking out for your little mannerisms to answer the question – and usually, your reactions tell him he’s doing a good job.

Face

what do they look like during? what expressions do they make?

He seems to always have this curl between his brows. Furrowed as though in deep focus or in a struggling strive to reach his goal – in slight irritation of how on the brink he finds himself – chasing the full feeling. Teeth grit in those moments he’s not moaning when you bite his neck in retaliation to his harsh thrusts.

Sometimes he’ll even be so cute as to bite his tongue in his concentration – rhythmically swaying your hips back against his in his pursuit – as though he’s trying to feel every little ridge of his catch on yours and how you squeeze him tight when he’s got his cockhead nudged snug against your cervix.

And his eyes will close – teeth sinking into his lip as a soft shuddering hum of a moan leaves him – closing in on it. And when finally reaching it – he’ll bow his head and take refuge in your chest – his hips shaking against you – panting hot dewy breaths onto your skin until fully collapsing in the aftertaste.

Games

do they like to play? if so, what?

He likes chasing you down and tackling you. And he’s not shy off a tickle-fight. He absolutely loves having you pinned in a burst of unfiltered smiles and laughter as you cry for him to stop while splashing like a fish out of water beneath him.

It’s as though your thrashing reaches his heart, riveting his entire body ablaze.

You make him feel the same way he feels when he’s using his quirk – sparked on fuel, eager to explode, and just bursting at the seams.

He thinks you’re so beautiful then – and all other times, but especially then – when you have a few sprinkles of tears in the corner of your eyes from the force of your giggles, all your walls down in trust of him even though his arms are scarred beyond repair with evidence of his brutal nature.

That’s the moment he thinks of knocking you up.

He wants you to be a family – a complete family with a couple of brats running around. He wants to blow raspberries on their bellies and make them giggle the way you do. He wants to see you play here-comes-the-airplane when tricking them into eating. He wants goofy family pictures lining the staircase and the mantle, and the desk in his office. He wants childish celebrations – Christmas, Halloween, April Fool's Day. He wants it all.

And he wants it all with you.

Horny

how horny are they?

Winning makes him horny. His work – investigating, patrolling, fighting, exploding. Every win, big or small, celebrated with you – his cheerleader, his prize. It goes straight to his head, and what goes to his head goes straight to his dick, and his dick leads straight to you.

He always comes home in a winner’s high, grinning that devilish smirk while he lifts you off the ground with greasy smokey hands, rubbing his face into the nook of your neck until you giggle – asking you if you saw him and how he kicked ass on the news.

You tell him yes even if you haven’t – you know you’ll get a full recap over dinner anyway.

He’s in the best mood those days – brazen and handsy with you, smiling and talkative – bragging about his takedowns and sharing the funny office shenanigans Kirishima and Denki get up to.

Then he’ll make an effort to act invested in you, asking you about your day – but you only look at him knowingly and tell him it was nothing special – recognizing his interest as just that – interest.

There’s no smooth segway from boasting about his achievements to asking to fuck you, but you help him get there – putting your dishes in the sink, you come back and drape your hands around him, giving his neck a kiss, blowing on his ear while telling him to come and claim another victory.

Intimacy

how lovey-dovey are they?

He’s connected with you, with a focus on your movements, taking in all your little reactions and kissing you when catching you doing something unreasonably cute.

But he’s the cute one – trying not to leave any bruises on you despite you having told him it’s okay.

He doesn’t like seeing his transgressions marring your skin as unseemly reminders of his short temper and vicious strength – and how completely at his mercy you would be were he to exercise it.

He fears he’d start thinking differently about your relationship if he did. He fears he might come to use it against you to get his way like he’s done in the past with others that have made the same mistake of caring for him.

The thought of your face twisted with betrayal – looking at him like he’s nothing but a villain – that’s what keeps him in check. He understands that the day he breaks your trust is the day he loses you – maybe not in the physical sense if he can help it, but he would be helpless to stop you from never loving him the same way ever again.

But even though his thoughts disgust him while he swears to himself that he won’t ever make you feel in any way inferior – he still regards it as a ticking time bomb. That you one day will realize that he’s not as good as you think he is and try to leave him – and that on that day, he just won’t be able to let you go.

Junk

what’s their private look/feel like?

He’s thick and heavy-hung. Ripped the same way the rest of him is – muscular – with fat veins like cables pumping power. High-strung with a sturdy spine, lifting it up like a cannon ready to fire. A plump tip with a deep slit shaping it where beads of white pill – like fine pearls running down the length of it into the ash-blonde wisp bearding the beast – growing lightly upward in a happy trail towards his navel – upon finely cut muscles, steering clear of his larger scars, and spreading even further upon his pelvis to his chest in short circular curls – contrasting the tan sand color of his skin the same way the stubble on his chin grows – scratching you every time he gives you a kiss.

Kinks

what turns them on?

Katsuki's kink is consent – hearing you tell him to go faster or harder or deeper – feeling you claw your nails into his skin while your legs pull him closer, wrapped tightly in a lock around his torso – how your own hips move impatiently against his – desperately begging for more of him.

He also likes hearing you tell him to be gentle, to go slower, to make his digs longer – how you moan sweetly for him and caress his body with gentle touches, all smoothly in soft small hands – how your lips press against his neck and blow on his ear – when in the absence of skin harshly smacking skin the two of you hear the schlick all to well as you mold into the other’s embrace.

Really – just anytime you ask for anything – when you show him you want him. When you ask to ride him and when you tell him to take over. When you tell him to kiss you and when you’re too caught up in it to understand what or how to ask so you instead just say his name with a moan.

Location

where do they like doing it?

Katsuki likes going at it anywhere at home in the comfort of your shared house – with the exception of his car if he’s feeling impatient – his sofa, his kitchen counter, his dining table, his tub, his shower, his windows, his home-office desk, his bed, on a pile of his dirty laundry.

It’s in those intimate places that he can really let loose, leave the worries of the world outside and keep his focus on you and all those innermost personal ways he wants to ingrain you in his life – root you in his privacy – tattoo you into his skin.

Though there have been times when you’ve visited him at his hero agency – bringing lunch – where he’s been too riled up and tattered from huge wasteful meetings with other pro heroes who’s all had their head’s too far up their asses to come to any agreement regarding anything – when seeing you has been such a blessing that he just hasn’t been able to keep himself from grabbing at you – desperate for comfort and some consolation in burying his frustrations deep inside your tight cunt.

Where due to his occasional raging fits and his own personal need for privacy – his office is both soundproof and fitted with airtight blinds – therefore, nothing to keep him from making you scream when he takes you hard against his desk.

And aside from the office, there have been times you’ve stayed with his parents where he’s not been shy of getting friskywith you in his childhood bedroom.

So, in correction, maybe it’s closer to anywhere he feels at home – and not restricted to the house.

Masturbation

do they? if so, how often? to what?

Katsuki masturbates only on one occasion. And fuck knows it’s on those nights he’s fucked things up with you enough to be banished from the bedroom to the sofa.

He knows that he should be lying awake feeling guilty about other things regarding the reason he’s sleeping alone in the first place – but he can’t help it when his blood’s pumped up on adrenaline after your fight, and how the frustration still lingering in his skull only has one fix solution which is to rub one out and fall asleep so he can be calm enough to apologize to you in the morning.

He just needs to remind himself of how much he loves you, and though it isn’t the most dignified or romantic way – imagining you in compromising positions with filthy words on your lips – it’s proven to be the most efficient way for him to forgive and forget the fact that he thinks you should be the one banished to the sofa and not him.

Which is another thing fuck knows – that the two of you never agree to who’s in the wrong and can only ever agree to disagree after a long night's sleep without each other.

Nos

turn-offs

Katsuki’s main turn-off is losing.

His performance in bed is tightly knit with his performance at work – so if things are going poorly in either field, things are bound to be going poorly in the other.

Slumps ruin his confidence, making it but a brittle thing – an absolute insult to his normally unshakable self.

It’s the stress; it makes him both tired and restless at the same time. He’s the type to scratch at his scalp and pull his hair out – only withholding screaming so not to scare you.

In such periods all he wants is your gentle touch rubbing his sore muscles while you cuddle and kiss his forehead and cheek – telling him that everything will work out and be okay.

In those periods, the nights are spent with his head buried in your bosom and his hands balling your nightie in tight fists – struggling to keep from crying – while your hand smoothly runs through his hair – only continuing when he finally breaks and starts to jostle with silent sniffles and wet tears staining your chest.

Oral

do they give/receive? how are they giving/receiving?

Katsuki gets lost in you – humping the sheets as he gorges himself.

Your scent turns him in – your taste turns him on – the soft squishy flesh of your cunty lips kissing him back turns him on – how your thighs quake around his face turns him on – how your hips buck against his jaw turns him on – and the hand you have riddled in his hair, tugging on him in desperate demands as you spill and shake in aftershocks against him turns him on.

It riles him up so much he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt in one fell swoop, once crawling on top of you with hands still buried into the squeezable fat of your thighs, spreading you into a wide-open invitation – groaning against your mouth with your undoing glossing his chin and lips and his breath the scent of your raw arousal.

With your essence on his tongue, he cums almost embarrassingly quickly.

Position

what’s their favorite position? what position are they best?

Katuki’s favorite position is you – flat on your back and belly-up beneath him in a tight sticky mating press.

Sticky forehead against sticky forehead, sweat sprinkled dewy across your cheeks as you look back up into his eyes with lust and plead – all pooling into one mesmerizing mixture he can’t stop himself from drowning in – his mouth open with heavy huffs and puffs, drool dribbling into your mouth where you pant on beat with his humping.

Thighs spread wide under the pressure of his hands where he has you folded neatly against the pillow beneath you – lifted from the mattress to meet every single dig of his cock – pulling all the way out before storming your ribs with a deep swing of his hips, slapping against you and filling you all the way up again.

He loves how your thighs quake when he pushes into the very deepest part of you and how your moans lose all energy and devolve into nothing more but pretty pitter-pattering – your eyes glossy and doe-like, wet lashes blinking slowly while looking up into his. Loving how your cunt clenches as how you hold your breath – in anticipation of receiving more of him – how your velvety walls flutter upon the length of him – a sopping wet hot welcome allowing him to burrow deep with ease.

Reaping what he sows he takes you fully as you are – convinced you were made for him.

Question

do they ask for sexual pleasures? if so, how?

He’ll give you a heads-up rather than a request – a little threat on your phone telling you to do whatever it is you feel you have to do before he comes home because the second he’s home, he’s going to have you up against the nearest wall.

Other times, his warnings come more in the form of the hungry look in his eyes as he silently leers at you from across the dinner table or the other side of the couch. Looking at you like he’s hunting prey – claws coming out to play soon after in how they paw at you right as he lounges to capture you.

He does that – silently attack you – with touches and lips and needy dry-humping until you cave and tell him to take you up to the bedroom instead. He only barely listens – tugging off his belt and pulling his pants down before wrapping your legs around him and lifting you up. Sometimes the two of you don't even make it all the way up the stairs.

Sometimes however, he’ll come after you in softer ways. If you’re already in his arms, and he’s just noticed how close the two of you are – getting so very hot and bothered by the mere realization.

In moments of downtime…

When you’re standing there in home attire, plush loafers, and a pretty apron – cutting vegetables for dinner – and he just wants a quick crotchdance as an appetizer for what desert he’ll want after dinner.

Or, following a long day, when the two of you are snuggled up with a movie in bed hours after the sun’s set – when you’re in his arms, and he’s just incapable of focussing on the plot.

And other bedtime routines where the two of you’re doing your skincare rituals and getting ready for a shower – and you’re standing there in cute pajamas he knows will be on the floor soon.

Role-play

do they? if so, what roles? dress-up?

Sometimes he likes to roleplay you as a silly little villain.

He doesn’t really understand why – but seeing you look all cute and catlike in a black robber’s mask – acting as though he’s arresting you – really riles him up.

Your initial thought process led you to believe it was a way for him to somehow justify being a bit rougher with you – but later, you found that the fault rather existed in that certain intoxicating sensation of authority he feels when he is in his hero suit – when he has you face-first against a wall with your hands behind you back – cuffing them before kicking your legs open for a search.

He'll warn you to refrain from resisting as he drags his fingers over the little black costumey spandex you’re wearing to fit the role of a cat burglar – tight booty shorts leaving the crease of your asscheeks exposed, same way the deep dipping slit of the top lets your cleavage almost spill over.

He'll yank your head back with a fist riddled in your hair – looking down at you with that crazed smile you often see on the news, making your chest tight and breath thin – knowing you're in for a hell of a ride.

While other times – mostly to make you giggle – he’ll be the one impersonating a villain. But he’s only silly and cute when pinning you, poking fun with a smile while play-biting at your neck – telling you what shit luck you must have to find yourself in such an unfortunate situation and that he’s going to make you regret walking around without your hero-boyfriend to protect you.

You know it’s not all fun and games, though. You know there's some truth to it for him. You're not blind to the way he sees you as something in need of protecting. It's not exactly as though your supposed weaknesses, along with Katsuki’s temper, aren't two of the most argued subjects the two of you disagree on.

Secrets

impure thoughts/feeling/fantasies they have of you

He has many impure thoughts about you, but he’s all very shameless about expressing those. Ever the honest man, he’ll talk dirty like it’s nobody's business – whispering ever the salacious raunchiest desire right at your ear with a sharp smirk playing on his lips, so sharp you get snagged on it each and every time.

But, there are things he’ll keep to himself – certain stirrings in his stomach that confuse him. When your voice slips into that oh-so seductively sultry tone with your hand filtering through the spikes of hair atop his head, looking down at him with eyes full of love and this other something he’s not sure why makes him so quiet.

His heart goes absolutely feral with fluttering pounding then – even though he knows you’re just being silly – even though he knows you’re just out to pull his leg… He can’t help the chills of goosebumps that spread throughout him when you level him and say something along the lines of good boy~

You fluster him with that, and it’s all too clear with how he blushes bright red and adopts that sheepish look that’s so unlike him – and in the way his voice wavers when he tries and tells you to stop it with that shit.

Toys

do they have? which? when/how do they use them? on who?

One of the drawers in the bedroom is dedicated to Katsuki’s little collection.

Fluffy cuffs, silken ropes, chains, and tape – all meant to restrain you, as well as other complicated confinements such as spreader bars and armbinders and the like – along with other subjugating toys like leashes, collars, blindfolds, and gag balls – all heavy-duty hardcore means of bondage.

You couldn’t stop blushing the first time he introduced you to the kink – eyes wide and face heated – it actually robbed you of breath. Sure, you’d seen it in porn and felt sticky feelings of pleasure upon what you saw, but you’d never truly imagined it for yourself, at least not to the extent Katsuki was offering.

But he was asking so nicely – in such a sweet way you hadn't ever witnessed him do before – softly reassuring you that you could trust him and that he wouldn’t do anything without making sure you were comfortable with it first.

You couldn’t very well tell him no when you hadn’t even tried it first.

You don’t know what about it he enjoys so much – if it’s the fact that you’re completely pressed beneath his thumb or that you trust him enough to let yourself be – all you know for sure is that Katsuki has a smile on his face every time you have your body in a bind.

Sometimes you giggle and put the cuffs on him – and he’ll do a little muscle dance for you to keep you smiling, looking at you with that very deep red and playful look, watching you try and tease him with feather-light touches and chaste little pecks – waiting for him to snap, break free and punish you hard for being a little brat.

Underwear

on/off? normal/lingerie? naked? colors?

Of course, you make him groan when you wear those spicy intricacies of red lace and mesh – those fiery and flowery patterns of expense that leave little to the imagination and are better left off on the floor after he rips them off you.

But on the other hand – he thinks he finds you sexiest when you’re wearing comfy cotton boxers and no bra but hissignature black T-shirt with the skull print.

When you look like the very epitome of at home.

There’s just something about seeing you in comfy clothing – be it pajamas or his silly merch, or one of his shirts that just dwarfs you – it’s nice seeing you so natural around him. Clean of all makeup with a pair of fuzzy socks on your feet – looking goofy and cute as you shuffle over to him.

And there’s something very soothing about it, too, in how it feels so trivial and personal and right – reserved only for him, as though something you’re only comfortable with him seeing.

Volume

are they loud? what sounds do they make? or do they prefer your sounds instead?

It comes as no surprise that Katsuki’s a loudmouth even in bed when he is one everywhere else.

He’s full-throated, with rusty growls and groans, hunting your insides like a wolf chasing down prey – only getting louder the closer he comes, rutting against you hard and fast with his face buried in your skin, softly biting and panting out damp breaths while his hands clutch you tighter.

He likes the sound of your moans too. They drive him wilder – fueling the beast within – making him go rabid. A hand closing around your throat, feeling your noises strum against his palm. Mouth his name, and he loses all composure – hearing it drip, sticky sweet off your tongue, along with drool and a whine.

His head gets so hot and cloudy it becomes hard to think, only feel the pressure way down low in his pelvis, wanting to burst and bloom and spill and fill you up so good you get hearts in your eyes at the milky warmth.

Wild-card

something sexually specific to this character

There’s a lot of sweat. It’s a slippery sport for the two of you, and it’s only ever more wet come summertime.

But it’s quite a pretty site – the way it becomes like steam pilling and rolling off his tough glistening muscles, sparkly in droplets sprinkled on his tan sand-colored skin, dripping from the spikes in his hair like he’s melting.

It would have been more of a problem if it didn’t smell like sweet honeysuckle and caramel. Sweet yet somewhat burning to the taste, it’s almost like syrup and chili – and quite addictive, you confess while dragging your tongue over the dew on his chest, kissing the scars which paint him like a canvas, and licking your lips clean of the oils as he tugs you by your chin to look up at him.

You can tell he thinks it’s kind of gross – the way he leaves a damp print on the sheets after every sleep – or when the two of you walk together, and he doesn’t want to hold your hand. But you make sure to take him between your fingers, placing kisses to his knuckles – over those places where he’s split his skin on punches or torn and worn them on his quirk.

He’ll tell you that you look like a pet

X-rated

dirty talk

Curse words, grunting, and filthy little nothings make up most of Katsuki’s dirty talk – plus curt encouraging exclamations of yeah groaned breathily against your neck as the two of you melt against one another.

But it’s when he’s tipsy that his tongue really loosens.

Unknotting into something truly unlike him – lovey-dovey confession just pouring from his lips, mouthing at your skin with his head bowed.

And it’s not just him telling you how much he loves you – but much sappier stuff – angsty and almost just a little bit worrying stuff…

How he needs you to be his forever and never leave him, how you should just get pregnant with his kid already, quit your job and be his beautiful housewife who stays at home with the kids, waiting for him to come back from work and fuss over him when he finally walks through the door.

You giggle at him come morning – teasing him for all his silliness while he lies with his head drowned in a pillow and a hangover. You stroke his hair and ask if you should be the good housewife that you are and go bring him breakfast in bed – and he’ll groan at you to shut up.

Yandere

toxic/yandere traits

He knows he’s being insane, and he scolds himself for it – trying his best to keep it to himself and find ways to cope with it without burdening you.

But the truth is he finds your life outside him annoying.

He wished you’d leave all of it behind you once you moved in with him – but you’re still leaving for work on days he’s off duty and out with friends when he comes home. You still have people calling you when you’re eating dinner and others texting you when you’re having sex. You’ll bump into people you know when the two of you’re out and give his arm a little punch afterward, telling him how you wished he’d be a little nicer.

But the thing you don’t understand is that all those pesky friends of yours – all those old classmates and boyfriends and girlfriends and coworkers – they’re all competing for your attention. And it doesn’t always feel like he’s the one winning when you blow him off to hang out with them instead.

And aside from people, it’s your job that keeps you from him.

Some days he wonders if you’d say yes if he asked you to move out of the country with him. But you’re always going on about your carrier and your dreams, and he fears you’d resent him if he asked you to give it all up.

It bothers him to no end – hurts him – because if it were a choice to hang out with his friends or you, he’d pick youevery time. And when it comes to his job… he honestly thinks he’d give it all up if it meant you’d only ever look at him for the rest of your lives.

Zone

what part of you do they love the most?

Your voice and the look on your face when you say his name.

He hopes you always look at him that way. Softly yet vividly with a gentle smile shaping your lips – one which only widens the longer you look until fully blooming into something that tugs at his heart, giggling out something silly, like calling him a creep for staring at you for so long.

If only you knew… He could stare at you all day until sleep forced his eyes closed.

He gets so upset when he doesn’t get to see you. He pulls up his phone with a pout to FaceTime you, growling out a curse word if you don’t pick up – opening up photos for comfort instead.

He has no need to create or pick any album – he only ever takes pictures of you.

It’s mostly goofy pics of you eating food he’s made for you. Others where you’re sleeping – especially if you’re sleeping on or next to him. And a few more risqué shots, where you’re either dressed only in underwear or nothing at all. Plus, a couple of photos you’ve told him to delete – those where you’re sweaty and messy – with his cum drooping shut one eye, dripping off your cheek like glaze, running down your plump lips into your gaping mouth, landing perfectly on your welcoming tongue.

Still looking up at him with those eyes.

Those soft yet vivid eyes he can stare into forever.

tip-jar: Kofi

1K notes · View notes

atozfic · 11 months

Text

a twist of the knife.

pairing. ghostface!wooyoung x fem!reader. synopsis. halloween night and you're all alone, boyfriend far from home. you've got plans- big plans- with a fully charged vibrator and a phone. what a shame you forget to check the number before picking up. warnings. slasher fic! pwp, daddy kink, noncon cheating, noncon (don't like it? don't bite it!), masturbation (f&m), sex-toys, degradation, name-calling, dirty talk, knife kink?, mask kink!, implied stalking, mentions of murder word count. 4.6k hyde’s input. listen, kids, sometimes mother (me) can't serve a three coursed meal, ok? sometimes, all mother (me) can serve are dino-nuggies and overcooked chips. just eat your meal and flush your shit when you're done (aka, this is lazy writing and i'm not 100% satisfied with this fic but i'm also too tired to try harder i'm sorry <3)

truth be told, you’ve started without him.

you’d waited, a whole twenty minutes longer than you were supposed to.

twenty two minutes and you sent a text.

babe?

the message was delivered.

no reply came your way.

another text, from you.

i should be naked by now :(

and then another.

come make me cum, u loser.

and a final message, once more from you.

or i’ll get someone else to do it <3

minutes passed, no reply came, and you stayed true to your word.

technically.

because, technically, nowhere does it say you can’t be that someone else who makes you cum.

spread on your bed, body draped in pretty black lace, only the light of a single lamp- a cheesy plastic jack-o-lantern bought by your dearest boyfriend- to shadow your movements.

the shadow dances in time with the fingers that brush down your soft skin, the drag of your sharpened nails bringing a thrilling chill down your spine.

your fingers settle, at last, on your heaving chest. they slide over the delicate fabric, scratch at the skin beneath. graze over one of your nipples, and pause.

you try to mimic his movements, memorise the perfectly choreographed routine he uses to drive you wild.

it’s hard to achieve, no matter how much you pinch and roll the hardening bud between your fingers, when your hands are not his.

too soft, too textured.

too small, too big.

too everything.

you miss the brush of his hardened fingertips, and the callous ways in which he teases you. and his gravel-deep, chocolate-smooth voice, echoing soliloquies of filth. and his thinly-dipped hips, flowing with yours in a demonstration of true poetry in motion.

suddenly, your ire grows tenfold.

because damn him for being miles away, partying in a city you’ve never been.

and damn his friends for suggesting the “boys” trip.

and damn him even more for agreeing to go and leaving you all alone.

it works in your favour, this ire, stealing away a pinch of the guilt from not waiting on him and replacing it with a heavy dose of vengeful craving.

you’d asked him to spend halloween with you house-sitting your childhood home, he made plans with his friends instead.

he’d asked you to let him see the first time you cum tonight, you’re making plans with your mirror instead.

opening your bedside drawer, you blindly reach in and find what you’re looking for: a pretty, soft, purple rabbit. it’s fully charged, in preparation for the night your boyfriend had promised you.

a night he’s now thirty six minutes and four texts late to.

you shimmy yourself further down the bed, till your feet dangle off the edge and the reflected version of you is positioned at just the right angle to witness the gathering wetness between your thighs, dampening the overpriced panties.

spreading your legs a little wider, you press the bunny to life.

in pulsing rhythms, it vibrates in your grasp, teasing the pleasure it aims to deliver as soon as you place it against your core.

instead, you switch it off.

decide you’re not ready yet.

he wouldn’t be ready yet.

a teaser, he’s a man who takes pleasure in watching you squirm, plead, beg for something, anything.

the mere memory of your boyfriend is enough to have your hips rolling up against the air, nothing but the squeeze of the fabric against your cunt to soothe the burn. a finger, middle- always the middle-, slips past your lips.

welcoming it, you feel it growing wetter at your touch, swirling your tongue around it.

your eyes fall shut. you try to picture him and his pretty-boy grin, remember just the way he likes it.

get daddy’s fingers nice and wet, pretty girl.

that’s what he’d say, because that’s what you are.

his pretty girl.

the prettiest girl.

pathetic and for your ears only, a whimper falls as you pluck your hand from your mouth. skipping over the part where he tortures you with feather-like brushes of his hands down your body, blunt ends of his nails scratching up goosebumps and leaving behind thing trails of red markings, you instead shoot directly for your core.

in the mirror, your legs inch a little wider and your teeth latch onto your bottom lip as the contrasting chill of your hand cups over the burning heat of your cunt. the scratch of red lace between your skin grows your arousal by tenfold, the cooling wet of your saliva slickened finger pressing the soaked fabric against your dripping seam.

you push a little more, hooking the tip of your finger at your entrance and squirm as the lace pinches tighter at your hips, digging marks into your skin that you’ll later compare to the one’s he so often leaves.

in the orange hue of your room, you let your mind trail off once more as you shift to sit up, knees pressing into the mattress, legs bent backwards and both feet tucked under the swell of your ass.

the image in the mirror is pure pornography: your hair still damp from an earlier shower, red lace covering pretty skin, nipples poking out against the fabric of your bra, your manicured nails resting at the apex of your thighs, teasing their way over soaked panties.

you look hot.

fuckable.

eyes slipping shut briefly, the image of him conjures behind you. his broad chest pressed against your back, his large hands roaming over your waist, his soft lips pressing indecencies into your neck.

as quickly as it appears, it disapeears, and your eyes reopen to the reality of your lonely bedroom and your lonely bed, no one upon it but you.

and the purple toy.

it’s in your grasp in a count of three seconds- no less- and buzzing to life with the delicate press of a button.

in the mirror, your thighs clench.

loneliness leads to anger leads to action, readjusting your legs a little wider and guiding the pulsating toy over your lower stomach and inching it’s way down, down, down under the hem of the expensive thong.

a fire stroked to life, the heat that comes along in the initial seconds of pleasure has your spine shooting up straight, knees digging further into the springs of the mattress as your clit welcomes the new feeling pulsing against it.

watching as your reflection cants her hips up, chasing after the waves delivered by the toy, you set to find a rhythm in all your blues.

you push aside the fact this should be your boyfriend’s mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit and fingers burrowing in between your clenching walls, and not some rubber toy.

you ignore the inherent shyness and discomfort that comes with watching yourself in this position, making eye-contact in the mirror as you fantasise about another pair of hands.

you lay to rest the stress that no contact from your boyfriend brings you, a sting of tears threatning you if you let your mind wander too far into the attrocities of life, the attrocities riddling your college campus over the past few months.

a senior, stabbed to death in his dorm.

a freshman, found discarded at the side of the road.

your friend, wide-eyed and lifeless, slumped against your bed in your dormroom-

no.

you press at the toy again, it’s pulses grow more intense, more rapid, full throttle on your pleasure till it clouds you in that heady scent of sex and drowns you in the need for release.

just as you grow closer by the minute, the sweetest little whines making their way past your bitten lips, your ringtones blairs.

loud, and clear.

it’s murder on the dancefloor, familiar lyrics echo in the small room, screen lighting up behind you. you’d better not kill the groove, dj gonna burn this goddamn house-

you don’t look, just grab blindly at where you’d left it, tossed aside and forgotten in your frustration.

hit accept, press the phone to your ear and wait.

to hear his apology, his excuses, his ways to make it up to you.

but there’s only breathing.

heavy breathing.

it reminds you of your own, thighs still shaking and the toy still faintly brushing over your slick coated clit.

“took you long enough,” you’re the first to break the ice, praying you don’t sound as shaky as you feel.

a huh rings down the line, grainy. poor signal.

he must still be out, you figure.

“i thought you’d never call,” you’re pouty, purposeful in you approach to teasing him before you deliver a killing-blow to his ego: you’ve started without him. “and i was getting so lonely.”

for effect, you press on the button again, listen as the toy gets louder as it vibrates more intensely, waves rippling your skin even as you pry it back from your clit, enjoying it’s pleasure only in the way it moves against your panties.

you wonder if he hears it too.

you want him to hear.

there’s a sharp inhale, spanning a handful of seconds and leaving you with the imagery of his head falling back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

it says nothing, yet everything.

he’s frustrated.

he’s chastising.

he’s turned on.

“why’d you make me wait, daddy?” you say it and hope it hits a nerve. hope he’s squirming in his seat, surrounded by his friends and praying not a single one notices the tent being pitched in his pants. “that wasn’t very nice of you.”

you give an experimental roll of your hips, feeling the buzzing toy nudge against you once more, coaxing back to life the orgasm you’d let down.

a dramatised gasp leaves your mouth, aiming for him to take notice of it and just think about what you’re doing to yourself.

“no,” he finally talks and you hate how quickly your anger is to melt away, one foul swoop of his smooth voice and you melt into a puddle, waiting to be splashed around by him. “wasn’t nice of me at all, was it?”

the toy between your legs continues to hum away, coaxing you to try another roll, dip your hips down onto it.

a moan- admitedly, a bit exagerated- fills the room.

there’s no doubt he heard it.

“you sound a bit weird, baby,” in the mirror, you watch yourself tilt your head to the side, pressing the phone between your ear and your shoulder. it frees up your other hand to roam freely over your breasts, rolling one of your nipples through the lace. “is the connection bad?”

he doesn’t answer.

down the line, you pick up on more heavy breathing.

it makes you long harder for him, visualising him there, pressed up against you, heavy breathing in your ear as the tension builds between you, culminating in the buckling of your knees and the grabbing of your ass, propping you up at his desired height to pile-drive his cock into you.

in a desperate appeal for his attention, you dip the vibrator lower, pressing it’s nub against your opening, squealing at the foreign intrusion.

“d’you hear that, daddy? my pussy’s all wet,” a filthy squelch rings true as you replace the toy with your finger, squeezing it’s way into your hole. “she’s all tight with no one to stretch her out.”

the possibility that you’re setting feminism back by several centuries crosses your mind, but it’s quickly pushed aside for images of your boyfriend forcing you onto all-fours and taking you from behind, pulling at your hair to force you to stare straight ahead at the very same mirror that used to display you playing dress-up as a little girl, now displaying the way you’re sweaty and defiled.

“now, that’s just not true, pumpkin,” his voice tuts down the phone, and the disapproving tone is enough to have you slipping a second finger into your cunt. “and no one likes a liar.”

if you weren’t knuckles deep in yourself, fingers scissoring you open as you give the occasional brush of the buzzing toy over your clit, maybe you’d know what he was talking about.

instead, all you can muster is a breathless what.

“c’mon, pretty, i’ve seen that video of you taking it like a champ. stretched that slutty pussy out on all ten of those bright pink inches.”

oh.

truth be told, you wondered if he’d even seen that video you’d sent him, all shy and bashful, wanting to show off the new toy you’d gotten yourself. he’d merely reacted with a heart- and then never once brought it up, ever again.

“are you going to keep me waiting?”

you should say yes.

tell him it’s his punishment, for ignoring your texts, and partying too late, and not being beside you on the bed.

but you’re a sucker for him, caving in at his rougher than usual tone.

scurrying off your mattress, you press the phone closer to your ear and listen to the rustling of fabric on his end.

a zipper is undone.

it’s followed by a sigh of relief, one that has you picturing him freeing his cock from the confines of his too-tight jeans.

“chop, chop, pretty! i’m losing my patie-”

“i found it!” you exclaim, louder than you should.

but who cares, when you’ve got your hand wrapped around the bright pink dildo, pride flushing over your face.

“so you can fetch,” he mutters it. it’s hard to hear him, really, but you don’t want to complain. don’t want to risk him hanging up and leaving you high and dry- well, high and wet. “good to know you’re good for something.”

it’s addictive, his passiveness, coaxing you to squeeze your thighs together.

your panties are sticky with your own residue, your nipples are hard within their circumferential coffins, your fingers are soaked as they grip the pulsing toy.

you’ve still not turned it off.

“now, sit yourself down in front of that mirror and show daddy how you ride it.”

you’re across the room in a matter of seconds, slipping down so easily onto your knees, right in front of the floor-length mirror. pressing the dildo down on the ground, you listen as the suction cup sticks it in place, standing bright, and pink, and tall.

“i’m-” the call drops before you can finish your sentence.

you’re left in silence, once more, humming down the line.

it doesn’t last, phone screen lighting up once more.

only, this time, it’s a face-time call.

you waste no time on patience, blindly hitting accept and admiring the way you come in to view, back camera on and pointed directly at the your reflection.

you’re on display, down on your knees and awaiting his next command.

tearing your ego away from the small square you occupy on the screen you audibly whine at the view from his camera.

lowlights, casting shadows around him.

his head is out of frame, camera angled down onto his body.

his clothing is all black- his jeans, his t-shirt, the ring that sits round his index finger-, the only splash of colour coming from his tanned hand, curled around the base of his cock.

tugged out of his jeans, it’s red at the tip and leaking precum.

this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him this way, obviously, yet something is different.

something you like.

something that has your mouth watering and your tastebuds begging to taste the tangy, salty drip of his seed smeared all over them.

“well? get on with it, pretty girl,” tonight, he’s arrogant. demanding. “don’t quit while you’re ahead.”

staring forward, you make eye contact with yourself as you gather up the saliva in your mouth and let it drip down on to the plastic tip sitting in front of you. your free hand’s quick to wrap itself around the toy, soaking itself in your spit and working it’s way down the toy’s shaft, slickening the silicone.

on the screen, his own hand imitates yours, giving himself a slow stroke. it’s accompanied with a pleased hum.

“fucking look at you, a goddamn natural at touching cock,” his praise warms your heart and speeds up your hand, another glob of spit falling down onto the dildo, getting it prepped to nestle it between your thighs. “it’s what slut’s like you live for, ain’t it? taking it from anyone who’ll give it.”

god, you want to say no. you really do.

but you’re hardly in a position to argue your case, soaked panties and heaving chest, willing to do just about anything he asks of you.

“don’t be shy, c’mon, let me see how good that little pussy of yours is.”

inching yourself closer, knees dragging on the floor below, you grind against the pink toy, eyes rolling back as it brushes between your panty-clad folds, nudging at your clit.

“move them to the side,” miles away, and resigned to merely your cellphone, he puppets you, invisible strings tethered between his voice and your hands, willing and ready to move anyway he commands them too. “wanna watch you take it.”

you do as he says. hook your fingers into the red lace, slide it to one side and ignore the way it digs and scratches into your skin, bunched up tight against it.

first, you make sure you're in view, hand as steady as it can be and pointed straight ahead at the mirror.

then, you let yourself sink down.

take just the tip, feel it prod at your entrance and stretch you open, a greedy cunny willing to fit anything and everything to get the sweet release of friction.

you suck a breath in through your teeth, let it out through your nose.

in earnest, you’d forgotten the sheer girth of the toy and, eyeing your reflection and witnessing the offensively pink silicone cock beneath you fills you with a trickle of regret.

the plan this evening was just to use your vibrator and trusty fingers, not stretch yourself open beyond sense.

then again, the plan this evening had been for him to call you nearly three quarters of an hour earlier, blushy cheeked and wide-eyed, smiling down at you through his camera.

“pft, that’s pathetic,” he scoffs from within your phone screen, hand no longer working over his length. it rests, instead, beneath his balls, toying with the skin and rolling the heft of them over his veined hands. “you’re pathetic. ‘s that all you’re gonna take, huh?”

you take it like a challenge, just like he knew you would.

smoothing your free hand over your thigh, you feel the rigid muscles beneath and will them to relax, let go, give in to need to be full. moments later, you watch in the mirror as you sink further down on the toy.

it’s hard to recognise yourself this way and it sparks questions of if this is how he sees you, all dressed up and messed up, lips swollen at the hands of your own teeth, lashes damp with your own tears.

you really are the prettiest girl.

“tick-tock, time’s moving. keep going.”

as you sink down on the rest of the toy, heart in your throat as all your nerves spark ablaze, your eyes are on him, watching in grainy picture as he delicately runs his finger up the underside of his cock. he traces a vein and it has him jolting, a whimpered laugh quietly playing through your speakers.

“that’s it, knew you could do it for me,” it really is all for him, his praise merely a consequence of your compliance. “good to know you’re not a complete brain-dead idiot.”

the heat of your childhood bedroom is stiffling, choking you on it’s syrupy air, the heady stench of lust dancing up to your nostrils.

you wonder if his surroundings are the same: clammy, sex-smelling, erotic.

"tell me how it feels," he demands.

"full," is all you manage, head slumping forward and granting you the view from above of your puffy lips, squeezing around the toy’s base.

“for a slut like you? that’s nothing.”

he’s tempting you, cock on full display on your phone-screen.

it has you salivating, walls clenching around the pink silicone.

you’ve never wanted him so bad, needed him so bad.

in your hand, in your mouth, in you.

cock-hungry and touchstarved, you whine his name and beg for something you’ve yet to even understand.

all that you know is you need him, all of him, and you need him to feel the same.

“what’re you waiting for, an invitation?” oh, he growls, voice scratching on his ire and desperation. it’s spine-tingling. “start fucking the toy, princess.”

the first thrust is the deepest.

lifting yourself right off the toy, feeling the over-exaggerated tip of it resting between your folds, you sink back down with a single slam of your hips, hand jutting forward to grab at the mirror.

fingerprints on the glass, you try not to think about how you’ll have to clean it later.

“‘s that all you got?” he’s mean tonight, you think, his praise far more scarce than you’re used to. usually, you take an inch and he’s ready to throw you a parade. you like this side, though, like the fight for approval. “i’ve seen nuns take it faster than that.”

it’s hypochondria.

it’s a simile.

it’s symbolism.

it’s a lie.

but you let it get to you, let it fester down into your loins and build itself a nest within, infecting your bloodstream with it’s elusive possibilities.

you come down on the toy again, and follow it up with another quick lift of your hips, your own slick leaving it’s shiny residue on the dildo as you watch it slide out of you.

when you glance at the screen, you can see he’s started stroking his cock, shameless and unfiltered moans and whimpers coming from somewhere off screen.

usually, he’s a groaner, a grunter, snuffing out his little noises with presses of his lips to your skin, and teeth piercing into flesh.

this is another welcomed change.

matching the rhythm of his wrist, you begin to ride the plastic cock in earnest, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies of him beneath you, hands pawing at your waist and fingernails indenting your delicate skin.

his filth riddled rambles continue on, lyrics to the symphony of music created as you play yourselves like instruments, plucking the right string and stroking the right chord to make your music play.

“that’s it, pretty, fill that greedy pussy up.”

his hand speeds up.

your wrists chase to catch up.

“dirty slut, answering calls while she’s touching herself.”

up, and down.

and up, and down.

you’re fighting the muscle cramp in your thigh, and willing yourself to get rid of that hyper-aware conscious of yours, surrender yourself to ebb and flow of electric currents taking hold of your senses.

“just desperate for anyone to see you like this, aren’t you?”

you’re not even aware of your own head nodding, or the chants of yes, yes, yes that you’re giving.

you’re just living for the drag of the toy, in and out, filling you to the brim.

the reflection paints a portrait, an artwork for any eyes who dare witness. messy hair, running mascara, smeared lipstick. panties pushed aside, cunt on display, tits bouncing in lace confines each time your hips fall back down.

you watch as this sex-goddess version of you reaches out her hand, grasping fingers at the rabbit and bringing a burst of purple to the space between your thighs.

there’s no care to fix the setting, just a squeeze of a button and away you go, vibrator pressed to your clit as you fuck yourself on the toy again, and again, and again.

he hums in approval, calls you his smart slut, and you keen at his words, eyes glazing over with tears.

it’s all becoming too much.

too overwhelming.

you’re ready to crash and burn, open the floodgates to hell and throw yourself into the lakes of pleasure.

“hmm, pretty girl, y’know red really is your colour,” he’s embarrassingly more composed than you are. not a shake in his breath, not a stutter to his words. just the occasional moan, and the visible tightening of his fingers around his cock. “i’d love to see you dripping in it.”

everything comes crashing inwards. the length of the toy, ramming into you each time your hips crash down on it; the buzz of the vibrator, rippling your skin and stealing your sense; the erotic display of him, legs spread wide as he fucks up into his hand, tiny flecks of precum staining his skin. it’s all too much stimuli, sending you full throttle of the edge of reality.

you cum with a gasp, a cry, a shiver down your spine and a bust of warmth between your legs. like raging waters, the feeling flows, and crashes, and stains everything in it’s soaking madness.

it’s on your thighs, on the floor, even on the mirror, visual evidence of a climax you never knew was possible for yourself.

“fuck, fuck!” he’s still going, more desperate than ever, the repeated schlick-schlick of his hand taking over the beating of your heart. “d’you just squirt, huh? filthy, filthy pussy, got herself and all her belongings wet. go on, don’t be shy, lick your mirror clean-”

your phone buzzes.

it’s a fight through the orgasmic haze to read the screen.

yunho <3 - sorry babe, the guys keep buying rounds

yunho <3 - promise i’ll phone you as soon as i can

it takes reading it twice more to really read it.

process it.

understand it.

your heart drops to your stomach.

your lungs swell till they threaten to burst out your ribs.

your legs scramble off the toy, head shaking frantically.

no, no, no.

“what’s wrong, pumpkin?” god, you feel sick.

that’s not your boyfriend’s voice.

you watch the phone, paralysed in your own fear.

there he appears, in all his masked glory, haunting you straight out of your nightmares.

that very same mask, months ago, stood in your room watching over you, a blood soaked knife in his hand and your dead roommate at his feet.

“c’mon, silly girl, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” his words fill your throat with bile. because he’s right, how did you not know? “no, mister ghostface, i just thought my boyfriend’s cock got fatter! pathetic.”

oh god, oh god. yunho, you picture him now, sat among his seven friends, joking over alcohol infused delusions and awaiting his return to his hotel room, to call you and give you the night he’d promised you.

meanwhile, you’re naked, and afraid, and still reeling from the orgasm you’d let this crazed murderer prey witness to.

to make matters worse, you hate the way you’re not as scared as you should be.

or, really, that you’re as turned on as you are put off by the idea of this cruel torturer.

visions of riding that hollow-cheeked mask are fleeting, but vivid enough to have your eyes welling in shameful tears and your legs jumping in remorseful delight.

“you still want it, don’t you?” you should be looking away, hanging up, calling the police. not staring, wide-eyed and unblinking, as the man- the monster on your screen slaps the head of his hard cock against a toned stomach. and you definitely shouldn’t imagine him slapping the head of his cock against your asshole, teasing you with the fear of being defiled only to plunge deep into your cunt in one foul swoop. “yeah, you do. can see you rubbing your thighs together just at the sight of it. bet you’d like to know how’d it feel to be fucked nice and full of me while my knife’s pressed to your throat. just edging you between your orgasm and your deat-”

you hang up.

sit back.

count to ten.

ten.

nine.

eight.

seven.

your ringtone blares again.

unknown caller.

you hit ignore.

restart counting.

make it to four this time.

it calls again.

ignore.

you phone buzzes.

the notification reads unknown - 1 message.

messenger opens.

a picture.

of your house, taken from across the street. it’s dark, only the light of your bedroom and, within it, the blurred image of you. earlier, fresh out the shower wrapped in a fluffy white towel.

you phone buzzes, once more, and a text appears just beneath the image.

unknown- close ur courtains, u never know who’s watching.

you take a deep breath, stare out your window.

type out a reply.

curtains*

and block the number.

#ateez smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez x reader #jung wooyoung x reader

385 notes · View notes

yuna542 · 1 year

Text

Connected (OT8 x reader)

Part 8<-

Part 9

Pairing: Han x reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Under 18 DNI!, unprotected sex (just don’t please), Suggestive Themes, Swearing, pet names, fingering, oral (f receiving), edging

Word Count: 3.8k

Note: Well well well. I‘m back. Hope you like it! Han being equally hot and a little brat is a new kink of mine. So you’re welcome. Comments, Like, Reblogs are always a blessing and if you have ideas for prompts just tell me. ~much love babes

On your first day of your new job as the personal manager of Stray Kids, you didn't expect to be standing in front of the man you made out with last night in a club. But it soon becomes clear that the Stray Kids don't just want you as their manager.

Will this passionate arrangement end your career?

"I need help"

Han's first message on that Monday evening sounded worrisome, and since you could put off the phone call to the stylist for a few more minutes, you typed a reply:

"Are you at the studio?"

"Yes. I need you now!!!"

So you set your Ipad aside and looked at yourself again in your selfie camera. Why you checked your hair and face exactly, you didn't know yourself.

Just as you were standing in front of the door to the studio, Chan opened it.

"Hey", you said in surprise, not knowing he was still here.

"Hey. Be careful, Han is very annoying", he said and that made you smile.

„I‘m surely gonna survive our moody Jisung.“

"Yea I definitely won‘t. So i'll leave you alone."

Before he could go, you hold him back by his arm.

"You have a meeting with the choreographers in 20 minutes", you reminded him.

He nodded and looked down at you with lustful eyes.

"Thanks. Is that skirt new?"

Embarrassed, you nodded and looked down at yourself. Was the black pleated skirt too short after all? Didn't he like it?

But Chan walked a few steps around you and looked at your ass before pinching it firmly with a hand.

"You're really lucky I have to go to the meeting right now", he whispered with a dangerously spark in his eyes and immediately a warm shiver ran down your spine.

"Have fun with Jisung. He really needs some cheering up."

With those words, he reached under your skirt to feel the warm flesh of your asscheeks and pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot on the crook of your neck. Immediately a sharp gasp escaped you and there he had already disappeared into the elevator.

Since the day in the studio the air around you two was even more charged with energy and you were addicted to all those little flirts that have arisen between you again and again.

Inside the studio, you found a dejected Jisung lounging on the couch in the dim light, staring holes into the ceiling.

"Hey, Hannie."

He immediately straightened up and looked at you with bright eyes.

"Finally... I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"What's wrong?"

You walked up to him and glanced at his laptop on the desk, where a white screen shone at you.

"I've been trying to write lyrics all day. I know the tune, even the damn theme, but I just can't seem to come up with the right words!", he grumbled, tossing his phone onto the desk with the blank note on the screen.

"How am I supposed to help you with that?", you asked, confused.

"Inspiration."

"Huh?"

"I need inspiration and motivation", he explained expertly and crossed his hands behind his head.

Jisung looked even hotter than usual today. He wore beige sweatpants and a black tank top that was cut so wide at the sides that you could see his defined abs peeking out. His hair was a mess from all the hair tussling, and his bright eyes looked at you so intently that you unconsciously nibbled at the buttons of your shirt.

"I thought that seeing you and being around you would help my inspiration. So please come here and sit down! When you're near me, I can work better."

"Oh well, okay... If that’s all.“

So you sat down on the couch next to him and blinked innocently at him. You hadn't missed the needy expression in his eyes, which were constantly glued to your bare legs peeking out from under the short skirt. He sat silently at the other end of the sofa for a while and you could feel how restless he was. He wasn’t lacking inspiration. He was just horny.

But you wouldn't make it that easy for him.

He was always such a tease, that you wanted to see him struggle a little bit. That's when he turned back to you.

"To be honest, I lack motivation too... To cure my artistic block, you may have to get closer."

There was a playful grin on his lips and you were having a hard time resisting his charm anyway. So you went along with his games and moved a little closer until your shoulder touched his. Seemingly by accident, you leaned forward a bit to take a look at his cell phone, which he was holding again.

As you did so, a strand of hair fell into your face and Jisung's eyes were unashamedly focused directly on your cleavage hovering in front of his face.

"Better?", you asked hypocritically, and he opened and closed his mouth in overwhelm without a sound coming out. His hands clenched around the phone that he had to hold himself due to the fact how easily it would be to reach you and rip those clothes off of your body.

"A little. But I don't think it's enough yet."

Without further hesitation, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you onto his lap so that your face was only a hand's width away from his.

"That's even better", he stated with amusement, letting his hands roam down your sides until they were firmly on your hips.

"How are you going to write lyrics like that?", you asked with an amused laugh, and he just shrugged.

"I have to think of some first, don't I? You can help me best with that topic."

"What do you want it to be about?", you continued to ask, not wanting to be lulled by his cologne and sparkling eyes. His fingers were already circling your hipbones and with each movement of his legs under you, your skirt pushed up.

"I want to write about love, comfort and joy... So what do you think?"

You gasped softly as he suddenly pressed your hips against him for a moment. Wearing only panties under your skirt, the sensation of your bare skin on his thighs was tingling. His gaze took on a suggestive tinge and you could see his desire from a distance.

"That sounds like a good topic", you murmured, gently running your fingers over his chest.

"Do you think, you can inspire me, honey?", he asked seductively and squeezed your hips.

"I can try", you answered and began tugging at the buttons of your shirt with your fingers.

Greedily he watched your movements as you agonisingly slowly undid the top buttons one by one. You couldn’t get enough of his impatient facial expression that looked like he could hardly sit still.

Then he became impatient and asked:

"May I? Please, I need to see your boobs so bad!"

After you nodded, he immediately set to work with greedy fingers and opened your shirt. At first your bra popped out and when the shirt was completely open, he looked at your body as if he had never seen anything more beautiful. With both hands he pushed the shirt completely off your shoulders until it fell to the floor behind you.

Now you were just sitting in your black lace bra on his lap and you could already feel something happening underneath you in his pants.

"Your boobs are fucking pretty...", he murmured, stroking up your sides with warm fingertips until he touched the fabric of your bra. Almost reverently, he stroked the edge of the bra, along your breasts, until he slid the straps off your shoulders and began spreading wet kisses down your neck. Relatively quickly, he worked his way to your neckline, where there was no place he didn't explored with his mouth.

He sucked on sensitive spots and licked over your skin, as if it tasted sweeter than anything he had experienced before.

With his hands he had already hurriedly pushed up your skirt up and freed your ass. With both hands he squeezed your ass hard and pressed you firmly against his growing bulge. There he finally drove up your back to the clasp of your bra and looked at you questioningly. You could only nod, overwhelmed by his seductive touch.

With one fluid motion, he undid the clasp and tossed the bra aside. His eyes bubbled with passion and he immediately groped your breasts with his hands.

He gently kneaded your flesh and said:

"Your so fucking hot. Do you even know that, jagi?"

You laughed softly and ran your hands over his chest. He just had eyes for you and began to suck the skin of your boobs between his teeth. His sloppy kisses and licking sent the heat between your legs and you couldn't help but grind your desperate cunt against his bulge. But he took his time to worship every millimeter of your skin and kissed again your neck, up to your jaw, until he reached the corners of your mouth.

Briefly he released his lips from your heated skin to look at you.

"So you're really okay with an arrangement with me?", he asked carefully to make sure you really agreed.

"Yes Jisung. I really want this too."

"Even though I'm lousy at flirting?", he smiled and you giggled at the memory of your first encounter.

"I'm sitting half naked on your lap with your mouth all over me... So take that as a win."

"I really do", he laughed and suddenly grabbed your chin, to kiss you deeply.

His lips tasted like caramel and coffee and you wanted to taste as much of him as possible. It was addicting and when the kiss got more and more sensual, as he touched every inch of your body, you began to rub your hips harder against his bulge. Desire burned in your veins, which is why you pulled his tank top over his head in one motion and tossed it carelessly aside. So you could finally look at his defined torso and you ran your fingers over each of his wiry abs.

Meanwhile he sucked on your nipple and kneaded the other one between his fingers. His tongue moved so sensually against your aroused breasts that you had to sigh softly. Completely absorbed in your body, he let his tongue circle around your nipple and bit into it, eliciting a hiss from you. Then he worked your skin further, sucking it so hard that red spots appeared so high up your neck you wouldn't be able to cover it up.

As he looked at his work, he grinned with satisfaction. Alarmed, you stared at him and gave him a slap on the chest.

"Ji! What if someone sees the marks?"

"Then they'll know you had fun", he replied cheekily, pressing his lips hard against yours again.

By now he was getting more and more impatient and even through the fabric of his pants you could feel that his length was already painfully hard. His hips began to rub against yours and your panties were already completely soaked.

He licked his tongue keenly into your mouth and his fast movements made you drowsy. Abruptly he pushed you back on the couch by your shoulders and knelt between your legs. With his hands he impatiently pushed your knees apart to get a glimpse of your middle.

"Fuck your so wet and your just mine right now."

"I'm just helping a friend", you teased him and looked up at him through your thick eyelashes.

A breathless laugh escaped him before he literally ripped your panties off your body. It landed somewhere in the room, as did your skirt, which he pulled off so fast it made you dizzy. Two fingers stroked teasingly over your cunt, and as he did so, his eyes bored relentlessly into yours. By the time you saw the mean grin, it was too late. He penetrated you hard with three fingers and began pumping them into you, not letting you take a breath.

The teasing between you two was obviously even stronger, when you fucked.

Immediately your hips snapped up, but he pressed them roughly back onto the couch. His thumbs circled over your clit and stars danced before your eyes, while you wheezed overwhelmed.

Now you could no longer suppress the unholy sounds.

Jisung's fingers were merciless and brought you closer and closer to the redemptive orgasm in no time. All the while he maintained eye contact, enjoying the aroused expression on your face, the half-open lips, and how your body squirmed beneath him.

"Look at you, so eager and needy to be used by me - you're such a cutie", he shot back and already the knot in your stomach was tightening. Just before the high was finally reached, he pulled his fingers out of you. Stunned, you stared at him, but he just laughed evilly.

"What the fuck, Ji?"

"Just wait, and I'll think about letting you come, honey."

If he didn’t climbed back between your legs, you would have hit him. But he started circling your clit with his tongue and you were suddenly caught in the rush of arousal again. He was insanely good with his mouth tightly pressed on your pussy, his tongue softly nudging your hole and humming against your cunt as you quivered beneath him. He didn’t rushed while eating you out. His hands pinned your thighs to your sides to keep them spread as his tongue licked stripes up the center of your pulsating pussy, triggering your desperate whimpers of need.

"You look so pretty, can't wait to feel you hugging my cock“, he grunted and grabbed your thighs harder and buried his face between your legs again. He did things with his tongue that you didn't even know were possible and the sounds of his mouth on you, echoed in your head.

His words turned you on even more and you yearned more and more for release, but Jisung was a brat and played his little games with you, as always.

He forced you to keep your trembling legs spread open, cleaning up the wetness that pooled down your thighs incessantly and onto the couch but just before you could finally come he broke off each time until you were about to cry.

"Hannie, please! Don't do this to me!"

You could clearly see that he loved the small whimpers you let out as soon as he stoped the stimulation on your pussy, feeling so empty without him filling you up and he practically was enflamed by your small tears of frustration as he continuously urged you towards orgasm only to leave you desperately on the edge, clit puffy and sensitive from his constant abuse.

"So what do you want, honey? Say it!", he commanded challengingly and you had to force yourself to actually beg him.

"Fuck me, Hannie! Please fuck me already! I want your dick inside of me, now!

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He literally ripped off his pants and underwear and placed himself in front of your entrance. He was blessed with a beautiful thick and above average dick, that would ruin you.

Teasingly he slipped his tip through your folds and you already knew that he would stretch you out. Oh he loved the look of frustration building up on your face as he continuously had denied your release, but now he wanted to fuck you, until you would scream his name. And he definitely wouldn’t go easy on you.

He sunk his whole length into you in one motion.

His movements were slow at first and he savored every second. His arms were right next to your head and he looked deep into your eyes as his speed increased.

"Fuck you do feel amazing around me... So tight", he groaned and the interrupted orgasm rolled in with triple strength. But when you saw the gleam in his eyes, you knew he was up to something again. He visibly enjoyed the desperation in your eyes and every moan that he forced out of you, with every thrust into your pulsating cunt.

He constantly brought you to the brink of an orgasm with his length, twitching deep inside your core. Just as he got the sense that you were about to cum he hastily removed himself, cruel chuckles leaving him as you almost sobbed beneath him.

"I'm going to kill you, Hannie“, you huffed and pushed your hips against him.

Amused, he ran his hands through his hair and looked down at you. As he did so, he tried to memorize every little detail of your naked body. You were perfect and he knew he was already addicted to you and your body.

"You really want me this bad darling?", he teased.

"Shut up, idiot!" you pressed out, tears in the corners of your eyes.

He would drag it out until your high came over you with such force that you were just a fucked out mess with nothing else on your mind than his dick.

With your legs wrapped around his hips, you pulled him closer to you. He reached into your hair and pulled your head back by it as he thrusted hard into your aching pussy again. This time the ruts of his hips were exaggerated and sloppy. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head while he kept a bruising grip on your thighs, burying his dick further into your cunt. The filthy sounds of your wet pussy tightening around his length filled the room, soft curses falling from his lips once your hands tugged on his damp hair, mouth meeting his in a rough, passionate kiss while he continued his pleasurable abuse on your hole. He was stirred up even more by your pleas and bratty moans and would think of them, every time he would need to get off.

Just before you finally came, he broke off again in mid-motion. The pressure aches in every fiber of your body and you feared to faint if he doesn't finally let you release.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Jisung's chest shook slightly as low chuckles left his kiss-bruised lips, hands softly pinching your ass as you wriggled beneath him, raising your hips to push your cunt further toward his leaking cock as soft pants and begs slipped past your glossy lips. He rubbed the head of his length between your folds, teasing your needy figure as you clawed your nails into his back.

"I can't get enough of the desperate tears in your eyes and the needy moans. You are so incredibly hot when all you want is my cock.“

"Fuck you!"

The insult crossed your lips before you could realize it. Surprised, he raised his eyebrows and looked as if you being bratty was turning him on even more. Before he could react, you straighten up, grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed him back until he was sitting under you.

This time you were the one overpowering him and you quickly sinked down on his length. Without consideration, you started riding his throbbing dick hard while resting your hands on his shoulders.

You elicited overwhelmed moans from him and you felt him twitch inside you. Soon he was gripping your hips so tightly with his hands that there would be definitely bruises left behind.

He snapped his hips into yours harder and harder and moaned: "I'm going to make you come so hard that everyone in the building will know who's fucking you right now."

It sounded like a promise he would keep, as the knot in your lower belly was so tense by now that you would probably explode. As his thrusts got even faster and he felt you tighten around him, he pressed you down on his length with both hands and that's when you finally came.

His name kept bubbling over your lips mixed with pornographic moans and whimpers and so he kept thrusting into you, making you work out your massive orgasm until the last second. It was overwhelming and you could see stars flashing in front of your eyes.

But he didn’t let go of you, instead he pushed you back onto the couch by your shoulders while you weren't fully conscious yet.

"You didn't think I was done with you already, did you?", he asked leaning over you, slowly pushing his length into your fucked out core again. Whimpering, you curled your fingers into his back and he began thrusting into you again.

He made you cum again and again until you were an absolute mess beneath him, legs trembling, tear stained cheeks and pussy aching from his torment. You scratched his back with your fingernails, trying to find something to hold on to, while your head and body felt like you were flying in ecstasy. Either you were in heaven or in hell. Your body was on fire and Jisung fucked you so good that you were a completely cockdrunk mess.

But eventually, he couldn’t hold back anymore and his thrusts became messier, until he came inside you with a growl.

Breathing heavily, you laid together for quite a while. Even though the couch was small, you snuggled together so that you could lie on it. He wrapped his arms tightly around you and pulled you to his chest.

Your legs wouldn't stop shaking and Jisung stroked your head as gently as if he hadn't just destroyed your pussy.

"You did that very well. You're really something special, darling."

His voice was like honey and he caressed you with so much loving attention that you snuggled closer, breathing in his scent and running your fingers dreamily over his chest.

"Did it help?", you asked, looking up at him.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and looked at your face, as if in it alone he could find all the inspiration he was looking for.

"Definitely! I even have an idea for the hook already," he said with a grin, stroking his hand down your back.

"I think you're my muse."

Immediately your cheeks turned red and you hid your face against his chest.

"I'm glad if I could help“, you said sheepishly, and he lifted your chin a little with two fingers so you were looking into his eyes. The amber around his dark pupils sparkled beautifully and you lost yourself in it.

"You have to stay with us forever. Could you promise me that?", he asked, sounding way more serious. Like he was really afraid of losing something important.

"I don't plan to go anywhere“, you answered him and that's when your lips collided.

This kiss was different. It was sensual, slow and full of affection. There were hundreds of emotions all at once, all of them wrapping you in warmth. It was even as if you could feel his gratitude from his mere touch.

All of this mixed into a single feeling that filled everything like sunlight: pure happiness.

->Part 10

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Taglist (closed):

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thetruthwilloutsworld · 10 months

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If anyone knows a thing or two about sex scenes, it’s Sam Heughan. Over the past decade, the 43-year-old Scottish star of Outlander, the cult-hit historical drama, has filmed hours of notoriously raunchy footage in his role as Jamie Fraser, the dashing 18th-century Highland rebel, with his wife, Claire – a time-traveller from the 20th century, played by Caitríona Balfe.

Yet two years ago, Heughan, as one of the executive producers (with Balfe), introduced an intimacy co-ordinator to choreograph such scenes, which had been criticised by many as excessively violent.

“The industry’s completely changed since Outlander started,” Heughan says, sitting in a Soho bar on a visit to London from his home outside Glasgow. “Not just our show but also shows like Game of Thrones were very graphic, with no room for the imagination, in a way that’s quite jarring now. As young, keen actors, we were just expected to get naked and go at it. Caitríona and I formed a bond and trusted each other, but there were times when we were pushed too far.” He was especially troubled by a scene involving full-frontal nudity in season one, when Jamie was tortured and raped by his rival, Black Jack Randall (Tobias Menzies). “That really didn’t sit well.”

Everything changed following the MeToo scandal, leading Heughan to employ Vanessa Coffey to choreograph the sex scenes. “So now everyone knows what the boundaries are, like in a football or rugby match. It’s been so helpful and freeing, and it was because I didn’t want younger actors to go through what we’d gone through. Now, the scenes are sexually charged, but not gratuitous.”

Despite his heartthrob status, Heughan – who’s 6ft 2in, with the strapping physique his role necessitates – is modest and thoughtful company. He also had Coffey enlisted to co-ordinate his latest project, Channel 4’s erotic thriller The Couple Next Door, filmed during the short break between Outlander’s seasons nine and 10, in which he plays Danny, a policeman living in a Leeds suburb in an open marriage with Becka (Jessica De Gouw).

“We didn’t want to make a salacious or seedy show about swingers,” Heughan says. “It’s about the psychology behind it – what is it to be in an open relationship where two characters love each other so much that they can invite people into that relationship? I think it’s possibly the greatest form of romance to allow your partner this, if it’s the itch they need to scratch. My character struggles with it.

The couple’s (initially) strait-laced neighbours are played by Alfred Enoch and Eleanor Tomlinson, who in 2019 finished five seasons as Demelza in Poldark. With Outlander about to start filming its final season, she and Heughan compared notes on moving on from a huge, long-running costume drama.

“It’s emotional. For me, the prospect’s hugely bittersweet. It feels like getting out of an institution. Outlander’s like a family, it literally defines who I am.” After all, Heughan has created an empire of Outlander spin-offs, including books, television travelogues and his spirits brand, The Sassenach – named after Jamie’s nickname for the English Claire – not to mention his charity, My Peak Challenge, which has raised nearly £5 million to fund a variety of causes, including hunger relief and blood-cancer research. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world,” he says.

Still, he felt now was the right time to wrap. “Outlander could have finished after the ninth season, but, personally, I felt we hadn’t quite got there. So now we have the problem of pushing the writers to do something that’s hopefully satisfying for the audience, but also exciting.” So Heughan doesn’t yet know how Outlander ends? “No idea, and it’s really tough because Diana [Gabaldon, the author on whose novels the series is based] has written so many books.”

The show has a vast international fanbase; VisitScotland has cited a 67 per cent rise in visits to the show’s locations, such as Culloden and Inverness. “I do feel like I’m an unofficial ambassador for Scotland, and sometimes I don’t think the show is given enough credit for what it’s done for Scottish tourism,” Heughan says. “I think the numbers are even bigger than they say, because reams of Americans are just making their own itineraries. Doune Castle’s numbers are up 800 per cent, it’s been completely renovated as a result.”

The show has also transformed the local film industry. “For 10 years, we’ve been employing people at over 200 Scottish locations, we’ve started an intern scheme, we’ve built a studio with five sound stages where there was nothing before. So it’s going to leave a legacy.”

The son of an artist single mother (his father walked out when he was a baby), Heughan spent his early childhood in the Borders, his teens in Edinburgh, before studying at Glasgow’s Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, where his mentor was third-year student James McAvoy.

Having worked in London and Los Angeles, Heughan fell back in love with Scotland when he was cast in Outlander. Initially against independence, filming the first season in the run-up to the 2016 referendum transformed him into a vocal advocate. “Scottish politics right now is a bit of a mess, which is a shame, but maybe they’ll find a new rallying cry. We’re a great wee country with amazing resources, most of which are controlled by the British. Similar small European countries have great identities.”

Initially, Heughan is hesitant to discuss the issue, aware taking either side will provoke a social-media backlash, but then he decides: “Why can’t actors have opinions? The problem is you have to come down on one side, there is no room for debate. Everything has become so aggressive and then social-media algorithms mean you only get to see one side of the argument.”

He had his fingers burnt when last month he signed an open letter from Artists for Palestine UK, alongside the likes of Tilda Swinton and Steve Coogan, which accused the Government of “aiding and abetting” Israeli war crimes, but failed to condemn Hamas’s terrorism. The following day, Heughan rescinded, saying he hadn’t “fully understood” what he was signing.

“I was maybe naively calling for peace, which is what we all want, but, unfortunately, that situation is so complex, I can’t understand it all,” he says now. “As an actor, you have a platform, but if you put your thoughts out there, you upset people, but you’re also damned if you don’t say anything.”

Heughan’s taking time to navigate a potential post-Outlander career path. “I’m a workaholic, but I have to be discerning. Whatever I do next, I have to feel really passionate about.” Possible plans include directing and exploring a different side to Scotland than misty heather and bagpipes. “I think that underbelly you see in [Ian Rankin’s] Rebus and Irvine Welsh is very interesting, there are still pockets that are very hard and gritty.”

Back in 2005, he auditioned for James Bond in Casino Royale – the role that eventually went to Daniel Craig. Now, there’s a new vacancy. “I’ll throw my hat in the ring,” he says, grinning. “I’d be a brilliant Bond, I’m good at action and I’d bring a lot of emotional intelligence.”

There might even be space for a personal life. Heughan’s mystified by “facts” he reads about his private life online. “There’s so much nonsense that’s completely false – apparently, I have a daughter. News to me!” he says, flushing. The truth, he says, is that Outlander leaves no time for relationships.

“It’s insane hours and takes over everything. Caitríona’s carved out a beautiful family for herself that she protects very well, but I’ve seen how hard it is for her to do that. I want a cat, but I’m too scared even for that, how would I look after it? One day, maybe,” Heughan says, dreamily.

Posting again as some people had difficulty opening the previous link.

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kyrieeleisonelise · 8 months

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Head-cannons about Ai’s relationship with her kids if she lived.

Ai and Ruby;

Not only was Ai a young mother anyway, but Ruby is born with memories of a past life, so they’re both near each other in maturity so they’re really close to each other. They’re more like sisters.

Because they’re at a similar maturity level they kind of grow up and mature together.

They do all sorts of things together friends would do, like movies, shopping, cafe trips etc.

Ruby idolises Ai, but as she grows older she starts to realise more of her flaws/human side.

Due to her abandonment issues with her last mother, Ruby can be quite clingy.

Both of them bond over idols, talking about songs, costumes, camera choices.

When Ai is ready to graduate from being an idol she worries she is letting Ruby down (even though she probably has an acting job lined up).

Ai supports Ruby’s dream of being an idol, but worries about her a lot/is protective of her because the industry can be seedy. It’s only then that Ai realised how much pressure and lack of protection she had as a kid, and reflects on how bad her own childhood truly was.

Ai initially worried Ruby would be friendless like she was, but is happy that Ruby can make friends easily.

Ai wonders how she could have a daughter who can love and make friends easily.

Ai seemed to get targeted a lot by other girls/women out of jealousy over her looks growing up. She worries the same will happen to Ruby because they look so similar and is confused when it doesn’t. It contributes to Ai’s negative beliefs about herself that her personality brought on the bullying.

But also, Ai finally realised how fucked up her own mother is for being jealous over Ai’s looks instead of protective, which is how Ai feels about Ruby.

Maybe when Ruby gets older she gets frustrated with Ai’s inability to have a serious conversation/tendency to make light of everything. but this is something they work through and understand each other better.

When Ai tried to help Ruby with her homework, they both just end up choreographing a new routine and Aqua has to keep them on track.

Ruby feels bad for hiding her past-life memories from Ai, but worries that Ai will think she’s weird/lying if she tells her.

From the age of 12, Ruby keeps trying to convince Ai to be an Idol duo with her, but Ai thinks she’s too old (at the ripe old age of like, 28).

They do perform on stage together at one point and it goes super viral.

Aqua.

Given that Aqua has the memories of a 30-something, sometimes he acts more like the parent.

Since she didn’t die and he didn’t get his trauma, Aqua is a lighter character in general and his sarcastic sense of humour is more evident.

From the age of about 6, Aqua is in charge of budgeting for the household (they only get fancy ice cream if Ai had a lot of extra jobs that month!)

Definitely the voice of reason in the house.

Sometimes Ai feels guilty and that she relies on him too much for practical things.

Although Aqua has his adult memories, he’s still a kid in many ways, but gets embarrassed over wanting normal kid things like a hug off his mum.

Instead of researching his mother’s killer, Aqua gets really into researching past-lives.

Because he’s so much more mature than Ruby, he struggles making friends with kids his own age till highschool. Ai worries he’s going to be an antisocial loner like her, especially because he’s not super affectionate for a kid.

Aqua gets on okay with other kids, but feels a bit alienated at times due to the maturity difference. He still spends a lot of the time with director and maybe would become good friends with Ichigo.

He really gets into acting and enjoys it. Maybe gets a bit of fame. He probably ends up acting alongside Kana a few times through childhood.

Ruby and Ai tease him for secretly being into idols (he says he only likes B Komachi, aka Ai).

He’s protective over both Ai and Ruby, but not to the degree of the original time line.

Generic;

Ai worries that once Ruby and Aqua get old enough to understand her better they’ll stop loving her like everyone else does.

Ai is a really good mother but tends to focus on her short-comings.

Ai introduces herself as the twin’s older sister or cousin to strangers. But she’s always really happy in circumstances she can openly call herself their mother.

Being a mother makes Ai realise how terrible her own childhood really was.

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #ai hoshino #ruby hoshino #aqua hoshino #oshi no Ko analysis

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daisyblog · 1 year

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Where We Are San Siro Stadium

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN in the Where We Are Tour film.

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It was four months until the Where We Are tour begins, including the show in San Siro Stadium and the boys and their crew were busy preparing for the live performance ready to be featured in the documentary.

The stage had been set up in a base in Cardington to rehearse for the tour. With their security and some of their team following behind, the boys saw the stage for the first time and their excitement could be heard through the voices talking over each other.

Walking behind the group are Harry and YN, with Harry's security. Harry wearing a simple white t-shirt, a plaid shirt over it with YN's beanie on his head "It's big in it" and the camera caught YN giving Harry a playful eye roll at his obvious statement.

Louis is walking backwards with an orange football in his hand and Niall is walking to his side. YN walks towards her brother and quickly hits the ball out of his hand, muttering an "oops"

"Grow up will yew" Louis shouts at his sister, whilst playful trying to mess her hair up.

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As the other boys are up on the stage, looking around at the new set-up. Harry and YN are standing below it watching the scene in front of them "It's huge" Harry states again. Before Harry starts to ask Paul, their choreographer, questions about where they stand and start.

YN still standing off the stage with Helene, turns to the camera crew "Harry likes to know the routine before he can enjoy it...such a little worrier".

Paul, Helene and YN are standing at the end of the stage and Paul is explaining that the stage is twice the size of the last stage and how they need to cover the area and bring energy to the show to engage with the whole audience and cameras. Helene then adds that they never really know how the boys are going to perform but they always pull together last minute. Paul and Helene agree that although they know the boys will pull it off, they still make them stressed, YN is seen nodding her head agreeing with them. "Why are you agreeing...you're just as bad for messing around and encouraging them" Paul playfully scolded YN, to which she smiles innocently and shrugs her shoulders.

"Wembely make some noooooise" Niall shouts as he cups his hands around his mouth, and proceeds to lift his fist into the air and clap his hands.

Catching him off guard "Hoooran catch me" YN jumps onto his back and he continues to spin around in circles with his arms out and walks further up the stage with YN clinging to his back.

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The five boys are sat on chairs, waiting to be shown the firework display that is going to be involved in the show. One of the men in charge of the display is explaining what is going to happen in each song and the boys listen on intently.

The fireworks are let off without warning starting everyone, including the crew and team behind the cameras. Harry is seen mouthing 'fuck me' whilst Louis shouting "Woooow". Knowing how much Harry hates loud noises, YN behind the camera is trying to get his attention to check he's okay, but fails as he watches the colours in front of him.

After some time of the fireworks going off, Harry glances at his girlfriend, who is standing to the side of him but off camera, and raises his eyebrows at her with a smirk covering his face.

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Harry and YN are walking towards the white building where the boys are rehearsing for the tour. Fans are standing further down towards the entrance gate, shouting both their names, which they both give friendly waves back. Harry and YN proceed to climb the stairs before Harry hugs one of the team members and YN wraps her arm around her brother to cuddle him as he walks with a cup of tea in his hand.

YN is sitting next to Liam, Louis and Zayn as they talk to the camera. Zayn takes Liam's hat off his head and proceeds to take his own off. In retaliation, Liam pulls Louis's beanie that covers his hair. "Oh no..I'm definitely the worst off for that" Louis protests, causing YN to laugh at her brother's bed hair, to which Louis playfully pushes her from where she's sitting "Don't laugh at me 'air".

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Harry is juggling for bottles whilst he sits down wearing a jumper and green beanie. As he juggles them in the air, YN walks into the shot and pokes at his cheek to try and distract him. But Harry still manages to keep juggling "Ha! I'm just too good", so YN is seen knocking the bottles from his grip, Harry picks one bottle from the floor and twists the lid open and goes to poor it over YN's head as she begins to run away screaming "no".

YN is sitting in front of Louise as she is styling her and Harry appears behind her with scissors trying to cut a bit off "Noo Harry"

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Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney fanfictioncafe lilfreakjez jerseygirlinca iamahallucinationnn @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04

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highfantasy-soul · 7 months

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Ok, here's my breakdown of Jessie Gender's video on NATLA. I decided not to post this as a comment on the video because I just don't feel like it would be productive, but I needed to refute the points she was making as she's a quite respected (at least, I really respect her opinions on things) video essayist and I felt like this video was...wild.

So, I guess it's best to just watch along with her video and read my commentary side-by-side because I don't give much context for my points, this is just a stream-of-consciousness style response.

To be perfectly clear - this is not intended to be a 'hate post' about her, this is just me feeling very strongly that the interpretations of things she had in her video needed to be talked about and another perspective given.

I shift from saying 'you' to 'Jessie' like halfway through (when I decided not to post this as a comment) but I don't feel like going through and changing all those, so yeah, just ignore it.

1) you insulted a martial arts kata as 'a mildly choreographed dance' - it shows a complete lack of understanding of other cultures and a desire to take a quick dig at something you didn't like in a way that insults a cultural practice. I really didn't expect to hear that sort of comment from you so it was pretty jarring when you said it. Ironically, you say that Sokka was wrong to assume the Kyoshi warrior's kata was a 'dance' because that's 'a girl's place' when...you literally made the same insult with not a hint of recognition just a few minutes earlier about a movie you didn't like…

2) I felt that the live-action really deepened a lot of the themes from the OG - take Iroh's storyline for example, fleshing out Suki's character so she's...you know, her own character and not just there to teach Sokka a lesson, and delving into how hard of decisions you have to make during a century long war. Idk, I'm just really curious as to how you felt quite literally the polar opposite of me

3) Sokka's sexism: the animated show handled it one way, but Sokka's treating women as 'less than' wasn't a core part of his character - in all honesty, it doesn't actually make any sense as he was raised by Hakoda (who we never see being sexist), Gran Gran (who left the NWT due to its sexism), and was surrounded mostly by older women. The sexism storyline in the cartoon was to teach a very blatant lesson to kids "don't be sexist, boys!" while the live-action made Sokka's struggles much more realistic and in line with the world building: he struggled with non-traditional masculinity and if he was 'allowed' to be that way while they were at war. For me, it's a much more important message for young men today than the very dated 'women can fight, too!' message that was needed in the early 2000s. It's very odd to me how you claim that Sokka always taking charge isn't ever challenged when...in literally the scene you're showing when you say that, Katara challenges him.

4) I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly see how Suki is her own person more in the animated version than in the live-action. She was literally created solely to teach Sokka a lesson and have no character traits other than 'I'm a strong woman warrior' where 'woman' means 'I like romance' rather than...I'm a whole person with my own wants and desires and fears that have nothing to do with a love interest as is shown in the live-action. You keep comparing the animated and live action as though they were trying to tell the same story about Sokka's journey with his role in the world, but they weren't. Of course Suki's attitude toward him is going to be different, of course he's not going to need to tell her 'you're right, I'm a dumb, terrible man, pretty please could you teach me', because it's a different dynamic they're going for in the live-action.

5) When Sokka pinned her in their lesson in the live-action idk how you got that she was 'demuring herself' to Sokka? Just as in the cartoon, he managed to get the upper hand - which she promptly took back, teaching a lesson along the way. She didn't make herself less so Sokka could feel secure in his masculinity - it's a bit odd you feel that showing respect to someone and helping them learn is 'demuring yourself'. I much prefer them respecting each other than the animated version of them seeing each other as less than and then...her giving him a kiss to prove 'see, I'm a romance-loving girl, too'.

5) To me, Suki beating Sokka in the live-action when the first sparred wasn't her being mean, it was her not understanding how much less experience Sokka had fighting - she genuinely thought he would be able to hold his own against her because he had told her he was the best warrior in his tribe. Her face clearly shows 'I have no idea what I did wrong - I thought that type of sparring is what everyone did for fun, why was he uncomfortable with it?' Not really sure why you made the connection that us seeing Sokka's abs was meant to indicate that his insecurities are unfounded when...literally the whole season shows us that Sokka's struggles aren't "end goal = big strong warrior" but rather "you don't have to be a big strong warrior to help, you are allowed to delve into other aspects of who you are and those are just as important". Just because he has muscles, also doesn't mean he's a competent fighter - those two things aren't the same.

6) It feels like you took certain scenes and made wildly left-field interpretations of them and then claimed that that's what the show was intending you to take from it. It's like saying that the scene that cuts from Sokka saying he bets Momo tastes like chicken and cutting to the scene that shows people cooking meat actually means the showrunners are saying Sokka is going to cook and eat Momo this season and that will then give him the powers of the Avatar. It's very clearly not what the showrunners were saying, but if you interpret it in the least forgiving way and then make a wild leap off that, then yeah, you might get upset with that made-up interpretation. Same with the reasons they didn't put Sokka in the Kyoshi outfit - there is 0 evidence of them nixing that part due to transphobia. I didn't see it as any malicious intent, just a streamline of the plot so Sokka doesn't have to go change before running away on Appa.

7) I feel that the live-action DOES challenge the Fire Bender's colonialist rhetoric in the Kyoshi Island episode, but the animated...doesn't? At all? It's solely about girl power - and as we see with Azula and all the women fire nation soldiers, the fire nation doesn't seem too caught up in sexism. You know what they are caught up in? Which you mention? Bender supremacy. And that's what the live-action directly addresses with Sokka being so surprised that Suki is able to hold her own so well even though she isn't a bender. He's seen just how powerful benders are (they destroyed his home, killed his mom, and beat his ass last episode) and it's in line with the worldbuilding that he feels like he's already several steps behind in being a good enough warrior because he doesn't have bending (a storyline that isn't brought up until an episode in season 3 of the animated show). To me, the live-action Kyoshi storyline refutes the Fire Nation's imperialistic themes much better than the animated show does.

8) The live-action's lesson wasn't that might makes right - Suki never did any strength training exercises with Sokka, she taught him how to control his body and use his opponent's strength against them. Fight smarter, not harder. Know what you're fighting for, not just that you want to fight. Even if you don't have the resources of your opponent, it doesn't mean you're doomed from the start. That last one is particularly poignant when we look at how much stronger the Fire Nation is than the other nations they're subjugating: it's the classic 'oppressed rising up against their oppressors and not winning because they just punched harder, but because they used what they had to fight for a righteous cause and didn't just give up because the other side was more powerful'. That's quite directly what the live-action was saying - the exact lesson you thought it should be saying. You have to do some serious extrapolating from the animated episode to get to those themes while the live-action drew that concept up to the forefront immediately.

9) Aang's journey to accept his Avatar responsibility and the previous Avatar's enforcing this is directly from the animated series. Like, directly. It's not the live-action show saying 'colonialism good'. Showing the Avatar power wasn't the showrunners saying 'see, this OP is good and cool', it was to show the magnitude of it - something the animated show does too. The live-action does talk about how terrifying and damaging that power is - literally the previous episode has Aang almost toss Katara and Sokka off the mountain and they mention it. Just earlier in that episode, Sokka talks about Aang almost killing them and Aangs major hang up about embracing it is that he might hurt someone. Kyoshi argues that not learning to control it will hurt more people and - y'all, individuals are allowed to have their own views of the power that everyone doesn't have to agree with. What happened to 'make strong characters with flaws in their world view?' did you all of a sudden decide that's NOT actually good writing? So having the Avatar who used her powers liberally, and as the video states, used them maybe too much, telling Aang that he needs to use his own powers a lot is…consistent characterization? Which is then challenged by Roku later as he tells Aang that all the Avatars are different and have different views on the power of the Avatar. Why is Kyoshi's opinions suddenly taken as wholly accurate in representing what the show overall is trying to say? She's giving her opinion to Aang - an opinion that has some truth to it, but also some flaws that Aang will need to navigate on his own journey. Kyoshi and Roku's stories are not compressed all into Kyoshi - only the aspect of Roku taking control of Aang and using his body to fuck shit up in the Avatar state is compressed - not the ideological aspects of it

10) Sokka supporting Katara's fight against Pakku is a culmination of his arc to let go of obsessively protecting her and actually letting her decide her course of action herself - because his arc was different in the show than in the animated series. Trying to say that the reason he told her to kick Pakku's ass didn't fit because he was never sexist wasn't the reason - it WAS a culmination of his arc, you just refused to see it by clinging to the old one.

11) The whole argument as to 'why show genocide' I already made a post about, but to condemn the depiction based on the way you interpret the showrunner's quote is disingenuous. Again, it's taking something and making up a narrative around it so you can feel justified in hating it. It's important to show a culture before they are killed because they deserve to be seen as people, not just martyrs. They had lives. They lived and were happy and had a rich culture. They were not just 'fated to die and be told of in history books'. Genocide is disgusting and hard to watch - it's calculated and brutal. Showing that drives home just how awful the actions of the fire nation are in practice rather than just theory. Yes, the airbenders fighting was 'cool' to see - in the way that all action is 'cool' to see. But no, the genocide wasn't played as 'look at neat fighting!' in the live-action. It was shown as brutal and terrible, horrifying and surprising, and the airbenders didn't deserve what happened to them. It also gives you a direct view of what the fire nation is capable of when they come to the south pole and the northern water tribe: you've SEEN the devastation first hand and you DON'T want to see it again. The threat isn't theoretical, it's very real.

11.5) To take a CHILD'S quote about the sequence being 'so cool' is absolutely WILD to me. GORDON IS A CHILD! No, he's not going to have the most sophisticated and politically nuanced sound bite to say about the action sequence in an interview. HE'S A CHILD! Holy mother of god. To use that to bolster your point that 'that's the way it was intended to be viewed and how everyone is going to view it!' is just…..holy shit. You're taking media interpretation from A CHILD??????? Do you think, if we interviewed a child about the OG show, they'd talk about the fucking colonialism??? How Azula was abused too and didn't deserve her fate?? Or do you think they'd say "The fight between the Fire Lord and Aang at the end was so cool!" Honestly thought Jessie Gender wouldn't try to bolster her interpretation with a quote from A CHILD, but I guess here we are…

12) It's wild that she makes the point that conservatives are incapable of reading deeper than just the surface-level visuals of a story while…she's doing literally the same thing just in the opposite way. The live-action depicted the genocide, therefore they MUST just want to 'cool' visual of firebenders fighting airbenders! There can't be any other things at play here! No story being told whatsoever because all it is is spectacle! That's all I see! Ironically, she's falling into the same trap of not looking deeper at why one might depict the horrors of genocide and the battle against people with no army.

13) Aang actually treats the genocide as more immediate in the live-action than he does the animated show. Most animated episodes, you can forget that it even happened, while in the animated show, it pops up a lot in some unexpected ways like when he's uncomfortable waterbending because Gyatzo had always been his teacher, when he yells at Bumi for making light of the genocide, his desire to get to the north to keep it from happening again, when Zhao proclaims that he can wipe out an entire race of benders and Aang says he knows exactly what that's like, when he constantly stays to help people because 'I couldn’t help my own people, but I can help them'. Not only through Aang, but also through every child in the series - like with the animated show, the live-action shows how kids are shaped by the generational trauma of the war plus the immediate effects of it: Teo ready to fight, Jet making compromises to fight back, Sokka shouldering too much responsibility so young, Katara's trauma around her mother's death and her waterbending, Bumi losing his faith, Zuko and Azula being shaped by their father to be the perfect weapons to continue the war.

14) Interpreting Zuko's comment of 'sometimes the weak can become strong' right after his father mutilated him for showing compassion is not meant to be taken as a thesis that 'Zuko just needs to get better at fighting, this is what the story is saying, I am very smart'. It's showing HIS CURRENT view of the world - the idea that his father has taught him that he needs to be strong and Zuko has bought that and wants desperately to earn his father's love. Zuko's story through the series is showing that 'strength' isn't what his father defines it as (or what Jessie defines it as in her video) but rather it's strength of character - compassion is not weakness, it's strength, and no, that doesn't mean if you have compassion you punch harder.

15) The live-action show makes the Fire Nation MUCH more nuanced than the animated show - we see how Ozai and Azula aren't just maniacal villains, but we see the pain and torment their upbringings deal out to them, and in turn, deal to others. It shows the cycle much more clearly and showing fire nation citizens who disagree fleshes out the culture even more.

16) Jet was much more nuanced in the live-action as he's RIGHT about the mechanist being a spy and the king being lax in his duties. He's created a community of people to try to heal from the harm the fire nation has caused them and he gives actual good advice to Katara, helping her emotionally heal and remember the good aspects of her mother.

17) The argument that 'the live action is trying to ignore the past' is a massively simplified narrative. The live-action is showing Aang stuck in the past, unable to take large steps into the future. Pain, trauma and loss can anchor us in the past - it's HEALTHY to keep moving forward rather than only thinking about the pain in the past (ie Jet's advice to Katara). Aang was continually trying to avoid the genocide happening again while simultaneously trying to get past Avatars to do the big hard work for him. His lesson is not to 'forget the past just live in the now' but rather, don't let fear of what has happened in the past stop you from making a difference in the future. Yes, war is loss and suffering, but if you get paralyzed by not being able to prevent that, the fire nation will just keep marching across the world. It's about not letting the past immobilize you to the point where you stop fighting back against oppression - or getting together with a community to help you fight for fear they'll die just like those in the past did.

17.5) Letting go of the past is a buddhist philosophy that is a lot more complicated than Jessie is making it out to be here. Just as in the animated series, characters can come to realizations about lessons they need to learn while still taking seasons to fully learn the lesson - just because Aang said he's ready to let go of the past doesn't mean he's now ignoring it and all will be smooth sailing. It means he's ready to start taking steps to do that and approach life in a healthier way. It's wild that Jessie took the direct quote "I need to let go of the past to focus on my future" and then states that the show is saying "the character's aren't seeing future possibilities and hope, they're focused on the now" when, quite literally, the quote she just referenced….is talking about building a better future.

18) Then, she references later seasons (Aang in the fire nation school) a lot to indicate that the live-action is ignoring those concepts from the OG when….we're talking about season 1 here - not season 3. Why is the world not allowed to organically grow? Why would you make the argument that 'season 1 didn’t explicitly deal with these concepts that aren't brought up until season 3, so therefore they are ignoring them'?

19) Jessie uses a lot of clips from a Daily Wire (conservative talkshow) guy as if that has anything at all to do with the live-action ATLA. She's trying to draw a line between that ideology and the ideology of the show and I feel like she had to bastardize the NATLA show in order to do that so horribly, her interpretation of the story and themes is completely unrecognizable to what is actually shown on screen.

I usually agree with her takes on media, but this video was not it. Every interpretation she had, I interpreted the scenes/lessons in the exact opposite way and, I believe, I interpreted it closer to what the showrunners intended.

Oh no, i just had a thought: this is The Last Jedi all over again! I saw so many negative interpretations of that movie that I just sat and scratched my head over like "How in the WORLD did you get to that conclusion??" when I thought my own interpretation was just...the obvious way to view the movie. I had no idea my views on it would be so controversial. Here we are again. Time is a flat circle. Life is a meaningless cycle of disappointment and confusion, neverending.

#natla #natla positivity #netflix avatar #netflix atla #this isn't intended as hate to Jessie Gender - only a response to her publicly posted video

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sophie1973 · 17 days

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Let me kiss and make it better

A little Birthday fic written for my darling Kim @kj-bee ❤️(2.9k of fluff)

Can be read on AO3 or under the cut

The atmosphere inside the O2 Arena is electric, with anticipation hanging in the air as fans from around the globe fill the stands, waving flags and chanting. The field, a flawless expanse of green, awaits the start of one of the most eagerly anticipated matches of the World Cup.

It's the quarter-finals, and the UK is set to face off against the US.

Alex is doing some last-minute stretching while half-listening to his teammates' banter. His gaze flickers discreetly to the opposing team—more specifically, to their captain.

Henry Fox.

This isn't Alex's first encounter with Henry on the field—not by a long shot. Henry is an incredible player, and Alex's competitive spirit thrives on the challenge of having such a formidable opponent.

He just wishes Henry weren't so distracting.

He's half-tempted to draft a strongly worded letter to FIFA about it. Because seriously—those thighs in those shorts? It's obscene. Bordering on illegal. Fucking Criminal.

The teams start to line up, and Alex jogs on the field, meeting Henry at the center circle. The referee, holding the match ball, stands between them, and Henry extends his hand for Alex to shake, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes and a playful grin on his lips.

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Fox?” Alex asks good-naturedly, and Henry shakes his head, chuckling.

“Famous last words, darling.”

The referee goes over the rules, emphasizing fair play, while the captains nod in acknowledgment. Alex, having heard it all countless times before, instead focuses on how the blue of his football jersey enhances Henry’s azure eyes, or the sheen of sweat over Henry's upper lip and the beauty mark nearby. Alex briefly wonders how much chaos it would cause if he leaned in for a kiss.

He really needs to get it together.

A few lewd whistles from the crowd punctuate their handshake. The press and fans have speculated about the nature of their relationship for years. Some days, they’re painted as bitter rivals; other times, rumors swirl of them being secret lovers—just because they’ve been spotted laughing and sharing a drink at events.

Apparently, simply being friends who enjoy each other’s company is too dull for the public imagination.

The shrill blast of whistles pierces the air, signaling the start of the football match and sending a wave of excitement through the packed stadium. Alex catches Henry's eye across the field as players swiftly take their positions. With a subtle, confident smirk, Alex delivers a playful wink. The gesture has its intended effect; a soft blush blooms across Henry's fair cheeks, visible even from a distance. Inwardly pleased with this small victory, Alex's chest swells with pride as the match begins in earnest.

The first quarter-hour unfolds like a choreographed dance, with both teams testing the waters with cautious passes and strategic positioning. The cacophony of cheers from the stands fades into a distant hum as Alex's mind whirs, plotting the perfect strategy to breach their opponents' stubborn defenses.

Suddenly, an opening presents itself. Spencer executes a brilliant maneuver, and the ball reaches Alex's feet. In an instant, he's off, a blur of motion as he weaves through the opposition's defensive line. He darts past Henry, their eyes meeting for a split second, charged with competitive energy. Alex pushes on, his legs pumping furiously as he races towards the goal.

The next minute, Alex finds himself flat on his back, the lush grass cushioning his fall. A searing pain explodes from his ankle, radiating up his leg in agonizing waves. He clutches at it instinctively.

The piercing sound of the referee's whistle cuts through the sudden roar of the crowd. Through watering eyes, Alex sees the official reaching into his pocket, producing a yellow card, which he brandishes towards the English player who tackled him.

Alex hasn’t even seen him coming.

The game comes to a standstill as Alex’s teammates and some British players gather around him. He grimaces, watching his ankle begin to swell rapidly. A hand touches his shoulder, accompanied by a British voice asking, “Alex, are you alright?”

Lifting his head, Alex meets Henry's concerned blue eyes.

“Yeah, the game’s over for me. Fuck,” Alex mutters.

Henry’s expression falls, and Alex feels a jolt in his chest. Henry should be relieved by this turn of events, not upset. Losing their captain and one of their best players—his coach's words, not Alex’s—is a significant blow to the U.S. team.

“I called for a gurney,” Spencer interjects, and Alex nods, a heavy sigh escaping him. He tries to focus on the throbbing pain in his ankle rather than the crushing disappointment of seeing things coming to an abrupt end for him. He had been eager to win this game and lead his team into the semifinals. They were supposed to face the Belgian Red Devils, and Alex, who had been friends with their captain Kevin for years, was looking forward to the match.

Now, even if his team manages to pull off a win—and Alex is convinced they can do it—he doubts he'll recover in time for the semi-finals in just three days. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, and he struggles to maintain his composure as the reality of his situation sinks in.

Alex extends his hands to Liam, who grasps his arm firmly. With Spencer's assistance, they cautiously attempt to hoist Alex to his feet. The moment his injured foot grazes the ground, a sharp, unbearable pain shoots through his leg, and he lets out an involuntary cry.

“Where on earth is that gurney?” Spencer mutters in frustration. Alex shares his concern, desperately wanting to leave this fucking field and escape the prying eyes so he can indulge in a moment of self-pity in the privacy of the infirmary.

Before he can process what's happening, strong arms encircle him, and his feet leave the ground. Startled, he finds himself cradled against a firm chest, looking up into Henry's determined face.

"Enough of this," Henry says, his voice low and authoritative. "We're not waiting for the gurney."

Alex opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his throat. Henry’s arms are secure around him, one supporting his back and the other carefully cradling his legs, mindful of the injured ankle. Despite the circumstances, Alex can't help but notice how effortlessly Henry seems to carry him. He also notices Henry still smells really good despite having run across a football field for the past twenty-five minutes.

A hush falls over the stadium as Henry strides purposefully towards the sidelines. Cameras flash, capturing this unexpected moment between the rival players. Alex can already imagine the headlines, but right now, he's too grateful for the relief from pain to care.

"Couldn't resist playing the knight in shining armor, could you?" Alex quips, his voice a mix of gratitude and exasperation

Henry's lips quirk into a mischievous smile. "I could always bend you over my shoulder instead if you'd prefer," he suggests, his tone playful.

Alex's mind stutters to a halt, fixating on the words 'bend' and 'over.' His imagination runs wild with far less innocent interpretations, none of which involve Henry’s shoulder.

The momentary distraction from the pain is almost worth the mental whiplash.

Regaining his composure, Alex mutters, "You know this is going to set the rumor mill on fire, right?"

And Henry, the cheeky bastard, grins. “I’m very well aware of that, love.”

Alex tries—and fails spectacularly—to suppress a shiver at the endearment, earning a knowing smirk from the Brit.

"Oh, shut up," Alex grumbles, his cheeks flushing.

Henry's rich laughter fills the air, and Alex can practically see the social media storm brewing. Tomorrow's headlines are going to be relentless.

As Henry gently lowers Alex onto the infirmary bed, a doctor and nurse immediately spring into action. After a thorough examination, they declare his ankle sprained, not broken. Despite having suspected as much, Alex can't help but feel a wave of relief wash over him. The doctor, however, insists on precautionary X-rays at the hospital.

"I'm not going anywhere now," Alex protests. "I need to see how the game ends."

The doctor sighs, obviously accustomed to stubborn football players. "Very well, Mr. Claremont-Diaz, but I strongly advise you go first thing tomorrow morning."

Alex nods noncommittally, flashing a grateful smile at the nurse - her badge says her name is Kim - who turns on the TV, allowing him to follow the match.

Henry lingers by the bedside, his face etched with concern. "I'm truly sorry about this, Alex," he says softly.

Alex attempts a casual shrug, wincing slightly. "Not your fault, sweetheart," he reassures, the endearment slipping out before he can catch it. The painkillers are starting to kick in, dulling the throbbing in his ankle and loosening his tongue. He finds himself fighting the urge to ask Henry to stay, to sit beside him and hold his hand. Not exactly the right time.

"Basil's reckless move caused this," Henry explains, his jaw tightening with frustration.

Alex blinks, momentarily distracted from his thoughts. "Hold up. His name is Basil? I got steamrolled by a guy named after an herb? What kind of fucking posh nonsense is this, Henry?"

A smile tugs at Henry's lips, breaking through his concern. "’Steamrolled’ might be a tad dramatic, but he certainly did a number on you."

Their eyes meet, and they exchange a smile. The spell is broken when one of Henry's teammates bursts through the door, looking exasperated.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Henry? The entire team's waiting for you to resume the match!"

Henry's posture straightens, and his voice takes on a crisp, authoritative tone that sends a shiver down Alex's spine. "I'll be there momentarily," he says, the subtle rebuke clear in his words.

Alex finds it incredibly hot.

Turning back to Alex, Henry's expression softens, a mix of concern and reluctance in his eyes. "Duty calls. Are you certain you'll be alright?"

Alex can't help but roll his eyes, though there's no real annoyance behind it. “Yes, mom. It’s a sprained ankle, not the ebola virus. Go. You have a game to lose.”

A smile tugs at Henry’s lips.“I’ll see you after the game.”

Alex gestures at his leg. “I ain’t going anywhere, baby.”

The nurse's eyebrows shoot up at their exchange, her gaze darting between them with poorly concealed interest. Henry catches her look and clears his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Right. See you later, then.”

Alex grins. He has no doubt this exchange will be all over Twitter tomorrow.

🇬🇧 ⚽ 🇺🇸

As the final whistle blows, announcing Henry's team's victory, Alex finds himself oddly detached from the outcome. The events of the evening, coupled with the hazy effects of pain medication, have left him drained. All he can think about is the allure of home – a hot shower, a comfortable bed, and the promise of rest.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, the sounds of the post-game excitement a distant hum. When he finally forces his eyes open, he's greeted by the sight of Henry standing at the foot of the bed, showered, dressed, and holding a pair of crutches.

He’s a sight for sore eyes.

“Congrats on the win,” Alex says, rubbing at his eyes. “Guess you were the best.”

Henry's lips quirk into a soft smile as he leans the crutches against a nearby wheelchair. He moves to perch on the edge of Alex's bed, close enough that Alex can smell his subtle, expensive cologne.

"Alex," Henry says, his voice gentle, "we both know the outcome might have been vastly different if you'd been on that field."

Despite his fatigue, Alex can't help but grin. "Learn to take a compliment, Fox," he retorts. "It's not often I stroke your ego; you should savor it."

Henry's mouth opens, then closes, as if he's weighing his words carefully. Something flickers in his eyes, but it's gone before Alex can decipher it.

"I'm taking you home," Henry announces instead, his tone brooking no argument.

Alex's eyebrows shoot up, a smirk playing on his lips. "My, my. Not even dinner first?”

Henry rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement beneath his exasperation. "You're a menace, Claremont-Diaz, and you're in desperate need of a shower. So, you have two options: get your arse in that wheelchair and let me ensure you get home safely, or attempt to navigate the nearest tube station on those crutches. Your choice."

The authoritative tone in Henry's voice, now directed squarely at him, sends an unexpected thrill through Alex.

"I'm sure Liam or Spencer can take me home," he counters weakly, more out of habit than genuine protest.

"They came by earlier, but you were asleep," Henry explains. "I assured them I'd see you home safely, so they've left. They'll check on you tomorrow."

Alex sighs dramatically, though internally, he's not as put out as he pretends to be. "Guess that leaves me no choice but to accept your gracious offer, then."

A slow, triumphant grin spreads across Henry's face. "Good boy," he says, his voice low and teasing.

The words hit Alex with unexpected force, sending a jolt of heat coursing through him. He bites his lower lip hard, barely suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. The sudden intensity of his reaction catches him off guard, leaving him breathless and slightly dizzy.

Acutely aware of the bustle of activity just outside the infirmary door, Alex forces himself to take a steadying breath. They've already provided enough fodder for gossip tonight; the last thing they need is for someone to overhear something that could be easily misconstrued.

"Right," he manages to croak out, his voice slightly strained. "Let's get this show on the road."

🇬🇧 ⚽ 🇺🇸

“Oh Christ…Alex!”

With a breathless laugh, Henry collapses onto Alex's chest, supporting himself on his forearms to avoid crushing him. Alex, however, wraps his arms around Henry's back, pulling their bodies flush together as they share a deep, lazy kiss, their bodies still trembling slightly from the force of their shared orgasm.

“Told you I could still rock your world, even with a sprained ankle,” Alex says, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face. Henry responds with a soft, affectionate chuckle.

As they bask in the afterglow, Alex can't help but think that no amount of World Cup victories could ever compare to the rush of endorphins he experiences when having sex with Henry.

Henry reluctantly disentangles himself from Alex's embrace and heads to the bathroom. The sound of running water reaches Alex's ears as he takes his phone on the nightstand, idly scrolling through his social media feeds.

Returning with a damp washcloth, Henry begins to clean Alex. "Let me guess," he says, "my prince charming moment is trending online?"

Alex snorts. "What did you expect? You might as well have tattooed 'Property of Henry Fox' across my forehead."

Henry's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Now there's an idea."

"Keep dreaming, Fox," Alex retorts, rolling his eyes fondly.

"That's Fox-Claremont-Diaz to you, darling," Henry corrects him, leaning in for another kiss.

Alex takes his hand, pressing a soft kiss on the rose gold band that found its rightful place on Henry’s finger after the game. They returned to their apartment in London - a convenient haven when participating in the World Cup hosted in England. After a shower for Alex and a light snack, they fell back into bed, where Alex convinced Henry that a little post-game celebration was in order, even if one of the two parties involved had lost.

“So it’s celebratory sex for me and consolation sex for you?” Henry had inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Alex had grinned and shrugged. “As long as we both get our happy ending, you can call it whatever you want, baby.”

Henry climbs back on the bed and snuggles with his husband. The atmosphere shifts subtly, becoming more soft and tender.

"Should we tell people?" Alex finally broaches the subject, and Henry exhales softly.

“I mean, I’m not opposed to it. Shaan and Zahra suggested we wait until after the Cup frenzy died, but…”

“Yeah, but now they are married too, so I don’t think we should listen to them anymore.”

Alex turns to face Henry, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'm ready for the world to know you're mine," he whispers, and the radiant smile blooming on Henry's lips lets him know that the feeling is wholeheartedly mutual.

"How do you want to do it?" Alex asks. "Should we ease into it or go for a hard launch?"

Henry pretends to ponder, though Alex knows his answer. He shakes his head fondly as Henry gives him a brilliant smile.

"I want to break the internet."

***

A few days later, Alex's Instagram features a new post.

The image captures their pajama-clad legs intertwined on the sofa, with David, Henry's dog, snoozing contently beside them. In the background, slightly out of focus but unmistakable, are their football jerseys draped over a chair, proudly displaying their names and numbers.

The caption reads: “I lost the World Cup, but I won at life.”

Photo credit: Hubby @hgfoxofficial.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #Rivals football players #and also idiots in love #what else is new #let me kiss and make it better #birthday fic #Sophie1973

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sgiandubh · 10 months

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OK, I got it : Telegraph shitshow, anyone?

Oh, what the hell. I had no patience and couldn't picture myself fidgeting in a dull supermarket and ending up by forgetting half of the things on my list.

So, here it is, all of it.

Proof of buying:

Yeah, "between Outlander's seasons nine and 10'. See how accurate the girl who wrote it is? How about a cobbled something to address the real issues at stake, of which there are three (more on this, in my next post)?

LOL? LOL.

Anyway, there goes. Passages in bold are marked by me:

Yet two years ago, Heughan, as one of the executive producers (with Balfe), introduced an intimacy co-ordinator to choreograph such scenes, which had been criticised by many as excessively violent.

The Couple Next Door begins on Channel 4 on Monday 27 November at 9pm; stream all episodes from this date

#shitshow

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