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joz-yyh · 11 months ago

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Acta Est Fabula - Ch. 4

SUMMARY: Crimson Court AU. It took but one taste for his addiction to start. What's to become of their arrangement now? No Beta. Read at your own risk.

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant

RATING: M (sexual themes / messy handjobs / vampirism)

WORD COUNT: 3,724

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: The moment this story earns its M-rating. It only took me three chapters to dive into the smut this time. A new record! XD

Please consider dropping a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed! :3 (Reynauld and Dismas as well as Junia and Boudica will be appearing next chappie! Hope ya'll are looking forward to it!)

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Tardif was in word: worried. It was unlike him, being so uncertain, Damian most assuredly the cause.

He didn't feel right leaving the vampire behind (even with Sebastian around to protect him), but the flagellant hadn't given him much of a choice in the matter.

So the hunter does as he had done prior, finding a spot just far enough away from the grisly scene to hold up, waiting in case the nobleman called for him.

He's never had such troublesome thoughts before, even when he tries to think of something else, anything else, his thoughts always steer toward that roiling taboo, lips and tongue still so full of longing.

Tardif had seen his fair share of bloodsuckers before, but none were as pale and pink and bloody as Damian. And damn, those wings. The way they shined like abalone shells, a labyrinth of intricate pieces like a dragonfly's, they were among the prettiest he'd ever come across.

Fascination builds at discovering such a rare creature as this, wanting to dissect him with his hands, pull him apart piece by piece until he learns all his secret parts.

With such daydreams in mind, the brute lays out across the boughs of a tree, arms crossed over his chest until exhaustion claims him, eyes slipping shut.

He's not sure how long he's dozing for, long enough that the sky is dark with shadow, the harsh squeal of a whistle jarring him awake.

So startled from his slumber, the unassuming brute falls from his perch, landing on the sodden turf below with a painful groan.

“My, my, it seems I found you first, my dear vampire hunter,” the flagellant purrs, delighting in what mischief he's caused.

Considering how they left things, Tardif is glad to see him alive, baser instincts subdued, inherited by his more human half. He could have done without the sneak attack, though.

“Wot are ye doin’ here,” the tired warrior grumbles, reorienting himself after his unceremonious fall, working out the cricks in his back.

“Perhaps,” Damian drawls, raking eyes over his partner in crime, “I’ve missed you.”

That comment has Tardif standing a little straighter, suddenly concerned with appearances.

The vampire insists on stalking circles around him, judging which part of his body he would like to indulge in more, the danger stoking the heat in the huntsman's stomach.

“Missed your lips,” the nobleman continues, sounding more feral with each passing word, “your blood.”

Oh.

“Is it really ye,” scrutinizes the axeman, noticing a remarkable change from the last time he saw him, “Are ye still Damian?”

He is different somehow. More cutthroat than before, shedding his hapless exterior in favor of allure and power, his skin seeming to glow with a sheen of iridescent scales if it catches the stars just right. He remembers the same coloring from the soft membrane of wings, but they're absent now, tucked out of sight.

“Do you require proof,” the vampire jests, having far too much fun with his food.

“Maybe,” the brute drawls, reminding himself to stay on guard, that his friend might not have regained full control over himself yet.

The brute follows his movements from the corner of his eye, twisting just enough to watch as the nobleman creeps around his back, almost out of sight.

Tardif jumps, flinching as the devious flagellant slashes a hole in his pants, playful near his tail bone, just above his buttocks.

Bastard. Who does he think he is?

Slack-jawed by this pursuit, it takes a moment for his senses to catch up, the muddled warrior spinning on his heel, turning to face his offender with a growl.

“I know of a party happening soon,” Damian chuckles, watching as his companion checks for blood, but he was precise in his application, sparing his delicate human pelt.

Tardif snorts at the attempt. “Any bloodsucker worth their marrow would know that.”

“Then, what can I offer you, vampire hunter,” he taunts, a blonde eyebrow raised in intrigue.

“Can think of a few things,” Tardif teases, though his thoughts are far from innocent.

“Pick one and maybe I'll consider it,” the vampire prompts, head canted with thinly veiled interest.

“How bout, I give ye more of my blood?”

“But my dear hunter,” Damian argues, amused by his unorthodox choice of tactics, “that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

All too vividly, he remembers how Tardif had severed skin, the wellspring that poured down the razor's edge of the knife, wishes to reenact the same profane ritual again.

“Sure, but ye haven't heard the rest yet.”

“Oh yes, do tell.”

“Wanna see wot ye got under those bloomer shorts of yers, first.”

Seems Damian wasn't expecting that, his face turning gibbous with surprise, a slip in his suave demeanor that he never truly recovers.

“That would be moving things rather quickly, wouldn't you say?”

“Pretty sure, that's how ye want it.”

Tardif isn’t afraid to blame the spiral of debauchery onto his companion, but the dubious aristocrat has a counter ready.

“Hm, perhaps your hunger exceeds mine.”

“Depends on how big of a drink yer takin’.”

“Just how much are you willing to give?’

“Depends on how far ye want to go.”

They speak in loops, dancing around each other when Damian breaks first, revealing the true extent of his craving.

“I want to bite you, claw you, eat you,” the flagellant admits, barely able to contain his desire.

“A lot to fit into one night, wouldn't ye say,” the huntsman teases, flattered by the extensive to-do list.

“Sebastian will make sure we're not bothered,” the vampire breathes, bringing himself closer, chest to chest, claws tracing around argyle armor.

“Ye planned this,” Tardif muses, impressed as he listens to nails outline the embellishments of his pauldron, then down his arm, making him shiver.

“Planned isn’t quite the word,” Damian hums, meditating on it, “Improvised. Impulsively sought out. Needed. Any of those are more apt.”

“Then, how's ‘bout we try that kiss again,” Tardif smirks, making himself all the more delectable, “If yer up to it.”

Damian is eager for this, quickly sealing the distance, gripping the huntsman's cowl, digging claws into fabric, though, he'd rather carve marks into him.

They're fumbling with impatience, sloppy and wet with no amount of finesse, but neither of them care, not at all.

It's more satisfying than last time, more sensation to be felt in his human flesh than the dichotomy of an insect, unable to resist placing small nips against the hunter’s mouth, never quite daring enough to break the skin.

The hunter wastes no time, one hand clutching at a resplendent hip to grind them, the other reaching between puffy clothing to paw around the bulge between his partner's thighs.

“Hmm,” Damian groans, breaking off their kiss, the two panting fervently, “not the wisest course of action.”

“Oh, no,” Tardif retorts, his seduction not deterred in the slightest, “Said so, didn't I?”

“I've tried to warn you.”

“Really,” Tardif taunts, expecting more of a fight.

“You forget we have an audience.”

“Yeah? Who?”

Damian points in regards to the hunter’s skepticism, angling his attention to his ever-present scouter.

“You need not be awake for this little one,” the nobleman remarks, casting an interim spell to make the innocent Pierre curl up in sleep.

“So proper,” Tardif mocks, unlatching the now decommissioned insect from his belt, setting it aside in the brush, covering it with a shawl.

“One of us must be,” the vampire insists, waiting for his partner to reunite with him.

“Teh, not fer long,” Tardif taunts, flicking his eyes over the other man's arousal in illicit suggestion, “got somethin’ to show me dontcha?”

With no more excuses and flame tingling his cheeks, the vampire gives in, pulling his tights down just enough to free his cock, the form-fitting fabric a swathe around the base, exposing the head of his length.

Oh, well that was interesting. There are scales here too, shimmering with pink, a few ridges of rose on each side of his flared tip.

He wants to touch, so he does, the hunter throwing off his gloves, taking a portion of what’s been revealed to him by the hand, squeezing a bit too tightly.

Damian moans, losing that debonair composure he was totting not so long ago and Tardif likes seeing him unravel.

“Do be careful,” the blonde gasps, resisting the urge to buck his hips, “I am quite close.”

“Should’ve come prepared then,” the warrior smirks, easing up just slightly, letting callous fingers rub cautiously against sensitive adaptations.

“This is not a need I usually attend to,” the vampire admits, moving his hands to rest upon the sturdy huntsman’s shoulders, feeling unstable on his own two feet.

“Well, too bad for ye,” his willful partner says, stroking along the delicate ridges with his thumb, their texture both soft and rigid at the same time.

“If … if you insist on continuing, I can’t be held responsible for what I will do.”

“Heh, when are ye gunna learn, I like a challenge?”

That line has Damian bucking into his grip, driving them together faster, five-prong claws scratching lancets around his neck, panting with grandeur and Tardif eats it all up.

The hunter contemplates slowing down, giving his prudish partner a longer courtship, but then he’s addicted to this transient pace, wanting to see the inevitable conclusion, pumping him without remorse.

It has been too long and the sensation too good, the vampire grasping for purchase as the suffocating rush takes hold.

“Tardif,” he cries, cumming in his hand, cock pulsating with the thrill of release.

For what temporal relief Damian feels, his passion does not dissipate, realizing that maybe his wanton appetite was not for blood, but for the man who contained it.

“How's that hunger if yers doin’ now,” asks the smug brunette, offering gentle, coaxing strokes throughout his orgasm, “Better?”

“Unfortunately for you, dear hunter,” the flagellant says, eyes a deep ruby red, “that is not entirely the case.”

The complacent hunter is rammed up against the very tree he fell out of earlier, fronds rattling from the impact.

There's a pause, Tardif groaning from the rough treatment of his back, leaves fluttering down around them, adjusting to this new dynamic.

“As delicious as you are,” Damian propounds, boundlessly thirsty, “You may want to sit down for this. I doubt you will be able to remain upright.”

“Yer the one jerkin' me ‘round wit’ yer cock out,” he snickers, attempting to slide further up the woody trunk he's crammed against, defying recommendation.

“Teh,” the vampire scoffs in distaste, covering himself up with a cloying snap of his tights so the other would have no more room to talk.

“Wot, cock too vulgar fer ye or somethin’?”

“You're too vulgar for me,” he pants, another terse accusation meant to insult, and yet it doesn't, “but I like that about you.”

Instead of intricately undoing his belts like Tardif had expected him to, the vampire yanks his britches off as if they never had seams, the fabric falling to his ankles in tatters, exposing him completely.

Damian takes a moment to appreciate his handiwork, boring over his lower half as he was gazing at a sculpted masterpiece.

“It seems I am not the only one pent up,” the flagellant teases, dragging a nail under a heavy girth, his partner thick and raging with unspent release.

“Shut up,” he growls, his once cool attitude suddenly nowhere to be found.

He can’t very well show up naked to his superiors, will have to find some means to repair his clothes before then, but he supposes he can worry about that later.

“How long since another has done this for you?”

“Months,” he admits reluctantly, though, after thinking about it more, he amends his timeline, “Maybe years.”

“I will have to take my time with you, then.”

Tardif expected his partner to use the same enthusiasm as he used on his pants and yet the vampire decides now to torture him, dragging his fangs over dark curls, so close to his throbbing erection.

The warrior watches on as a blonde head of hair places kisses along the crease of his leg, wondering if he’ll make use of that long tongue again, if it’s something he’ll only brandish while transformed.

Claws drag languid around his other leg, drawing faint abstract shapes, palm folding flat, molding around muscle, messaging, squeezing, tempting.

Much to the brunette's frustration, demure lips stray further away from his intent, his swollen member left straining with unmet want while Damian mouths around the grooves of his pelvic bone, nipping as he had done in their kiss, making the hunter jerk and flinch.

The vampire can feel his partner’s eyes on him, loves the unadulterated fixation, especially when a fist tugs at his hair by the handful.

Damian wants to give him a show, a taste of the pleasure that still flows in his veins, mouth opening wide, biting into a tanned thigh with reckless abandon.

“Fuck,” Tardif moans, essence shooting out from his length, blazing white across his partner’s jacket.

The warrior is shaking from the force of his orgasm, needing to grasp onto the tree to keep his knees from dropping down, groaning out into the night as if he’s some felled beast.

It’s as much of a surprise for Tardif as it is for Damian, the vampire realizing the brutality of his bite, pulling back with blood smeared across his lips.

“Ye damn lunatic,” the hunter pants, liquid pleasure coursing through him, vibrating with pinpricks, “need a little warnin’ next time, before ye do that.”

“And miss such an enrapturing display,” Damian breathes, marveling at his partner's resilience, “never.”

At least he has the decency to clean him up, tongue laving over both of his dripping wounds.

—---

Their intense affections sated, now cooled to a low ember, the two men laze amidst the grass, Damian stretched out on his stomach, draped over the huntsman's legs.

Tardif had retrieved the blanket from his pack, using it now for them to cuddle upon, the humidity of the swamp doused with chill, but it was hardly noticeable, the mortal radiating enough heat to salvage them both, flushing the vampire's cool skin with warmth.

Both men are a hodgepodge of semi-nude, the flagellant's chest bare, his jacket resting over his back like a cloak while his lower half remains dressed, his partner sporting just the opposite, too many straps and buckles to trifle with divesting, his bottom half exposed.

Damian's eyes keep straying towards the coagulated sores of bite marks, his long fingers soon caressing over the twin indentations he'd left on his lover.

“I should heal this for you,” he says, worry coating his voice, remorseful of what his indulgence had wrought.

“Don't. Leave it be,” Tardif grunts, having grown attached to the ache.

“I don't understand,” the blonde says, confusion reflected in his scarlet eyes, “Why would you keep it?”

“I like it,” Tardif shrugs, “Reminds me of ye. Don't expect anyone to go lookin’ there to find it anyway.”

He’s only known the Order to check for bites on the neck, a mandated strip search not yet a standard.

“Perhaps, I should ask you to give me one to match,” the vampire offers, raising a brow of invitation as well as his leg.

The warrior laughs, a terse exclamation, instead reaching for the modest silver whistle Damian has elected to wear around his neck.

“Ye got this,” Tardif reasons, turning the trinket around in his hand, watching it gleam, thinking it suits his partner's pale complexion rather well.

“True, I do,” the vampire nods, returning his leg to its proper position, snuggling more comfortably.

Tardif lets him wrap lanky arms around his middle, bury his head into the wedge of his hip.

He passes time by playing with the fine strands of Damian's unruly hair, flaxen curls weaving through his bronze hands, practically mesmerized. It was uncommon to see another man with longer hair like his own, never truly appreciating the benefits of such soothing comforts until this moment. As serene as this sanctuary is, he doesn't imagine he'll be getting much sleep, Damian either.

“Guess we should talk more ‘bout this party,” Tardif suggests.

“Ah yes, the viscount's annual banquet,” lips mumble against hot-blooded skin, “Even if they catch wind of what's happened, it will carry on as planned. He cannot afford to look weak in front of the other members of the court.”

“Well, aren't they goin’ to be surprised when we show up,” the brute smirks, enjoying the thought of ruining yet another rich elitist’s exploits.

The vampire shifts from his spot, sitting up on his arms, staring at his lover in reproach.

“We cannot go barging in there and claim an easy victory like we did before,” Damian scoffs, deathly serious, “He'll be expecting us. We'll need a new plan, a better plan."

“The plan worked just fine last time. We won.”

Damian sighs, “Yes, but with no amount of grace. We could have been more elegant with our delivery, minimized the risk.”

Tardif shrugs, “Yeah, but we still won. And it will be harder fer them to pinpoint the perp who did it. We left no survivors.”

Maybe the flagellant is still wound up from the whirlwind of emotions the hunter had evoked in him, but he finds it necessary to humble the wall of impudence.

“I swear to you, the viscount is nothing like the baron. He has greater wealth, superior protection, better experience. The risk will be exponentially higher.”

“So, yer worried somethin’ might happen to me,” Tardif teases, a little wag of his furry brows.

The flagellant bites his tongue to keep from agreeing to that. It’s true, of course, but he doesn't like catering to the man's ego too much, inflating it more than it already is.

“You’re forgetting about Sebastian and Pierre. They could get hurt too.”

“It’s fine,” Tardif dismisses, seeing nothing to worry about, “Ye can just heal us if we do. Problem solved.”

“I’d still prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” the flagellant presses, firm in his views, “I cannot reverse death.”

"Hn, fine," Tardif relents, “We'll go over battle plans in the mornin'.

Satisfied with that, the flagellant goes lax, lounging upon the other's scaffold of muscle.

“Damian…,” the hunter drawls, hooking onto a pale shoulder, working up the courage to speak.

“Hmm,” he hums, “what is it?”

“I ... have to leave after.”

The rugged note of apprehension is not lost on the vampire's ears.

“What do you mean,” he asks, flipping over.

Tardif wants to take it back, almost hates the heartache that coats his lover’s face, knowing he marred such a beautiful smile.

“I've already taken too long. The Order, they'll send someone else to complete the mission if I don't report back. ”

It was harder to get the words out than he thought, the brute’s throat corroded with sand while his partner retreats further inward, contemplating the many consequences.

“I …I understand,” he nods, looking away, “I can take care of myself.”

“Not very well,” the brute teases, a less than perfect self-image made destitute by the endless string of flagellation.

Damian scoffs, knowing he’s right, but chooses to be blissfully ignorant on the matter.

“I don't know wots goin’ to happen when I tell them,” Tardif continues, mirroring the vampire’s distant look, ‘Nothin’ good most likely. Might even have me locked up.”

The blonde chuckles, fixing him with cheerful eyes, adopting one of Tardif’s favorite catch-phrases. “Even if they do, you fear nothing, remember?”

The hunter stares at him in awe, belief in his credence restored.

“Heh, that's right. Glad yer finally catchin’ on.”

He reaches out, holding Damian’s cheek in reward, absently running a thumb against it. The man he was a few days ago would have never guessed this arrangement to be possible, that he would be here now, thanking the Light that this bloodsucker was real. It’s what makes this next confession so painfully difficult.

“Wot I am sayin’ is,” the axeman starts, “after I tell them I killed ye and the baron, they’ll have no reason not to believe it. I’ll be held responsible for everythin’. And … if I don't come back … I want ye to run. Find somewhere else to be happy.”

The vampire’s face crumples, overrun with tragedy, unable to fulfill this wish no matter how much his lover wants him to.

“Tardif …” his voice is trembling, reaching for the hunter's wrist, mooring himself to it, “I am sorry, but I cannot turn back now. I knew when I agreed, that I would be seeing this to the end. I will die fighting for what we've made, what we started. There is nothing left for me, but this. I will destroy the Order too if I must.”

The brute can’t say he’s happy with Damian’s decision, but there is one tactic he can use to dissuade him, low as it is.

“Wot ‘bout Sebastian? Ye can't protect him if yer dead.”

Damian snarls, tears welling in his eyes at the thought of his dear friend slain in the name of such ordeals.

“Please, do not say these things. I cannot bear to think about it.” Fist clenched, determination prickling his skin, the vampire can only see victory, “Our conduct at the banquet must be flawless. We cannot fail.”

Tardif is in awe again, his own dedication to a near impossible vendetta all the more solidified thanks to his partner, refusing to give up when the other still believes in them.

“We won't, trust me.” It’s a promise and pledge, said from the bottom of his heart.

The vampire finally meets his gaze, happiness sparkling in his eyes, unfaltering loyalty. “I do.”

Warmth spreads inside the hunter’s chest at hearing that. He wonders how he could be so lucky, but then again, going renegade on a solo mission and betraying the very church he serves would convince a person to swoon his way.

Tardif returns his smile, taking his lover’s face between his hands, pushing him to lie on his back, his own body following him down.

“Then, just be wit’ me,” the brute whispers, leaning in for a kiss, Damian holding him close beneath the canvas of twilight stars.

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zimoz · 10 months ago

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resta más importancia a la situación, como si tuviera algo en principio, con un encogimiento de hombros. "no me imagino a mangjeol vencida por unas cuantas gallinas," arguye, sacando ese nombre en particular aunque podía ser cualquiera. nadie en lammas (de acuerdo a zimo) parecía el tipo de persona que careciera seriedad y dureza, incluso si cabía la posibilidad de que no fueran más que fachadas. qué más daba. asiente con calma, una vez la cuchara se encuentra de nuevo en su boca, con lo último de su plato. nuevamente, traga antes de hablar. "dormir con las vacas parece una buena opción," opina, imaginando la situación. si era o no broma, no se nota en su rostro. su mirada se encuentra con el rostro ajeno. "¿viste los horarios? dan media hora para que todos utilicemos las duchas. ¿sabes cuanta gente hay aquí?" parece serio, y aunque era un buen punto, si tenía una ducha habilitada no iba a ser el que desaprovechara la oportunidad de usarla, por muy conectado con la naturaleza que se encontrase. aún así, extiende una sonrisita sospechosa, como si dijera: tendrás que aguantarme con olor y todo.

' déjalo ir, no importa ya. ' sacude la cabeza, deshaciéndose de los posibles escenarios. sabía muy bien que su compañero, para su propia desgracia, lo había agarrado desprevenido. de todes en lammas —con alguna que otra excepción— era zimo con quien mantenía un ambiente jocoso, mas tenía que aceptar que no le conocía para nada. ' ¿el único sujeto? entonces, según lo que me estás contando, todo el equipo me dejará a la deriva por un par de gallinas desquiciadas... cría cuervos y te sacarán lo ojos. ' chasqueó la lengua y negó con la cabeza, fingiendo estar decepcionado de elles. ´ pues no, no tengo todos los expedientes a mi alcance, pero ahora que lo dijiste; sí, te harás una casa con ramas de un árbol y pasarás la mejor noche de tu vida. ' respondió con una pequeña risa que rozaba lo sardónico. ahí lo tenía: poco y nada de información manejaba sobre el sujeto. simplemente que se le daba bien exprimir naranjas, y con eso bastaba por ahora. ' al igual que yo, no creas por un momento que volveré con aroma a rosas— espera, ¿no te piensas bañar? ' pausó, porque estaba seguro de que después de los entrenamientos estaban habilitadas las duchas comunitarias. ' no seas cochino, que por algo decidimos estar con las gallinas y no los cerdos. ' ♯ @zimoz .ᐟ

#hakchs #rivals to lovers to ENEMIES (coparents)#LKJHAKJFAHSDF #he tenido a hako por dos días pero si le pasara algo mato a todos en este rp y luego a mi misma

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gyuswhore · 2 months ago

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Cherry Picker [teaser]

part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Choi Seungcheol x reader

est. word count: um 30k (?) EDIT: projecting near 20k [see reblogs] EDIT pt2: we're back to 30k (possibly more)

est. release date: January 10th

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], more to be added in final post

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

‼️ JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post. AGE INDICATORS ON YOUR BLOG ARE NECESSARY. ‼️

[a/n]: I first wrote hockey player Cheol quite literally a full year ago and I promised to expand on the concept, so here we are!!! im so excited for y'all to read this bc im genuinely putting my heart and ass into this fic. lmk your thoughts about the teaser!!! please remember to support the rest of the fics coming out in association with the winter with you collab, all of these writers are working so hard to bring you fics you're going to love 🥹

masterlist

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their cups.

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings.

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“Ice is booked.”

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Two sixteen. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.”

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.”

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a dragon only waiting to be provoked.

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates.

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?”

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink.

Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates.

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential.

The empty rink is only encouraging you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge.

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder.

It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page.

Everything stops.

!HOT TOPIC!

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here!

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nerdycheol · 29 days ago

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I Loathe You Forever? | Jeon Jungkook- masterlist

❤️‍🔥Pairing: real estate developer!jungkook x architect!f reader

❤️‍🔥Genre: Enemies-to-lovers, slow-burn romance, comedic misunderstandings, professional rivalry, personal growth, future smut

❤️‍🔥est. release date: 14 Jan 2025

‼️JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post‼️

note: I'M BACKKK, with a series this time. Had written n number of plots for an enemies to lovers fic. FINALLY, came to this. Hope y'all give love and support.

Yours lovingly, Rae 🐼

(TAGLIST OPEN)

Jeon Jungkook, a cocky real estate developer, and you, an independent architect, are forced into an uneasy partnership for a major project. After a drunken night in Las Vegas, you wake up married, with no memory of how it happened. To keep the project alive, you agree to stay “married” temporarily.

Amid bickering and fake smiles, unexpected feelings surface, revealing the softer sides of both of you. But when the truth behind your impromptu wedding is uncovered, will your growing connection survive the fallout?

MOODBOARD: 1

CHAPTER INDEX:

The Nemesis

The Art of Not Killing Your Partner

What Happens in Vegas… Doesn’t Stay There

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ixel-4 · 5 days ago

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bts fic recs

✿ - my favorites

✧ty for the resources :))

— Seokjin

ᰔᩚ Mold a Pretty Lie by @blog-name-idk {college!au, unhealthy & toxic relationships, virgin reader, eventual yandere, eventual smut}

ᰔᩚ Scale by @shina913 {richboy!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut}

ᰔᩚ Internal Conflicts by @yoongiofmine {non idol!au, fluff, angst, smut, step brother}

✿ Off Limits by @floralseokjin {brothers bsf!au, smut, angst, fluff}

ᰔᩚ Cupids on Holiday by @persphonesorchid {angel!au, fluff, angst, smut, slight enemies to lovers, humor}

ᰔᩚ Paraluman by @muniimyg {love triangle, fwb to lovers, bsf to lovers, smut, angst}

ᰔᩚ Lets Get Married as a Joke by @burningupp {angst, fluff}

— Namjoon

✿ A word from our sponsors by @100vern {podcast, friends to lovers!au, crack, smut, fluff}

ᰔᩚ The Holiday Pretense by @mortallydeepestobservation {fake dating!au, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers, crack, smut, fluff}

ᰔᩚ Perfect Plan by @mortallydeepestobservation {friends to lovers, fwb?, angst, fluff, happy ending}

ᰔᩚ Beauty & The Bookworm by @jungshookz {uni!au, librian!namjoon, fluff, angst, smut}

— Yoongi

ᰔᩚ Sugar Rush Ride by @lo1k-diamonds {fluff, smut}

ᰔᩚ Dillema by @trivia-yandere {drug dealer!yoongi, smut}

ᰔᩚ The Road not Taken by @prodagustd {brothers bsf, one sided pining?, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut}

ᰔᩚ Oh, Darling! by @yoongiofmine {non idol!au, uni!au, fluff, angst, smut}

✿ Between the Titles by @highvern {fluff, smut}

✿Three Tangerines by @kithtaehyung {brothers bsf!au, implied age gap, angst, fluff, smut}

ᰔᩚ Minted by @kithtaehyung {angst, action, smut, haegeum!au, gang!au}

ᰔᩚ Take a bite by @glossdebut {smut, fluff, angst, slowburn}

✿ bbydaddy!yoongi by @muniimyg {smut, fluff, angst}

ᰔᩚ So it goes by @prodagustd {fwb to lovers, fluff, smut, angst}

✿ Terms & Conditions by @ktownshizzle {fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au}

ᰔᩚ The Deal by @untaemedqueen {drug lord!yoongi, fluff, smut, angst}

ᰔᩚ Whispered Vows by @lostbookmark {angst, fluff, smut}

✿ Dating Advice by @taleasnewastime {strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut}

ᰔᩚ Love and Lullabies by @ktownshizzle {fluff, angst, smut, idol!au, acquaintances to lovers, dad!yoongi}

✿ Hook, Line & Stinker by @yoonmetogether (smut, fluff, angst}

— Hoseok

ᰔᩚ Heartbeat by @joonbird {gang!au, fluff, smut}

ᰔᩚ Guarded by @xjoonchildx {mafia!au, e2l, slowburn, eventual smut}

ᰔᩚ Connotations of Sin by @persphonesorchid {fallen angel!au, angst, fluff, smut, horror}

— Jimin

ᰔᩚ Serendipity by @mikrokosmoslove {ceo jimin!au, lovers to enemies to colleagues to lovers, angst, smut, drama}

✿ Silk Sheets by CallMeByYourName97 {sugardaddy!au, smut, fluff, toxic relationship}

ᰔᩚ Growing Pains by @taleasnewastime {unrequited love, brothers bsf, mafia!au, fluff, angst}

ᰔᩚ In the wake of your leave by @taleasnewastime {unrequited love, brothers bsf, slowburn, mafia!au, angst}

— Taehyung

ᰔᩚ A really great (love?) story by @whatifyoulivelikethat {non idol!au, fluff, smut, friends to lovers}

ᰔᩚ Stuck with you by @jungshookz {roommate!taehyung, uni!au, enemies to lovers, fluff, smut}

— Jungkook

ᰔᩚ Strictly Platonic by @jeonqkookskooks {college!au, bsfs to lovers, fake dating!au, fluff, angst, smut}

ᰔᩚ Game on @sparklingchim {footballer!jungjook, fake dating, f2l}

ᰔᩚ I Want You to Stay by @ahundredtimesover {boss!jk x assistant reader, strangers to lovers, slowburn, angst, smut, fluff, drama}

ᰔᩚ Bbydaddy!jk by @muniimyg {exs to lovers, fluff, smut, angst}

✿ Home by @bonny-kookoo {est relationship, foreigner!reader, fluff, smut}

✿ Hotter than Hell by @chateautae {supernatural/fantasy!au, romance, e2l, road trip, angst, fluff, eventual smut}

ᰔᩚ Paraluman by @muniimyg {love triangle, fwb to lovers, bsf to lovers, smut, angst}

✿ Sauvage by tjunglebook {ceo!jungkook, fluff, smut}

— Ot7

ᰔᩚ Change my mind by @winterzsurprise {soulmates!au, f2l, eventual smut, slowburrn, polyamory}

✿ Little do You Know by @yoongiofmine {fluff, angst, smut, playmate!au, idol!au}

ᰔᩚ Back Home by @alexlwrites {college!au, romance, humor, fluff, angst}

✿ Everything Falls (Into Place) by @blog-name-idk {college!au, roommate!au, fluff, humor, smut}

ᰔᩚ Sh. by @wwilloww {non idol!au, wilderness!au, f2l, smut, fluff, angst}

#bts #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #hobi x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #hoseok x reader #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #fluff #smut #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #fic rec #bts fic recs #angst

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leclerc-hs · 10 months ago

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can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh.

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains.

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity.

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience.

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups.

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen.

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.”

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release.

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget.

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit.

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs.

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it.

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief.

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air.

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout.

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it.

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips.

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed.

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words. What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore.

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m’as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

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yenqa · 1 year ago

Text

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU — TEASER

READ HERE!

in which...

you hate heeseung. you hate his snobby little voice, his stupid little glasses that are too big for him, his nosiness, and his ability to prove anything or anyone wrong easily. you hate hate hate the way you try to avoid him, but somehow he’s always around, and he can’t see how much you hate him. you swear nothing could make you like him, but after you get caught in a sticky situation with him playing your knight in shining armor, you realize that maybe he isn’t so bad after all.

pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

genre — one sided enemies to lovers, highschool au, he falls first she falls harder, oblivious x obvious, tutor x tutoree (kind of), childhood friends (ish because the whole one sided enemies thing) to lovers, long fic

wordcount — teaser is 1005! fic est. 9k-13k words (hopefully not too ambitious)

warnings — profanity, kissing (no suggestive stuff or nsfw), miscommunication, parties/underage drinking, name calling (bitch, whore, stuff like that), food

featuring — lia of itzy, miyeon of g-idle, hyung line of enhypen (sorry maknaes too many people), ocs : sooyun + teachers

disclaimer — i am not saying this is an accurate representation of these idols or trying to sexualize them at all. this just something i do for fun.

release date — hopefully by mid march?

taglist — open! send an ask or comment to be added!

yenqa — watched the movie on the plane and i was kind of obsessed… but this does not follow the movie plot, i just thought the title fit

YOU WATCH AS THE SNOW FALLS SLOWLY TO THE GROUND

A blanket of white has got you and the guests at your house locked in for the night. You weren’t very happy with these strangers staying at your house for the night—In fact, you had just been completely shut down by your dad when you asked him to kick them out. It was obvious why he did that, but this definitely had to be your least favorite christmas out of the eight you had been through.

You snap out of your thoughts, continuing to eat whatever you had left on your plate, hesitating when you saw the amount of vegetables still left.

“Mom! I’m full.” You try to hide your plate from her, showing her instead a pout with a hand on your stomach.

It didn’t work—obviously, so you were stuck at the table, a frown on your face as you forced in the greens. Across from you, a boy your age, who didn’t seem to mind, he almost looked like he was enjoying it.

That’s impossible though, no one likes vegetables. Maybe he was doing it so Santa would get him an extra special gift?

You grumble when he finishes his place, showcasing his plate that had been licked clean to his mom. He stared at you for a second looking down at your—full plate then looking back at his mom, she said “Great job Heeseung!”. He returns his plate to the table with a smile.

Stabbing your fork back into your food, you stuff it into your face, hoping that you would enjoy it as much as Heeseung did. Again, it didn’t work, and the bitter taste returned to your mouth.

After what felt like hours of groaning and complaining, you had taken the last bite of your food, a proud smirk on your face when you made eye contact with the boy from earlier, who only smiled at you in return.

Throwing away your plastic plate, you realized that now it was present time, and Santa just had to reward you for your good deeds.

Rushing over to the tree, you spot everyone gathered around the area, opening their presents. You run to your present, recognizing the wrapping paper from last year. Looking at your mom for approval, she nods and you tear apart the paper, lifting up the box inside.

You squeal when you see the picture, you had been begging your mom for weeks for a Lego set, specifically if it was minecraft themed. And Santa had gotten you just that. You hug the box, squeezing it. You exclaim a loud “Thank you Santa!” before running up to your room to assemble the build.

Reading the directions, you start the house, quickly getting confused on how it isn’t looking like how it does in the picture.

“I think that’s the wrong piece.” A voice says, you whip your head around to see the same boy who sat across from you.

“Who are you?” Your eyebrows furrow at the sight, confused on why those were the first words he said instead of “Hi!” or something.

“My name’s Heeseung—Um, my mom told me to come upstairs and said we should be friends. Do you want to be friends?”

You huff, “I’m Y/n. Also no, I don’t want to be friends, you’re mean.” You force your legos together, frustrated already with the pieces. You continue to reread the directions, pushing—what you think are—the exact legos to the board. But it doesn’t seem like it’ll fit. Maybe if you push it harder?

“Oh—okay.” You jump slightly, too focused to realize how he's been watching you for the past few minutes. “Do you need some help?”

Yes, you need help. But did you want to accept his help? . This was your christmas gift from Santa, you shouldn’t have to share.

Glancing at the picture then to the building that had looked like an abstract rendition of it, you let out a sigh. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, right? “Yeah, I guess.”

He takes a seat on the carpet next to you, focusing hard on the directions before breaking off the wrong pieces, reassembling it so you’ll be on the right track.

“Does this go here, do you think?” “No, it goes here.” That was a summary of what the conversation was between you, and somehow you were always the one asking the question. Sighing, you lean back, taking a short stretch break before starting again.

You’re shocked at his speed and efficiency, it almost seems like he’s always a step ahead of you. Geez does this guy ever slow down?

The roles are quickly switched as you are sitting watching him instead. Rummaging through each box only for his eyes to lighten up one he finds the right one. You watch him for a while, getting a break that you very much needed.

You hope that he waits for you to finish it, or that he doesn’t completely do it all by himself because again, it’s your Christmas gift, and he wouldn’t do that, right?

Not right, because apparently he’s a machine—he finishes the build. He stands up, pushes his stupid glasses up also and smiles at you, heading to the door. You think he’s going to say something else like “Sorry for taking away your present!” instead, he thanks you for sharing and happily skipping away.

Heeseung. Even his name infuriates you. He was very unpredictable and you hated that. Why did he just do that? He’s so rude. People don’t make sense—especially boys, they have cooties.

Your head was filled with calling him the rudest things you could think of—You even said a few curse words.

Though later you realized that you probably would never see him again, you were ecstatic, so ecstatic you had disassembled your legos just to rebuild it, to completely forget about your bad experience with the boy.

Only two weeks later were you disappointed to see that same boy, sitting across from you during dinner once again.

perm taglist — @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @boyfhee @hanniluvi @teddywonss

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