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heavenlycloud · 2 months

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le sserafim reaction to you doing a tiktok trend on them: le sserafim x fem! reader

authors note: i wrote this back when these trends were actually trending a few months ago. this wasn't requested but i got the idea while scrolling through tiktok and forgot to post it so here it is!

tw// VERY VERY light barely there suggestive remarks

sakura ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

you and your members had just gotten finished with weeks of packed schedules with little rest. finally, you were finally fixing your sleeping schedule and feeling less like a zombie and more like a human being again. your members were decompressing in their own ways like yunjin who was lost in her own world strumming on her guitar in the room beside yours. chaewon and kazuha were watching some new drama in the living room and eunchae was asleep in her room. sakura busied herself with her new hobby, crocheting, while listening to a video with her headphones on. you watched your girlfriend make her new project- a small bag made of mesh-like stitches. her brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to count her stitches in her head so not to disturb you sitting silently across from her. she assumed you were reading a new book from your online library but you were actually just watching tiktoks. after seven chapters of your novel you'd lost interest and switched to something more entertaining. you'd stumbled onto a trend of girls asking their boyfriends to hand them an orange, then asking if they'd peel it for them to see the reaction. with nothing else to do you decided to give it a try:

"kkura?" you poked your girlfriend with your socked foot and she answered without looking up from her crocheting, "yes?" you put your phone in your lap and sighed, "i want a clementine, do you know if we have any?" sakura hummed and looked up, "there's some in the kitchen inside of the refrigerator in the bottom left drawer. i just got them for you yesterday on my way home." you smiled at the mention because you didn't ask her to buy them for you yesterday, she just did it because she thought you'd enjoy them. you clasped a clip back onto one of the twists that fell into your face before you asked sweetly, "can you please get it?" without hesitation sakura nodded and said while still focusing on the hook and yarn in her hand, "gimmie one second." when she finished her row she went to get your clementine and returned with two and a paper towel.

your girlfriend sat back down and began peeling the clementines for you without you having to ask. she even pulled the little stringy parts that you hated most off and threw them away with the peels. when she handed you back the peeled fruits you asked, "why did you peel them for me?" sakura answered easily, "you don't like how the peels gets stuck under your nails so i did it. enjoy." you leaned over and kissed her cheek, "thank you, kkura." she pressed a kiss to your temple, "of course my love."

chaewon ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

despite being a part of gen z and being called one of the best gen z idols by fans, you were underqualified in one area: social media. you didn't even remember to check your texts let alone what was trending across different apps. the only reason you knew if something was on trend or not was because of fans or your friends teaching you. however, after being teased about it you promised yourself that you'd keep up a little more just for fun. plus, your bosses suggested it'd be good for fan service and engagement which was always a good thing. but, what wasn't a good thing was that little promise to keep up with trends resulted in you now being 'chronically online' according to yunjin. you scrolled through your for you page and watched yet another video of a woman asking her partner, "name a woman." after going down a rabbit hole of the same type of video you decided to try it out on your own girlfriend.

"baby." you shook chaewon lightly as she laid in your arms with her cheek pressed against your bare shoulder. she answered sleepily, "hmmm?" you grinned as you told her, "name a woman."

chaewon pulled away from you slightly and asked, "what do you mean?" you responded plainly, "name a woman." your girlfriend toyed with one of your box braids and asked once more in confusion, "any woman?" you clarified, "any woman." she then replied without a second thought, "han sohee." you let out a huff and tried again, "name a different woman." chaewon answered again with a different name, "bada lee." you could almost hear the smile in her voice that time and you whined, "you were supposed to say my name!" your girlfriend pulled away from you fully and told you, "you said 'name a woman' not 'name my woman'. there's a difference, you're mine."

yunjin ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

you were no stranger to the song water by tyla or the dance challenge that went along with it. one evening while you were on a weverse live you'd played the song after seeing people comment the title. you sang along to it and mentioned with a smirk, "i want to perform this on a stage so bad guys. i learned the dance and everything but i don't know if i'd ever be able to show you. ever since you'd randomly danced to WAP during a live a year ago, you've been monitored more than your other members. but after fans demanded for days on end you were finally allowed to post your water challenge on tiktok.

"i dunno i think you need to do it again." yunjin sat in front of you with her back against the mirror in the dance practice room. your girlfriend was acting as your camerawoman for your tiktok challenge, and she had you redo the dance nearly 15 times now. you taught her the dance earlier and she was doing it a little too well yet she insisted only you be in the video. she eyed you up and down with her gaze lingering on your rolled up tank top and sweatpants that sat low on your hips. you sighed and did the dance again along to the music before asking her, "was that one better? lemme see-" you reached for her phone and she said, "oh i wasn't recording that." your eyes widened and you asked, "wha- why not?! were you recording any of them?" yunjin shook her head and you smacked her arm, "yunjin! you had one job!" your girlfriend defended herself, "what? you can't expect me to remember what i'm supposed to do if you're shaking all that in my face." she wrapped her arms around your waist and kissed your neck but you pulled away.

you told her, "you can have me later okay? now focus!" just as you were pulling away she looped her fingers around one of the strings of beads that sat on your hips. yunjin tied a hoodie around your torso and said, "much better. now i can focus." you rolled your eyes and told her, "you're no better than a man." she waved you off, "yeah okay. just do your little dance...i'm ready now i swear."

kazuha ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

you knew that yunjin created a monster when she introduced your members to chipotle and not even a full day later kazuha was saying she missed it. every time she looked back through her camera roll for pictures to post she was sending her chipotle photo to the group chat saying she wanted it again. you found it hilarious because all it took was one bowl and she was already whining about how korea needed to get hip to the fast food chain.

one night after scrolling through your tiktok feed you saw a man recreate chipotle at home for his wife so you thought you'd try it for kazuha. you couldn't find all of the exact recipes but you came pretty close despite the fact that cilantro just doesn't really exist in korea. but knowing your girlfriend, she'd appreciate anything that you gave her so it was fine.

"zuha! baby come here i have something for you." you called kazuha to the kitchen where you had all of the food laid out in containers on the table. you handed her a bowl and said, "i made you chipotle." kazuha's eyes lit up and she nearly jumped over the table to tackle you into a hug. she clapped her hands together and you stood on the other side of the table to serve her your home version of chipotle. she was more than happy to post about it on weverse, showing the meal off to everyone especially knowing that her members weren't around to steal any off her plate.

#kpop fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #kpop imagines #girl group fluff #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #le sserafim scenarios #lesserafim imagines #le sserafim reactions #kpop girl group #yunjin imagines #kazuha imagines #sakura imagines #chaewon imagines #le sserafim x reader

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carolmunson · 11 months

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is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)

desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client. tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings. recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies

"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"

Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore. Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged. Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest. This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress. "It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.

"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."

You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.

Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.

Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.

"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.

He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.

"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."

"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."

He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.

“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.

“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?

"Close your eyes." You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.

"Keep 'em closed, baby."

You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that." Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.

"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold. "Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself." "Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his. "Can I open them?" "You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.

"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.

"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."

It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.

"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw. "I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel." "You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.

It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.

He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.

Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana. "I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."

"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here." "You're really good here," you tease. "Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here." "Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle. "Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress. "No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now." "So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.

"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"

Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down. When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.

"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years. Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress. "She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.

"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that. He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next. While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all. He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.

"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed." You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow -- "Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now. Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'. "Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.

"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.

"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.

"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks. "Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."

By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that. "Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."

You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight. "You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."

The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.

The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way. "How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night." "It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.

"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.

Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.

"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.

"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.

"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss. "Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.

Now there was $8,000 on the floor.

His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.

"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."

"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."

"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.

“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.

“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”

“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."

“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"

He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt. “Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."

“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.

Now there was $8250 on the floor.

He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length. It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.

You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.

“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows. "Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."

Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need. It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.

“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”

You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.

“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?” You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."

His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees. "Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.

"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light. "Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."

"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.

"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain. You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed. "Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.

"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.

"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.

You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.

"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie." "I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.

"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.

"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."

You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.

"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"

"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it. "Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?" You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again. "I fucking love you," he grits out. "I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..." "Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit. "How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"

Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess. "It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."

"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?

Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed. Now there was $48,250 on the floor. Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.

"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."

Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes. You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet. Now there was $198,250 on the floor. "Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel." You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting. "Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.

"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl." He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white. "Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing. "We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses. "Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?" "Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into. "I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his. "A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly. "To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers. "To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.

"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x thick!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #pbv!steve #steve harrington fluff

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fictional-worlds-are-exquisite · 2 years

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more korean zombie content on netflix??? don’t mind if i do

#i just saw happiness pop up #i'm not sure if it was only added recently or if i just missed it before #no idea what it's like but the korean zombie genre has never let me down so #i trust it #literally. every korean zombie film or show i've watched has been really good.#they nail the genre #we'll see if this one is a banger too

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gottaluvharry · 8 months

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Long Day

Charles Leclerc x Female Nurse Reader

Summary: After a long shift Charles is there for you to lean on.

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It wasn’t often that you had to work a 24 hour shift, but when you did it was rough. You hadn’t had one since you and Charles started dating, so he had no idea what to expect. When you were finally done with your gruesome 7pm-7pm shift, you were covered in interesting fluids, your feet and back ached in an unexplainable way, your head was pounding from all of the caffeine, and you just needed to fall asleep in Charles’ embrace. You texted Charles that you had only one more patient to visit and then you’d be done, and he clambered into his pista to pick you up as soon as he read it. You finish up with your final patient, mark off your last chart, clock out, and head towards the door looking like a zombie. When Charles sees you he quickly gets out of the drivers seat and runs around the car to open your door. All you want to do is hug him, but the state of your scrubs doesn’t allow you too. “Don’t hug me Char, I’ve got gross stuff all over my scrubs” you say with a sigh as you finally sit down. Charles just pouts at you and closes your door, making his way around to the drivers side. “Let’s get you home then, amour, so you can change and I can hug you” he says, leaning over to give you a kiss. You close your eyes and hum, letting yourself slump against the door when he pulls away and puts the car in drive.

The car ride is silent, and the second you get in the door your bag falls to the floor and your shoes come straight off. You groan and rub your eyes, too tired to move or do anything. “Do you want me to run you a bath chérie?” All you can do is nod as Charles grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom. He pushes you gently to sit on the toilet, and turns to fill the bath. While you wait, you try to take your shirt off but the exhaustion hits you too hard. You eyes fall shut and your limbs feel like they’re concrete. “Do you need help” Charles asks when he sees your defeat. “Yes please” you mumble, already feeling better being in his presence. “Arms up” he says as he lifts your scrub top and long sleeve up off your head at the same time. He then unclips your bra, throwing it over into the pile he’s made. He moves down to undo the string of your scrub bottoms, tapping your hip to silently tell you to lift them up a little. He pulls your bottoms and your underwear off at once, accumulating the pile of clothes yet again. He takes your sucks off last, and leads you over to the bath tub, holding onto your hand as you step in. Once you’re sitting, he takes the ponytail out of your hair and runs his nails across your scalp. You sigh at the feeling, leaning to the side that he stands on. “You’re not getting in” you ask, looking up at him with his favorite pair of big eyes. “I can if you want, amour” You nod your head and smile as he starts to remove his clothes. You scoot up a bit so that he can get in behind you, leaning back when you feel his hands on your shoulders pulling you into him. He litters kisses across your neck and shoulder, and you smile and lean farther into him. “I missed you while you were at work” he says between kisses. “You are the most hardworking person I know” he continues. “You do great things for the world, amour. I am so proud of you” he says, causing your eyes to water. You spin around and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in for a kiss filled with as much love as you can muster up. “Thank you” you whisper as you lean your for head on his. “I love you” you say. “Je t’aime aussi” i love you too

Charles washes your hair and your body, and dries you off with a fluffy towel when you’re done. He dresses you in one of his shirts and your favorite pair of sweatpants. He leads you over into your shared bed and tucks you in on your side before he moves to put a pair of boxers on and join you in bed. The second he gets into bed you move towards him and he pulls you in, as if you’re magnetic. You breathe in the sent of him as you bury your head into the space between his head and his neck. You marvel at the feeling of being in bed with your favorite person after an extremely long 24 hours. You fall asleep to the feeling of Charles slowly raking his hand up and down your back, and the sound of him telling you he loves you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🥹🥹🥹🥹

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carlplsrailme · 1 year

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𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

summary: as enid flips through magazines and you complain about your skincare troubles, she tosses you a page that states "using boyfriends sperm is better than any skincare" and you decide to try it out with carl

carl grimes x fem!reader

cw: dick sucking, cum sitting on face, ball squeezing, etc etc

word count: 1k

request: Ok so i just saw a Video where a Girl Was using his Boyfriends Cum for Skincare,then i had a idea. So like Yn complains to Enid that she hates that she cant find Skincare anywhere ( Zombie Apocalypse) and then enid throws Yn a Magazine in her Face and it says something like "Boyfriends Sperm is better than any Skincare" and then Yn ask Carl and yk smut🤪🤪🤪

you scrape the dirt under your nails as the unexpected pain runs through your body and you recoil back onto enids bed

"fuck! I forgot how sharp my nails have gotten" you mumble to the girl who's on the floor of the bed, but she just throws a nail clipper behind her back as it lands on the mountain of plush blankets

"thanks..." you mumble, expecting this normal girls' day would consist of a lot more than her ignoring you as you stumble around

"so, what were you saying?" her voice rips you out of your whining and you roll onto your stomach, putting your nails out in front of your face as you line the metal clipper with them before hearing a satisfying snap

"I know the world ended..." you jokingly start and she feeds you with a snort

"but I'm really pissed about my face wash" you confessed, another snap coming from your clippers as you move to the next hand

"what's wrong with it?"

"there's nothing to be wrong with it. it's just an empty bottle" you giggle as you clip the last nail before folding it and sitting up, you tap it against enids shoulder and your eyes move to the paper spread out on her legs

"Top ten skincare tricks of 2010?" you snort as she turns around, grabbing the forgotten clipper as you stare stars into the magazine she's gripping

you assumed she's been reading one of her comics this whole time, not pages with possible answers to your all your problems!

paper smacking your nose brought you back as the magazine slid down your face, cover on display as it lays on her fleece bed

"Boyfriends Sperm is better than any Skincare?" you gape, the model on the cover who's on her knees while a white liquid spurts onto her face. this wasn't a skincare magazine...this was a fucking porno

"Enid! what the hell!" you fall back, laughing as she nonchalantly grabs the magazine back, flipping to the page she was already at

"yeah, and I heard it's true" "from where? the fucking walkers?" you say in between your laughs

"it lists the benefits here, if you ever want to try with carl" she tosses it at you with the familiar page screaming at you

"ok, ok, Top ten Skincare Tricks of 2010..." you bit your knuckle to stop your laughing as you begin the list

"use boyfriend's sperm for...baby soft skin-" you couldn't stop your laughing as enid joins, again, snatching the magazine from you when your grip on it looked a little too tight

"don't rip this shit!" she says between her giggles, stomach aching from laughing as you sit up

"whatever, I'm using the hand soap instead of that, any day"

that entire conversation rings in your head as carl kisses down your neck in the shower, his hands traveling down your body as the boiling water meets with your skin

his dick rutting into your thigh softly as he begs for friction, your hands move down as your grip it with ease. his cock stood tall as veins shot out at his pearly tip gleamed with pre

you moved down, knees meeting with the wet tile as you squeezed your legs together, feeling your wetness run down your thigh as your cunt ached

"Carl..." you started, you looked up at him as you stroked his cock,

"do you think you can give me a facial?" you ask, you watch as his brows furrowed and face reddening, dick twitching in your hands at the thought of shooting his cum on your face

"w-what I-" "I read somewhere it's really beneficial for my skin" you spoke as you took him in, lips wrapped around his cock as the plush walls of your warm mouth sucked him in

"fuck" his head fell back onto the tile as your head bobbed, his fingers wrapped around your hair, not to guide you, just to encourage what a mess you're already making of him

your hand reached over to cup one of his balls squeezing softly as he squirms from the touch

"fuck! where did you- learn this!" Page 89 you internally snort to yourself as he endlessly moaned, you felt his cock twitch in your throat as you removed him from your mouth, jerking him above your face as you look up at him

once you heard the words "I'm cumming!" leave his mouth you closed your eyes as his warm cum squirted on your pretty face, baby batter spreading on your features as you knelt there with a cum-soaked face

you felt his fingers soothingly rub on your cheeks, collecting his own semen but he didn't mind as he asked you "do you want me to wash this off?"

"they said to wait as least 3 minutes"

"what?" "what."

an: wow I love this request! this was so fun to write and made my day! thank you so much for requesting this!! ❤︎ ilysm <33

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stardustloserdoll · 3 months

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Pssst🫣here's an idea for you, could you write for an actual zombie!johnnie? Like from scuffs music video hold your peace. The photos of him in it are like insane. UP TO YOU! THANK YOU

wilted roses

"johnnie? where are you?" i called out, slowly walking through the cemetery. i gripped the nailed bat in my hand as i continued walking trying to find johnnie. i gasped hearing a rustle behind me, seeing a figure emerging from the fog. "johnnie there you are." i sighed in relief, lowering the bat. he groaned in response staggering towards me. "i was looking all over for you! i thought i lost you."

"sorry." he grunted wiping blood from his mouth. "was, hungry." i laughed and shook my head "its okay. we should head back to our spot though." i said reaching my hand out for him to hold, he nodded his head placing his cold hand in mine.

"we're finally home." i sighed lying on the bed dropping my backpack. "no more wandering off okay?" i chuckled lifitng my head up to look at johnnie as he sat on the floor playing with his guitars strings. he nodded his head in response a small smile on his lips. he stood up and walked out the room.

i raised an eyebrow hearing the door open then close quickly. i sat up and watched as johnnie held his arms behind him. "whatcha got there johnnie? is it a brain or something. you know i don't-" i stopped talking seeing him hold out a bouquet of wilted roses. "for you."

i gasped taking the roses from him "they're beautiful." i examined the roses and touched their delicate petals, seeing johnnie had a faint blush on his pale cheeks. i hugged him, and gently kissed his cold cheek. "thank you."

#johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader

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fixyourwritinghabits · 11 months

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I noticed many of the protagonists I wrote or thought of writing had either no personality or one too self-inserted (sometimes somewhere in between) and now I can't really connect with the protagonists I write so I wanted to know if you have any advice to help me craft more distinct characters and get attached to them.

First, some homework - pluck out about five pieces of media and nail down what you like about the protagonists within.

What about them appeals to you in particular?

Did you like how they grew and changed?

What struggles did they tackle that only they could handle?

Doesn't have to be neat and orderly, just try to nail down what really appeals to you about your favorite characters. When it comes to your own characters, here are some more things to think about:

Are you writing the character you want to write, or are you writing the character you think you should write? You may not be able to connect to your characters because you're trying to make them something you think they should be rather than what you'd feel more comfortable writing.

Are you projecting your feelings on a larger canvas (aka write what you know)? Are you thinking about how your characters would feel in bombastic circumstances (fighting a dragon, running from the cybercops) based on experiences and emotions you've had (facing off with a teacher, hopefully not running from the real cops but hey, you do what you gotta). The best way to infuse your characters with appeal is to take an emotion or an experience you can relate to and projecting it onto your characters.

Do your characters have internal struggles to go with their external ones? Is that high-stakes heist also paired with the character's struggle to display his real emotions? Does the fight with the evil wizard reflect the character's struggles to connect to their dad? If your story is external-plot heavy, a good way to flesh out the characters within is to connect their internal wants/needs/desires with the events going on around them. That zombie fight could be all the more enticing if the main couple is having a massive break-up during it.

Figuring out how to write a protagonist is often more than filling out a character sheet. Great if you can do that (I can't so like, go brag about it somewhere else), but often times you'll have to flesh out the character the hard way, but plotting out their journey before you write it. Work on their inner needs and emotional battles to draw them out as people.

Don't know where to start with figuring out a character at all? Grab an archetype list and get mixing and mashing. You may not come up with usable ideas right away, but you'll be able to pick out the ideas that appear to you until you have a handy list of things to lean on. Tropes are tools to be used, after all, and anything that could add to your characters is a tool with keeping. Good luck!

#characters #plotting #planning

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smuttykdrama · 4 months

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[Suhyeok x Bully!Hambie!Gwinam's Sister!Reader / All Of Us Are Dead]

Warnings: NONCON (Well, sort of? Suhyeok's saying no but he actually wants it?), Female Reader, Sub!Suhyeok, Dom!Reader, Smut, Degrading.

(A/N): So i just finished AOUAD and hOLY FUCK i need more Suhyeok smut. I'm a massive fucking domme so had make this idea into a fanfic!! I might make a longer one tbh, like a book on wattpad or something haha. Anyways, filth under the cut!

"What are you smirking at, you brat, huh? Answer me.“

You moved like a predator, dangerous and calculating, and Suhyeok panted pathetically before you even touched him. You'd roughed him up a little so he was too exhausted to dare to escape your clutches.

“Nothing! None of your business, Yoon (Y/N)."

As defiant and brave as ever, Suhyeok wasn’t going to give himself up without a fight, even if he didn’t want to win that fight anyways. You'd found him alone in a classroom full of zombies, fighting for his life. Luckily, you were there to help him out of that sticky situation...and into another one. You and your psycho brother, Yoon Gwinam, had both turned into a Hambie. Conveniently, Gwinam told you that Suhyeok was yours, as long as he have Cheongsan to torment. Nightmare siblings, everyone called you.

"Lee Suhyeok. I saved you. How are you going to repay me, huh?"

You picked him up from the floor like he weighed nothing, ripping his blazer and shirt apart almost instantly, shocking him. A part of Suhyeok felt violated, but another part excited him. He'd hanged with the school bullies before, hence he knew you, and secretly liked you and your fierce attitude.

"Come on, thats enough, (Y/N). Let me go. I have to get back to the others."

Your eyes widened in anger.

"Say that again. I dare you. Do you know what fucking bullshit i had to go through to finally capture you?!"

Suhyeok accidentally moaned as you cornered him and tangled a hand in your hair, tugging on it. You basically hissed, nails leaving tracks across the tanned, unblemished skin of his chest. He gasped, attempting to push you away as you sucked on his neck harshly, making sure not to bite him...yet.

“Wha- (Y/N)..stop - nnghh..."

Suhyeok trailed off, groaning, his adams apple bobbing up and down as you traced his neck. It made you thirsty for more; to claim him as yours, to hurt him more. There was nothing more erotic than a strong fighter submitting to you completely, unable to defend himself from your advances. The truth is, ever since Suhyeok stopped talking to you, your brother and the other bullies, day by day you grew more frustrated with him. And his stupid bravery. The fact that he's not yours. That hes so perfect and good and distancing himself from you. From evil.

"Please, (Y/N). I have to help our classmates -"

Oh come on. Even when he was being violated like this, Suhyeok was thinking of others. At this point he knows he’s going to be punished for even believing that you were a nice person. Because you were a possessive freak. A weirdo. Someone who’s entire existence is frowned upon. If only he knew what it was like to be infatuated with someone until you’d either kill a person, or them.

SLAP.

“Don’t you get it? You’re mine. Stay out of everyone’s sight. Don’t touch them, talk to them, look at them, or even breathe in their direction. I'll kill you if you go back."

Before Suhyeok could say anything else, he choked on his next words as you peeled your panties off and picked him up, thrusting straight onto him, his cock completely filling you up. In that moment, he felt himself crumble in front of you. In this very moment, all Suhyeok wanted was to feel alive again. To forget about the damn zombies. You felt the sweet sting of him stretching you open, filling you to the brim and you know you’d never feel this with anyone else. No matter how shady and unethical and terrifying you were, Suhyeok knew you were not the kind of woman you find twice.

“Are you fucking with me? You like this don’t you? You dirty little whore, Lee Suhyeok, enjoying being used by a filthy possessive girl like me. You want to be owned. Be thankful i haven't turned you already."

You weren’t taking your time, the way you’re fucking him into the wall—bucking your hips into his at a frantic pace and making him whine—it wasn’t for pleasure. No, he could tell by the way you’re keeping him close, not trying to change your angle to get deeper, that you wanted to possess him completely.

"Harder..."

He finally whispered, his eyes averting from your gaze as you fucked him into oblivion. The slapping of flesh was loud, and so was the sound of Suhyeok's ever so needy moaning. And your heavenly whimpers.

"(Y/N), fuck, im yours. I'm yours, so own me."

That's what you liked to hear.

[END]

#suhyeok #lee suhyeok #kdrama imagine #kdrama x reader #suhyeok x reader #suhyeok smut #suhyeok imagine #all of us are dead #all of us are dead imagine #all of us are dead x reader #all of us are dead smut #smut #dom!reader #sub!character #aouad #aouad x reader #aouad smut

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eugeneplace · 29 days

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Does Poppy feel guilty in your World Domination Au?

Like, does she feel both guilty and satisfied with having turned Kismet and Branch(and soon the rest of the village) into zombies?

Because they are finally happy! They have their colors back, and they are brighter and happier than ever! Just as it should be, and the plan is going smoothly! But does she miss the 'old' Branch? Does she ever feel a little disturbed when she realizes that they (zombie kismet and Branch) are always happy?

Does she look into Branch's eyes, and find herself missing how he used to look? Does she look at him and surprise herself by seeing bright blue where it should be grey? Or maybe she just looks at how happy he is, how colorful he is now and she feels fulfilled, satisfied to see that all this was worth, and tells herself that she did the right thing.

(Sorry to ramble on, but I love the idea of Poppy just looking at a smiling Zombie Branch during hug time and wondering over and over if this is what he would have wanted, if this happiness was truly worth it. Love your art and your AU, keep going with it, it's really pretty and interesting).

Dude... you NAILED it.

You understood Poppy's character perfectly (except for her surprise at the result, "eternal happiness" was exactly what she was looking for).

My girl misses her boyfriend sooo much

#world domination tour au #trolls branch #trolls poppy #broppy #gracias por las palabras de aliento #<3 #trolls au

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siriusleee · 4 months

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iv. antibiotics

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.6K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. fandom-blind friendy. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi, I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

Ghost forces you to crawl up the side of the ravine ahead of him - it’s grueling and painful. Your nails are nearly ripped from their beds when you finally claw your way from the mud and roots, Ghost boosting himself up behind you with a grunt. You collapse onto the ground, the pain in your body compounding with each breath that you take. Ghost’s hands grasp at the back of your filthy shirt, pulling you to your feet. You don’t think that you can move anymore - your muscles are threatening to seize - but Ghost pushes you forward, forcing you to take one step after the other. The walk back to the cabin is long; you didn’t think that you’d run this far, and by the time the two of you make it back to the cabin, Ghost nearly has to carry you in by the elbow. When the two of you crash through the cabin door, you can’t keep your feet underneath you anymore. You fall to your knees, pain lancing through your kneecaps and wrists that catch your body weight against the wooden floors. Ghost drags you towards the small couch you’d been on just hours before waiting for your chance to escape. He sets you down roughly onto the broken-down cushions, one hand holding both of your wrists with one of his own. He bends down to be level with you, mud splattering the bit of skin that you can see, his brown eyes like two pieces of flint. “If you try to run again,” he says, voice even and low, “I will let them capture you and I won’t come to save you.” You nod wordlessly, and the lines around his eyes harden before he speaks again. “We leave in just a few hours; you should try to sleep some.” You didn’t think you would sleep, but the sound of slamming jogs you from a thick twilight you didn’t know you’d fallen into. Ghost stands at the table, rifle slung over his shoulder, pack on his back. On the table, your bow lies with one arrow across it. His message is loud and clear: you get one shot if you try to kill him. You’d better be successful with it. You unfold yourself from the small couch, mud and dirt falling from you in a shower. It takes so much of what’s in you to move forward, towards the table. Your pack sits where you left it yesterday, and when you pick it up, shoulder screaming, you notice the extra weight from your canteen. It sloshes heavily as you slide your stiff arms through the straps. Ghost must have filled it last night. The idea that he filled your canteen for you itches at a level of annoyance you try not to pay attention to as you take up your bow.

The two of you don’t speak to each other as you fall in line behind Ghost, your bow held like you were taught: loose enough that your muscles don’t cramp, but tight enough that you’re ready to go at any moment. The forest stays slumbering as the two of you traverse beneath the treetops. As the sun rises, the sounds of birds tittering fill the forest. The sun has barely moved in the sky before you have to stop, feet faltering beneath you. Ghost pauses just head, head turned slightly towards you as you lean against the rough bark of one of the trees. “Sorry I just-” you try to wet your lips, but your tongue is like sandpaper. “I just need a moment.” Your heart feels like it’s going to burst from your throat; with trembling fingers, you pull your canteen to your lips. When you drink, water dribbles down your chin and onto your shirt; you wipe it away with a freezing hand. Ghost doesn’t turn toward you, his own hands wrapped around his rifle. By the time you’re able to move again, you can feel his impatience rolling off of him in waves, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Where are we going?” You ask, the stretch of silence unnerving you. Your throat is still raw, still sore from the sudden increase in speaking you’ve been doing over the past two days. It’s a wonder to you: that you even still know how to speak after so long of silence. “You’ll see when we get there.” It’s a maddening response, your fingers flex around your bow weakly, but you keep in step with him. You’d made a game of it after a while, trying to line each of your steps with his so that if anyone follows they’ll think it was just one of you. You needed something to keep you distracted. The walk is torture, heat creeping through your body, each injury still so incredibly painful. The forest floor inclines upwards, pulling at each of the bones in your body with sharp little wires, threatening to pull you down into the dirt — more than once your feet falter beneath you. The incline grows too rough, and a wave of nausea rolls over your body. There’s not even a second to ask Ghost to stop before you’re heaving, bent in half. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, and a bit of water - you leave it in a puddle on the forest floor. “You alright?” Ghosts asks, irritation coloring his voice. You nod, spitting on the ground to try and get the acrid taste of stomach acid out of your mouth. “Just - tired.” You don’t want to admit to him how you feel, worried that if you do he’ll leave you here to the mercy of the Biters and Mother Nature. One arrow is going to get you nowhere, you need a real chance to fight before you try and run again.

The razor wire is the first thing you see, rising heavily in the distance. You slow, trying to make out the shape of the walls, the jut of the towering buildings in the distance. Backlight by the struggling moon, the shapes are familiar enough to tug at memories buried deep.

“Is this a military base?” You ask, exhausted. Ghost’s steps hadn’t stopped once after the farmhouse shrunk behind the two of you. Neither of you had spoken in the intermediate time.

Ghost doesn’t answer you, just slings his rifle onto his shoulders and steps into the clearing. You hesitate; a flash catches your eye and they’re immediately drawn to one of the sniper towers. You can just make out the shape of a person there, but it’s hard to see anything other than their form in the darkness.

“Are you coming?”

Ghost’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you step towards him, palms suddenly sweaty.

A million questions are rattling around inside your brain, and each of them is replaced by another as the sound of rattling chains and metal fills the air. Materializing in the night forest, a gate three times as tall as you appear like a fairy house. The hunk iron and chain link pull open just enough for one man to squeeze through, the barrels of guns pointed out in the space.

Ghost lifts his hand in a familiar greeting; the barrels don’t fall, but turn to you. Ghost says something, but you can’t hear him over your thoughts. He slips through the gate, and for half a second you panic that they’ll slam it shut behind him and leave you outside.

But it stays open just long enough for you to slip through. Rough hands grab at you, pulling the bow from your hand, shoving you in a circle as you try to make out individual faces, pulling roughly at your clothes. Ghost’s voice barks out orders - you try to turn towards the sound of him, but a fire erupts at the base of your skull and midnight settles around you.

Soft fingers trace the curve of your hip; in the early morning light you can’t make out his face, but you recognize the planes of him beneath your fingertips. You’d know him anywhere, every mole and scar memorized until you could draw them from memory.

“Are you awake yet?”

His voice is easy in the early morning - sweeter than he usually sounds. You can’t help the smile that sketches itself onto your face as you turn away from the bright light streaming in through the window.

“Been awake.”

His fingers tangle in the soft downy hair at the base of your hair, pulling your head back gently until your neck is exposed. The warmth of his breath dances at the pulse point beneath your jaw, and you jump. His chuckle rumbles through his chest and into yours.

Nipping at the tender flesh of his neck, his hands trace down until he’s gripping your forearm. You try to pull away, to reach up and touch him, but his grip grows bruising. You try to pull away, but his nails dig into your arm, stinging until you feel tears start at the corner of your eye.

“What are you doing?” Panic starts to color your voice as you struggle to get away. He doesn’t answer, twisting the tender flesh of your arm harder until you scream.

The rawness of your throat wakes you up. There’s a rush in your ears as you fight against whatever is holding you down. The world spins around you, a nauseating swirl of brown and gray - faintly you hear someone shouting at you; your fist connects with the hard outline of a jaw before you’re pinned down.

It takes seconds, hours - maybe days - for the room to stop spinning around you, and the voices become clear.

Squinting against the bright light shining down on your face, you can make out the face of an older woman, her hair cropped close to her scalp and an ugly red mark blossoming against her cheek. She’s talking to you slowly, but it’s still difficult to make out the words; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s getting tired of repeating herself.

“Do you remember your name?”

You turn away from the light, expecting to see someone else at your side holding you down. But it’s her hands pinning your arms to your side with a strength that doesn’t fully match the wrinkles on her forehead.

Ungluing your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you speak - faintly remembering the name you told Ghost.

“Dove. My name’s Dove.”

The set of her tongue against her teeth tells you that she’s not happy with you, but you can’t bring yourself to care around the sledgehammer pounding behind your eyes. Her grip loosens by a centimeter.

“I need you to calm down or I’ll have to restrain you again.”

She speaks with the kind of smooth authority that tells you she’s not afraid to pin you down again, that there’s no worries about who would win if she tried.

You nod painfully - it feels like the movement will shatter your spine if you move too fast. The woman retracts her hands, one moving underneath your shoulder to help you sit up. You grit your teeth together to keep from throwing up on her feet or screaming in her face.

When the world rights itself around you, you take a second to look around. Despite the darkness and the ambient dingyness, you can tell you’re in some sort of medical treatment. The corners of each of the beds are tucked in with meticulous hospital corners and empty IV stands are lined up mechanically against the wall. Beside the bed you’re sitting on is a little metal tray with a manual blood pressure cuff on it. The only light in the room blazes above you.

The woman stands in front of you, arms crossed on her chest.

“I’m Doc,” she states, pulling a little stool over with her foot, and sitting down carefully on it. The wheel squeaks horribly. “You were in rough shape - do you remember how you got that way?”

The image of a skeleton mask floats in your vision; you press the heels of your palm into your eyes to try and press it away.

“Ghost.” His name sits like a stone at the tip of your tongue.

Doc chuckles, picking up the blood pressure cuff from the little table.

“You’re not the sorriest-looking person he’s ever dragged in here if that makes you feel better.”

On instinct, you extend your arm so she can slip the cuff around your arm. The little needle jumps with each pulse of the bulb; you watch it like you know what it’s supposed to say. When it’s almost too painful to bear, she releases the pressure and when it’s back to 0 she pulls it off of your arm depositing it back onto the table.

“Well you’ve got a cracked rib for sure, and probably a few other fractures based on the bruising. And you’re malnourished. There’s an infection creeping up your calf muscle; Ghost seemed to have walked you half to death.”

You think of how you threw up on the trail, how each step seemed to feel like a march towards death.

“You could say that.”

She sighs, wiping her hands against her pants. “Well you’re going to be down for a while don’t over-exert yourself. I’ll have the mess hall notified to give you one and a half portions for a few weeks until you don’t look like a walking skeleton and you’ll have to report here each day for your antibiotics.”

You nod your head like you understand what she’s saying. The thought of antibiotics is so foreign to you, so odd in contrast to the world you knew outside. There’s a look in her eye you can’t discern, and you don’t try as she pushes herself to a standing position, the little wheeled stool rolling away behind her.

“Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

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