#like fancy shoes or his car
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Saw a video on tiktok of someone re-binding a copy of the Hobbit and giving it a really beautiful new cover and I could not get the idea of Steve doing that for Eddie out of my head.
He hears Eddie mention in passing that he's always preferred homemade gifts (partly bc of the thought that goes into them but also because people spending money on him makes him uncomfortable) and Steve decides he needs to think of something he can make Eddie.
Steve may not be considered "clever" by the others but I'm convinced that boy is a do-er. When it comes to physical and practical skills, he will just learn and do it. He painstakingly researched and buys leather and special glue for book blinding, and even learns calligraphy so he can write beautifully on the inside cover.
And when he presents it to Eddie, wrapped in stiff expensive wrapping paper, Eddie asks where he got it and Steve says casually
"I made it"
As if he didn't spend months, didn't ruin at least 5 other copies of the Hobbit before he got it right, as if it wasn't so much work and time.
But Eddie gets it anyway, he understands and that's why he immediately bursts into tears.
#steve harrington isnt stupid#that boy is just physical and practical#and more determined than anyone#eddie munson doesnt expect anyone to try thay hard just for him#also growing up poor meant creative or homemade gifts were more common place#steve likes it too bc his parents and realtive would put little thought into gift but just buy him the most expensive thing#like fancy shoes or his car#steddie#stranger things#eddie munson#steve x eddie#gay steve harrington#steddie fics#stranger things s4#steve harrington#kind of a ficlet
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"you're doing it wrong, baby."
the man before you only huffs in annoyance, a pout forming on his glossed lips. you stifle a laugh as he sulks, his fingers working to untie the sad excuse of a bow that held your heel in place.
"let me try again," satoru half pleads from between your legs, "i promise i'll get it right this time."
in truth, you're enjoying the view of your boyfriend kneeling at your feet while he attempts to tie your lace-up heels. your foot is strategically placed between his legs, pretty white-painted toenails on display as he tries and fails to correctly strap up your shoe.
hell, he's kneeling in a tailored suit, and it's messing with your brain.
you're going on a date tonight - it's a fancy restaurant that satoru's been dying to try out. it'd been a pain in the ass to pick out an outfit, not because you lacked clothes, your boyfriend ensured your wardrobe was always filled to the brim with the latest fashion. no, rather, it was because he insisted you wear matching outfits.
his problem, however, was your choice of shoe. your favourite pair of black lace-up heels was your pick for the evening. he'd asked to do them up for you and you thought it was going to be a 30-second thing.
you've now been sitting here for 10 minutes.
"what the fuck is this shit?" he mumbles to himself, irritated. "why is this so complicated??"
another attempt and he's given up, leaning back a fraction to critique his work. horrible, as expected.
you laugh as satoru sighs loudly, leaning his head on the exposed skin of your thigh in exasperation. his white locks tickle your flesh, and you take it upon yourself to rake your manicured nails through his hair, fingertips scratching his undercut affectionately.
you think he's adorable like this - absolute putty in your hands. he nuzzles into your skin, leaving soft kisses on the plush of your thigh as you dutifully work your fingers over his scalp.
"how about i do one, and you can watch and do the other?" you suggest.
he perks up quickly, icy blue irises sparkling. he nods, a beaming smile settling on his lips. he shifts his weight and leans back to give you space.
"so, you take these, 'round the back, and twist, then under and wrap around the ankle, twist one more time, and - boom!" you finish tying the bow on the back of your calf and smile.
satoru's eyebrow raises immediately, an expression half of disgust and half of confusion finding its place on his features. he squints at you, "you expect me to do that?"
"precisely," you respond with a smug grin.
there's a subtle challenge in your answer, and satoru drinks it like water. a challenge? he'll do it, easy. he switches your feet, sticking his tongue out as he focuses on his task.
you're watching him, amused by the way his brows furrow in concentration as he repeats the steps. around, the straps are crossed around your foot. twist, the straps are twisted. under, the straps are hooked beneath the heel. wrap, the straps are crossed and taken around your leg. twist.
he's done it. a fast learner, indeed.
you can't help the way your lips curve into a smile, applauding his efforts. his crystalline eyes are on you again - how could they not be? you're nothing short of gorgeous in that dress - pleading for some kind of praise.
"thanks, babe." you say, bending to place a kiss on his collarbone.
(he hopes to god there's a lipstick stain there so he can show everyone in that restaurant who he belongs to.)
satoru, being the most amazing boyfriend out there, helps you get on your feet, hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you from your apartment to his car.
"you look stunning tonight, love." he says while grinning like a lovestruck fool as you slip into the passenger seat.
"i know," you answer, shooting him a smile that gets him weak in the knees, "you picked the dress, after all."
you were going to be the death of him.
tagging: @sad-darksoul
#♡. viascribbles#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x you#satoru gojo x you#gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo#satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen
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the slip up l lando norris x reader
request/summary – lando and reader are in a secret established relationship, until lando accidentally slips up on stream
author's notes – first piece of writing, feedback appreciated!!! this is just my thoughts written down honestly, i didn’t have much idea where i was going with it so enjoy.
Max was streaming with Lando at his place. Lando drags his feet over to the stream room, sitting on a chair next to Max. He was scrolling on his phone, trying to pass the time.
“Mate, I’m gonna leave, you’re being so boring,” Lando joked under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I’ll make things more interesting then. Chat, wanna know something really interesting about Lando?” Max asked with a mischievous smile as he looked back at Lando. Lando watched with suspicion of what max could say next.
“Lando’s got a secret girlfriend,” Max sings to annoy Lando. Lando’s eyes shot up, his heart pounding as he turned off his phone, the same phone he was using to text you, his girlfriend. “I don’t, chat, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to piss me off,” Lando says as he shoots Max a glare.
—————
A few months later, everyone has chalked up that interaction to Max simply trying to annoy and rile up Lando, and no one thought much of it. On a miracle of a night in spring, Lando was in Monaco and decided to stream. He had a hoodie on, his hair all messy, but a smile on his face. About an hour into the stream, I knock on the door of his stream room quietly. Lando immediately turned off his video and mic, telling chat to give him a minute.
I walk in, a black slip dress on with a cropped white cardigan, my hair and makeup done all fancy. “Hi, baby,” Lando says as he pulls me in by the waist, onto his lap. “Girls night tonight, right?” He says with a soft smile. He always makes sure to pay attention to anything I’ve mentioned to him, including my plans to hang out with Lily and Carmen tonight, Alex and George’s girlfriends.
I hum in response. “Yeah, we’re gonna get dinner and then take some Instagram photos,” I say as I stand up from his lap, “you like the dress? It’s new.” I give him a little twirl to show off the dress.
Lando smiles brightly. “I love it, baby, you look gorgeous. Like always,” he says as he leans in for a kiss. “Text me when you’re done and need me to pick you up, yeah?” I nod and smile.
Once I leave, Lando puts his headset back on, turning his mic and camera back on. He scrunches up his face as he’s met by shouting from Max into his headset. “What’s your problem, man?” Lando asks with confusion. Max sighs. “Lando, you had your mic on the whole time. People heard that whole conversation and I was trying to tell you but as always, you ignored me,” Max says with some frustration in his voice, but mostly amusement.
“Oh,” Lando says as he realizes what has happened. Not knowing what to do, Lando panics and ends stream.
When my friends and I reach the restaurant, we find it pouring rain, which was the most of our worries since the restaurant was outdoor. With frowns, we all pile back into the car and drive ourselves home. I arrive home only twenty minutes after I left, my dress soaked. My brows furrow in confusion to see Lando on the couch on his phone when i come back, and not on stream.
I slip off my shoes. “I thought you were streaming?” I ask softly as I make my way over to him. “What happened to you? You’re all soaked! Here, let me get you a towel and you can get dressed into some of my hoodie and sweats to get comfy,” Lando says, trying to avoid the fact that he had just live streamed his whole conversation with his girlfriend.
I saw the panic in Lando’s eyes. “Stop,” I say as I stood in front of him, “what did you do?” Lando shoots me a bright grin. “I love you, babe. So so much. And you know I’d do anything for you.” This made me even more suspicious. “Lan,” I say as my eyes narrowed.
“Okay, okay. I might have forgotten to mute my mic when we were talking right before you left. I swear I thought I had turned it off!” He says as he panics before beginning to ramble. “And I called you baby, and gorgeous, and your voice was heard too. And Max was telling me the whole time through my headset, but it was off and even if it were on, you know I don’t think about anything else when I’m with you. And there were thousands of people on the stream and you specifically told me you wanted to keep it private because you didn’t want to get hate crimed by the fans and you wouldn’t be able to handle it and I mean, I wanted to but it just slipped and im so so sorry but-“ He stops in confusion when a giggle escapes my lips. “Why aren’t you upset?” He asks slowly.
I smile as I slip my arms around his neck, his hands instinctively wrapping around my waist. “Well. Number one, you’re cute when you panic. Number two, no one saw me, so it’s okay. I mean, considering how in love you are with me, they were bound to find out at some point that you had a girlfriend,” I tease with a smile tugging at my lips.
He scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully at me. “Okay, yeah. I am absolutely in love with you. Still, you’re not bothered by this?” he asks slowly, hesitation lacing his voice.
“I promise I’m not. It was a mistake. Plus, that just means it’s gonna be all the more fun trying to watch them figure out who it is you’re dating,” I say playfully with a giggle.
“That’s true,” Lando says softly with a hum, “I love you.”
“I love you too. Although, don’t make me have to have you on adult supervision every time you stream now to make sure nothing else slips out of your mouth,” I tease as I playfully poke his side.
“Ah! Okay okay, promise,” he says with a giggle as he leans in for a gentle and loving kiss.
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It's so fucking funny in retrospect thinking about all of my father's tantrums about there being shoes all over the house when my mom, myself, and my brothers only owned 1 pair of shoes at a time.
He'd start bitching about it over text when he was the only one home. You know, when everyone else was wearing their one pair of shoes.
#abuse#him and his exoensive ass golf shoes spening all our money to get drunk and gamble and buy fancy new cars while telling#telling us we cant afford essentials and forcing us to wear torn up hand me downs and shit#and then hed have the audacity to wonder why no one fucking likes him
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⌇ YOU'RE MADE OF, ANGEL DUST 𓍼 ﹙ PRINCESS TREATMENT ﹚
. . ──𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌.
﹙ 𝒘𝐞𝐛 ⭑ 𝒅𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝓁𝓈. ﹚ enhypen being the rhys larsen to your bridget. fem!r. fluff, fluffffff and fluffff. requested. wordcount` 1907. アーカイブ ARCHIVE?
PLS REBLOG!!!!
𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆
gives you his coat, heeseung always makes sure to be properly dressed to accommodate you. taking out his warm fuzzy coat for you to wear when you're cold and don't have enough layers to when you need his jacket to cover your lap while seated, your dress riding up. although he absolutely loves having his hands on your tender skin, kneading your thighs when you sit beside him to his arm hooked at the curve of your waist able to feel the heat off your body; he'd rather have you feel comfortable and free.
holds all your stuff for you, like your jacket when you're too hot and don't want to keep it on anymore, your heels when your feet hurt; his big shoes switched with your dainty heels that are a bit too small for his feet, your purse with all your makeup and tissues and glasses and sunscreen and everything you think you need; in his hands the moment you step out the door. and it's not like you have to say anything, he just does it himself first.
let's you raid his place, the spare key, the passcode, his schedule, you know everything and you are always free to show up and use his house however you want to. you can empty the fridge and dirty the kitchen trying to cook, mess up the living room and heeseung would come back and ask you if you had fun, in fact his fridge is filled with things you love and the cabinets are filled with appliances you like to use to experiment the recipes you come up with.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆
opens doors and helps you sit first, the car door, the restaurant door, the cafe entrance, your apartment unit door literally every door he possibly can he opens and stands back to let you walk through it first. and then when you reach the table, he's pulling your chair to help you sit first before bringing the drinks you want or the desserts you like or ordering the food. in the car he'll open the passenger door for you, and offer his hand to hold onto while you get inside and then put on your seatbelt for you.
buys you anything you want, that little dress that caught your eye at the mall but they were out of your sizes, the necklace you saw in a tv commercial that you seemed to like a lot, the heels you said looked good on one of the fashion magazine models, it's all in your bedroom in a week. literally any thing that you show interest in, jay makes sure you have it one way or another. asking you to doll up and do a pretty show for him.
takes you out to wherever you want to go to, you have to just mention it even if it's in the passing and jay will take you there as soon as he can. from little dates in a new bakery to destination vacays nothing is impossible when it comes to you. the new restaurant with months long reservation and holiday stops that have all year round bookings everything is at you feet in an instant flick of a finger.
𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍
gives you piggyback rides whenever you ask for it, when your feet hurt, when your heels break, when you twist your ankle, when you're tipsy, and when you just feel like it, jake is always ready to hold you against his back, arms hooked under your knees, one hand holding your shoes, heels, slippers. and all he asks for you to keep giving him kisses every two seconds to charge his fuel as he races you down the road while you both giggle and laugh.
let's you do anything with him, a wide range of things. experimenting with makeup on him, tying his hair into little ponies, dress him in funky outfits, drag him to little places any time of the day, from cute manga cafes to fancy dinner reservations he has no idea of (but he's paying for it, he swears) he just loves being your boyfriend it doesn't matter what you do.
buys you anything that reminds him of you, he sees a little penguin plushie that looks a little too much like you, he's getting it. he sees a dress he thinks would look way too pretty on you, he's getting it. he finds a cute plant he thinks you'd love to have in your room, he's getting it. he comes across a bunch of fresh flowers he knows you'll be so happy to receive, he's getting it. he finds a lotion that smells like you, he's getting it (for himself lol) and also he'd absolutely buy anything you said you wanted, he'd rather descend to hell than let you buy anything yourself.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍
drives you everywhere, college classes and weekend internship to girls' night out and midnight cravings. he'll put alarms to be right on time to drop you off wherever you'd be going and then later waiting for you outside your university gates, at your workplace, by the night bar to pick you up and get you back home. always waking up at once when you tell me you want to eat something and immediately taking you there in the middle of the night, telling you to sit wherever you want or wait in the car while he gets you your food.
let's you borrow his clothes and accessories, he absolutely hates the idea of his clothes touching someone else skin unless it's you. allows you to just grab anything from his closet you'd like without any need to ask him ever. sometimes he'd even pick something himself and ask you to wear it for him, to cover it with your soft scent. showing off to his friends when he wears that saying my girlfriend wore and it smells like her, pretty right?
takes pictures of you anywhere you go, most of times he'd be tagging along with you with his professional camera he got in a limited edition just to store photos of you. he'd carry it everywhere you go together and click random candids and spontaneous videos. always asking you to pose pretty for him and taking pictures until you're satisfied. later editing it in a long video he plans to surprise you with. a heartfelt video, a look into you through his love filled eyes.
𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎
gets you your favorite food and desserts any time of the day, he knows everything you like and he knows when you want it too. always surprising you with it whenever he gets the chance. looking up new places to take you to, exploring all kinds of food and sweets. making special reservations in places famous for dishes that are to your taste. bringing you new baked goodies in the middle of the day or at the break of dawn. plus point if you asked for it he's getting you that within an hour.
makes you special handmade gifts for special occasions, he thinks it carries more meaning if he puts in efforts to prepare something from scratch for you, so that everytime you look at it you think of him. like a little couple bracelet, or custom perfume, or crocheting you a pretty top. and if he bakes something for you he'd always film your reaction eating it, his laughs and giggles recorded along in the background. the special little moments of simple love where you both make each other happy over the tiniest things.
ready to learn anything just to please you, from short time hobbies you pick up like drawing doodles and gardening plants to taking professional classes like pottery and ballet. he'd do just about anything to make you happy, tagging along as company so that you can share even more interests together. he'd also take secret candle making classes when you start getting obsessed with them to make you his own ones. using scents that'll help you feel relaxed.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍
brings you flowers and small gifts every week, he needs to see you smile uncontrollably at his actions and what's better than to give his pretty girlfriend receive pretty flowers, always making sure to get a new bouquet before that last one withers. and anything he sees, tiny little small things that remind him of you and that he thinks you'd love he'll buy immediately and show up at your doorstep to give it to you with a short sweet cute handwritten note along with it. sometimes he'd hide it and put directions all around the house for you.
fixes your clothes and helps you put on your shoes, he loves loves and loves being able to be of help to you, fixing the hem of your dress or skirt when it hikes up, tugging the straps of your crop tops and sundresses when they slip off, tying the strings of your backless tops if they come undone. removing your hair out of the way when it gets stuck under your clothes, tucking in your bra straps when they accidentally show, you just gotta doll up and jungwon will make sure you look best. sits you down before going out, getting on his knees to slip on your heels or sneakers himself.
always has a hand on you when you're outside to make sure you're safe, makes sure you're always on the side away from the road, his hands on your waist to hold you in case you'd trip and fall or someone pushes you. hands on your thighs, when you are in some restaurant, or holding your hands even if he's busy talking to someone else around the table. he just loves to hold you. it's become a habit at this point.
𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈
buys an extra of things you use a lot, anything that you seem to have a habit of using, he'll look thoroughly and get or order it to keep it with him in a small bag he takes everywhere with you. and when you seem to forget to bring yours, he's pulling it out his pouch and handing it to you. your regular cherry lipgloss or your shea butter lotion or your peach scented handcream, your compact powder, sunscreen stick, aloe wipes, your soft fragrance deo, apple mints you much on and just about everything.
patiently waits for you to get ready, he will wait for a million gazillion years for you, and only you. sitting on your bed or outside your room, either watching you or taking candid pics or just looking through his phone. even if you take an entire hour deciding an outfit he'll sit with a grin and help you choose, telling you his thought on each option. even if you end up wearing something you totally said you wouldn't in the end he's just happy to be of any help.
let's you use his account to play games, his life lies in his game accounts, but if you say you wanna try playing something he'd sit you with him and teach you how to play, encouraging that you're doing so well even if you're making an absolute blunder. if you insist on multiplayer mode he'd definitely let you win, happy to see you happy. and if you mess up something on his account he won't say a word. he can just do it again.
taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @enhaswirlds @enhasnuggles @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @belowbun
#enhypen imagines#k-labels#HONESTLY THOUGH I THINK ENHA WOULD TREAT THEIR S/O MORE LIKE QUEEN#enhypen fluff#enhypen headcanons#enhypen reactions#enhypen scenarios#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts#enhypen drabbles#enhypen heeseung imagines#enhypen jay imagines#enhypen jake imagines#enhypen sunghoon imagines#enhypen sunoo imagines#enhypen jungwon imagines#enhypen niki imagines#enhypen x you#enhypen x female reader#enhypen x y/n#enhypen x reader
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drabble....aftermath of Man in the Elevator
FEATURING : DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader
profile ...
fluff, con smut, root post
[START SCENE]
"Hey HEY! Where do you think you're taking me-"
(m/n)'s feet skidded against the carpeted floor, however Daisuke's grip on his wrist was tight, it didn't hurt but he managed to drag the (h/c) across his department's wing, gaining many confused looks from his coworkers.
"On a date! Well- lunch date. I was thinking fugu or wagyu beef!" Daisuke's mouth was watering as he continued to pull the struggling man behind him who was begging his coworkers to help him. His friends looked away, not wanting to intrude on (m/n) and his boyfriend- WHO TF SAID THAT??
Daisuke had bodyguards following him, tall buff men wearing suits and earpieces whispering to each other as they formed a parameter around the pair. (m/n) doesn't know how to feel that he fucked the CEO's son. No wonder Daisuke asked whether he knew him or not and his expensive attire he had adorned in the elevator.
Speaking of elevators, (m/n) violently pulled back, shocking Daisuke when they had approached the floor's lift. It was a different lift but the (h/c) was afraid nonetheless.
"I'm not going in there with you."
He hadn't stepped in a lift ever since two days ago, taking the stairs and claiming it was to burn his calories when his acquiantances asked.
The ravenette was silent, staring at the annoyed (h/c) before smiling. "Okay." "...Thanks." At least Daisuke acknowledged that what happened between them was somewhat traumatic. Deplorable and enjoyable but (m/n) wouldn't want to go through that with anyone else except if it's Daisuke- wait what?
"Is it fine if I carry you then?" (m/n) quirked an eyebrow at the ravenette. "Carry me where?" "Up the stairs. The helipad is closer than the garage from this floor. You must be sore after our whole workout right?" "Helipad???" Daisuke nodded as he crouched to slip his beefy arms under (m/n)'s knees and back who yelped and immediately clutched onto the ravenette's luxurious suit. (m/n) wasn't sure whether to address the workout comment.
"Our building has a helipad?" "Of course silly! How would I travel from my home to work every day?" (m/n) wanted to punch this privileged, first class, silver spoon in his mouth bitch. No wonder (m/n) never saw him near the lobby. He guessed either Daisuke commuted by a fancy car or a fucking helicopter.
One of his bodyguard opened the doors to the staircase, letting Daisuke pass through with (m/n) in his arms who was punching his chest, demanding to be released. "If you're worried about being heavy, then don't be! It's great for my cardio."
That was either backhanded as fuck or Daisuke was just really an idiot. They made their way up the stairs, Daisuke breaking a sweat or two while (m/n) was still squirming and screaming in his face. He was surprised Daisuke was still smiling at him.
True to his words, once they've reached the rooftop, a white helicopter was there, already running its engine and Daisuke told (m/n) to cover his ears as he continued to carry (m/n) up onto the helipad and into the helicopter itself. Once (m/n) was tucked in his seat, the pilot took off, heading god knows where as (m/n) began to choke the ravenette.
"Where are we going?!!" "To- ackk! My house- ghhackkk!" (m/n) gritted his teeth. "Are you trying to kidnap me??" "What? Why would I?" The (h/c) began to grapple away from the ravenette, pressing himself up against the window as his shoes smudged the leather seat. Daisuke tried to coax him to sit down properly.
"You dragged me here. By force." Daisuke pouted. "You looked like you wanted to run away from me as soon as you saw me. Besides- YOU LEFT ME IN THE ELEVATOR ALONE!!"
(m/n) choked on his saliva and looked away. Fuck he had a point. Daisuke was scrunching his noise as he pointed at the (h/c)'s face with his index finger. The pilot felt like two cats were fighting in the back.
"W-Well I tried waking you up. I swear! But you slept like a goddamn rock-" "I wonder why." Daisuke deadpanned as he stared at the (h/c) with his lips pressing into a thin line, hinting at the fact that even when Daisuke was tired, (m/n) wanted one last round.
Immediately, (m/n) felt flushed and tried hiding his face, Daisuke pawing at him to face him but fuck did he feel so embarassed around him. "Look at me. I want to see what kind of face you're making." The ravenette laughed as he tried pulling at the (h/c)'s arms, the latter kicking him in protest.
Soon, they arrived at their destination. (e/c) eyes bulging at the sight of the penthouse that looked even more extravagant than their already affluent company building.
"Welcome to my home. Well its my dads technically. I still live with him y'know." Daisuke held (m/n)'s hand as the latter descended from the helicopter steps. Is this what they call princess treatment? He wondered as Daisuke began to give out orders to his valets and shooed away his bodyguards.
"...I'm still in my work hours by the way..." (m/n) hoped he wouldn't get scolded by his HOD, Daisuke only tilted his head. "They'll understand. My dad is the boss to your boss yeah?" He suddenly went into a ramble, not remembering who (m/n)'s supervisor is but assuring the (h/c) that they'll definitely let it slide.
Rich people live such nice lives. (m/n) sighed as he let Daisuke pull him through the penthouse, in awe of the decorations and furniture. Looks like Daisuke was a fan of retro, Americanized. He definitely grew up with mainstream media. His eyes gazing over hung record disk on painted walls before his view was covered in green.
"Woah." (m/n) whistled at the magnificent view of his surroundings. It was a greenhouse, walls made out of glass and white pillars, vines hanging from the beige ceilings and flowers blooming from their patches of dirt nestled neatly in their respective areas.
"This is my favourite spot to eat. Since this is your first time here, I figure I'd take you somewhere nice." Daisuke rubbed his face, suddenly abashed.
Okay that's kinda cute. (m/n) hummed. "It is nice here. Wonderful even." Could never afford this place. He deemed and made a mental note, not noticing steam coming out of Daisuke's ears.
"Glad you like it." "Your favourite place to eat is your own home?" Daisuke pursed his lips, thinking of an answer. "My mouth is accustomed to my chef's food. If anything, I'd love to eat here everyday but my dad keeps saying I should go outside and explore." Again, he went into a ramble, saying that his dad won't even let him step out of the penthouse without a five-member escort.
The (h/c) rolled his eyes. How self-centered is this guy? He knocked on the wooden table they were seated at to catch Daisuke's attention. "Sorry haha. It's just really nice to talk to you." "It's not exactly talking if your mouth keeps doing all the work." "Well your mouth can do some other work-"
Daisuke howled in pain, a swift kick to his knees courtesy of (m/n) who was glaring heavily at him. "Behave." The (h/c) pressed. "...yes, sir." "Good." He looked around the greenhouse, taking note of the beautiful flora and faunas.
Feeling hunger stemming from his stomach, he turned to Daisuke who was rubbing his knee. "I'm hungry." The ravenette was eager to please his date, calling in a butler, giving him menus and showing him pictures of what his private chef could cook for him.
"I recommend the smoked salmon, the earthy taste is insane." Daisuke felt his mouth water, remembering the fish that melted in his mouth, smoky charcoal seeping in on his tastebuds. (m/n) was unimpressed. "How much can I order?" "As much as you like! You're my date so go crazy." The ravenette winked at him.
(m/n) squinted his eyes, before letting out a pleasant smile, letting Daisuke call him his 'date' and immediately ordering a five-course meal. The ravenette was impressed by his date's appetite, mirroring his order.
The meal went well, them talking to each other, albeit (m/n) cursing at him every time Daisuke teased the former, and officially introducing each other. The (h/c) found out Daisuke didn't even officially work there. He was just there to visit his dad or get some 'exposure' in a work environment.
They did talk about the whole elevator thing, Daisuke mentioned how he tried to investigate who was behind the intercom and the aphrosodiac but all lead to none. (m/n) groaned, taking note of how the lift he usually used was scheduled under maintenance and the one in the incident was usually used by VIPs.
"I just...don't want to go through that again." Daisuje shoved a piece of beef in his mouth before holding the (h/c)'s hand, expressing his empathy. "I hope you're okay after all that." "I am. It was just confusing?" The ravenette nodded.
"Same. I thought I was crazy, y'know? Cuz' I woke up all alone. Drenched in weird stuff on the floor." (m/n) glowered. "I said I was sorry..." "No you didn't. And what'd you say?" Daisuke teased, leaning in closer and the (h/c) pulled away, embarrassed.
"I said I'm sorry." He hissed. The ravenette laughed as he pulled away to recline in his chair, stretching his muscles. "You're cute." "I know." "But you're really cute." (m/n) slapped his hand on Daisuke's mouth.
"Just shut up and keep eating."
A scream left his mouth as Daisuke licked across his palm. A butler had to intervene when he tried to drive a butter knife into Daisuke's face who only cackled at the attempted murder. It continued like that for the afternoon, Daisuke chatting and ruffling up (m/n)'s feathers, the latter eating as much as he could while responding as little as possible to the ravenette.
The setting was nice, evening had dawned, (m/n) forgetting about his work, Daisuke trying to romance the (h/c) and a bottle of expensive wine was served to them. No cheap alcohol here, only the best for Daisuke Yuichi and his new 'lover'.
(m/n) downed the wine, a fruity taste lingering in his mouth. Maybe Daisuke likes sweet things. He kept that in mind as his eyes lingered on the flushed ravenette who was swirling his own glass, still being the chatterbox he is.
The alcohol in the wine was mild but it did its job, intoxicating the two as Daisuke drunkenly brushed his hand over (m/n)'s thigh, the tip of his ears red and his nape burning hot. Him switching places to sit beside the (h/c). His body slowly caging him in, his face leaning closer.
(m/n) knew what he wanted. He had his own desires as well.
Daisuke brought the (h/c) deeper into his penthouse, touching him all over, (m/n) leaning more into his hold.
(e/c) eyes fluttered shut, Daisuke pushing him down on his desk in his supposed office, the lights dark and curtains closed. It was contrast to their first which was a small space with glaring white lights.
"Haa hah hangh slow down Daisuke- mmff!"
(m/n) laid down on the mahogany desk, papers astrewn on the floor while Daisuke went to town on his neck while unbuttoning his work attire. "Sorry, it's so hard around you. So handsome." He kissed his cheek. "So cute."
The (h/c) panted while holding Daisuke's shoulders. "Don't call me cute." "What should I call you?" The ravenette questioned endearingly while pecking his neck.
"Hot, sexy, suave, drop-dead gorgeous."
Daisuke laughed as he swiped his hair back, (m/n)'s legs were loosely wrapped around Daisuke's, caressing them with his shoes. "Alright then. My hot-," A kiss on (m/n)'s hand. "so fucking sexy-," He purred while brushing his lips down the (h/c)'s arm.
"not really suave-," A slap to Daisuke's chest, the ravenette teasing the fuming (h/c). He chuckled as he leaned in, their forehead touching, black optics covering (e/c).
"my drop-dead gorgeous lover." He kissed the edge of (m/n)'s lips, the (h/c) sighing as his hands gripped Daisuke's bosom. "Lover is quite fast, don't you think?" "My mind is quite a few chapters ahead. Will you be willing to speed up your pace?" "Only if you wait."
Daisuke paused, not expecting the (h/c) to give a serious answer, a genuine smile stretched on his lips. "...Of course." He was willing to do as much for this man in his arms. Something in his heart tells him that he would regret to not give chase.
(m/n) stared at the man above him, sighing quietly as his hand cupped Daisuke's face. "You're lucky you're rich." The ravenette leaned into his palm. "You're welcome to use all my inheritance." (m/n) laughed for the first time.
"Don't say that. I might actually suck you dry. You're not so bad, Yuichi."
Something jumped in the ravenette's pants, (m/n)'s crotch lightly feeling it. "Sorry, I got really hard hearing you say my name." (m/n) rolled his eyes. "I should expect that from someone like you, huh?" "Yup!"
Daisuke cheered as he kissed the (h/c), the latter wrapping his arms around his neck, pressing his lips back. The ravenette's tongue soon licked his lips, begging for entrance as (m/n) opened his mouth.
They were both moaning and sucking on each other's tongue, Daisuke's hips bucking and humping (m/n)'s bottom, the latter gasping into the sloppy tongue-tying session letting Daisuke thrust his wet muscly organ down his throat.
Choking on his saliva, (m/n) squirmed, patting Daisuke's chest, who immediately pulled away. "D-Daisuke-" "Please, please, I wanna do it so badly." Daisuke mewled, his face entirely flushed. "You can just sleep here after this, not worry about work tomorrow but please, pretty please, let me have you."
The (h/c)'s bottom jerked, feeling Daisuke grind himself on him. He sloppily licked (m/n)'s bosom, his eyes all teary, begging the (h/c) to sleep with him.
(m/n) grinned, he was also intoxicated and suddenly liking Daisuke's behaviour. He pulled Daisuke's hair up, swiping his tongue onto the latter's teeth, Daisuke moaning loudly into the kiss.
Hurriedly, he shuffled his clothes off of him, pulling (m/n)'s own as well. Fingers pumping in and out of the (h/c) who threw his head against the table, Daisuke used his precum as lube and pull his fingers out once he wringed an orgasm out of his new 'lover'.
(m/n) didn't have time to recover, Daisuke immediately pushing his cock in and the (h/c) yelped in pain, scratching the latter's pale back. Both of them liked the pain, Daisuke jamming himself into (m/n) rapidly, the (h/c) digging his nails in and screaming every time the ravenette's huge cock dragged against his tender walls.
The ravenette's eyes rolled behind his head, his mouth open as he came so early into the (h/c), his hips twitching as he stuffed his cum inside (m/n)'s hole. Arching his back, (m/n) mewled feeling his ass filled with something so wet so fast.
"Sorry..." Daisuke was heaving, his eyes droopy, apologising for cumming so early. "You idiot..." (m/n) pulled Daisuke's hair, reeling him into a kiss as he rubbed his ass onto the ravenette's penis.
They went wild, fucking like bunnies all over Daisuke's office. Almost every furniture was used and tainted with the smell of sex. Daisuke was extra hyper with the help of the wine and him being so happy that (m/n) was so willing to have sex with him. (m/n) was taking advantage of Daisuke's fondness and huge cock, letting him split him open in so many ways, bent over the couches, pushing him up against the wall and even pressed him facing the windows, his own cock rubbing against the glass, smearing it with his cum.
Daisuke came so much that every time he thrusted inside, semen leaked out with a squelching effect, turning on the (h/c) more. Eventually after the tenth round, Daisuke dropped himself on the luxurious sofa, the one (m/n) was folded into a mating press two rounds prior. In his arms was (m/n), breathing heavily, his body sticky and dripping cum.
The ravenette's beefy arms were holding (m/n) more securely, perhaps he didn't want the (h/c) to disappear like last time. "...Let's sleep like this. When I wake up, I'll carry you to my bedroom." Daisuke mumbled, his eyes closed, so tired having his dick pumped dry.
(m/n) hummed, adjusting himself on top of Daisuke, . "Mkay." He felt a hand rubbing his hair which eventually turned into small massages on his scalp. How sweet was this man?
"...Don't just leave...like last time...please..." It was barely a whisper, (m/n) couldn't read Daisuke's expression, his eyes shut tight. "...I won't."
He could feel the man underneath him flinch, not expecting the other to hear him but the latter's body relaxed, loosing his tension and worry.
Daisuke passed out before (m/n), his light breathing was comforting and the (h/c) placed his face in the crook of Daisuke's neck, sleeping soundly as well. He had a good meal, oh and the food tasted great too.
True to Daisuke's words, (m/n) woke up in an ornate bedroom, the color scheme mainly consists of royal blue and dark greyish except for its furniture. The ravenette had woken up way before him, spooning the (h/c) being so giddy that (m/n) was still with him the next morning.
Instead of turning up for work, (m/n) went shopping, Daisuke insisting he wanted to treat him with clothings and jewelries and he did, getting pampered by the rich man all day and he finally returned home with an abundant amount of shopping bags. He also did not let Daisuke into his apartment, knowing that he wanted to sleep with and in his room. That horny bitch ISTG-.
Although Daisuke assured him that he could retire at an early age, (m/n) still continued his normal work life, although his manager and supervisor were extra respectful to him and his coworkers had so many questions on how did he manage to bag the CEO's son. Said CEO was wary on how did his precious son managed to fall for someone so quick but after meeting the (h/c), he realised his son was a tender-hearted idiot and wished the best for the pair.
Maybe (m/n) was thankful for the whole elevator shenanigan, he managed to end up with a lovestruck rich boy after all. His life didn't change much except the fact that a certain priviledged puppy would steal him during lunch hours and promptly fuck him in the long nights.
A happy ending for everyone!
[END SCENE]
[unedited]
Afterthoughts :
How long/short a drabble should be? Haha cuz i think i went way overboard. Daisuke would feature in more aus and their official(?) storyline including spinoffs (what ifs) with another oc i will introduce next week maybe.
Please leave a comment! Although there will be no part 3 for this au haha. Keep an eye out for my next AU [Reversing the Tropes]!
I had smoked salmon w my bf the other day and IT WAS SO GOOD WHAT ANSBAKHAUAH. I think its funny me writing all these smuts while being a virgin LMAOOOO
#bottom male reader#sub male reader#x bottom male reader#x male reader#male reader#male reader smut#smut#mlm smut#oc x male reader#oc x reader#oc smut#oc x male reader smut#daisuke yuichi#oukabarsburg
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𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol
technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3
The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening.
The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground. The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.
It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.
The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer. “Honey! Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen. She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade. The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself. She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.
Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.
Your parents were always really… energetic. They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house. To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…
“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.
“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.
“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”
Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside. “Wo-hoah! You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…
As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.
He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something. Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?
“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.
“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.
Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily. In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath. He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church. So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard. It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it
“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.
“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit. He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…
“Let me make you two some drinks! What are you having?”
He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now. He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked. He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.
“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen. He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair. She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”
“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied. “I’ll help with the silverware.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them.
“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand. You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.
He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work. “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”
“What?”
“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed. “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”
You scoffed a bit. “And where should I put the opium spoon?”
“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing. “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.
“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret. Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…
“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up. “Food’s coming out! Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”
Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side. “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.
“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted. She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party. She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.
And you. She’d never mentioned you.
As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least. He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.
Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence. “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.
“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy. What have you been doing?”
“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.
“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.
Shit. That illusion didn’t last long. “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”
You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was. Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?
“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”
“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered. “I graduated a semester early.”
“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great. You’ve always been really smart…”
“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.
“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.
“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.
“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”
Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.
The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase. He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet. But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…
So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything. Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him. Now was it okay to look at you?
He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in. He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.
“You look bored,” you noticed.
“Yeah? I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.
“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered. “What’s boarding school like?”
“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true. “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”
“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.
“Some,” he said. “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”
“Like what?” you pressed. “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”
“Oh, all the time,” he laughed. “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly. I mean, I never got caught, so…”
You raised an eyebrow. “You smoke?”
He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble. He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little. “What?” he wondered.
“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.
“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone. But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.
“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered. He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.
He grinned excitedly. “Right now?”
“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.
“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”
~
“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.
“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind. “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”
You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.
You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.
“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.
When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you. Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night. No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.
You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.
You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything. He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.
“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside. “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers. “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?”
You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly. “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.
You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end. His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.
“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked. “Or did college make you more rebellious?”
“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.
“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.
“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready. “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”
He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.
You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.
He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times. You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.
“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.
He cleared his throat and shook his head. “N-not really, no,” he admitted. “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”
“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”
“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.
“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer. He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.
You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face. He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.
“Better?” you asked.
“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”
“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat. You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?
After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier. You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.
“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.
“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled. “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”
“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.
“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.
“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.
“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.
“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement. Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.
After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high. You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence. “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him. “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”
“I did,” you mumbled.
“R-really?” he choked. “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”
“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.
“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”
He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.
“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you. “I’m eighteen.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Right. Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that. I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature. At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you. I can’t really compete with college guys…”
“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head. “What are you competing for?”
“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.
“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again. “My attention?”
“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.
“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car. “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”
He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp. “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.
You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already. You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time. Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop. He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.
His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back. You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow. It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.
You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it. Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little. What a polite boy.
“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips. One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.
“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence. He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.
Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser. You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.
One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin. “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg. You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.
“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.
“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”
You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass. You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t. It was still Angus, after all.
In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did. He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra. “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.
You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.
He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.
He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response. “Fuck, are my hands cold? I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.
“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.
“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.
Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them. “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth. You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you. “Fuck, Angus—”
“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats. He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.
You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully. You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would. You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t. Not very much, at least. Certainly not enough to stop you.
You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt. “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach. “We're really gonna—?”
“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.
He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.
“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.
“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”
You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression. “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him. “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”
“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.
Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch. “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.
“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.
“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him. He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.
“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.
“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured. “I can turn the light off if you want though—”
“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light. “No, I still wanna see.”
You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly. “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.
He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.
“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge. The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”
You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan. “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him. “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”
He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.
“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly. “You feel so fucking good…”
He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.
A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you. Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you. “Did you… just come?” you asked.
He was still panting, his face starting to flush red. “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly. “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”
“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”
“Uh…” he stalled anxiously. “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”
“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him. “It’s cute, honestly. I don’t mind being your first.”
“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted. “I imagined it like this.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car. “Like this?”
“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed. “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed. And whipped cream—”
“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”
You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”
“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.
“No, they don’t care— please? Please just keep going? I’m still hard, I can—”
“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced. “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright? We just have to get back inside now.”
He lit up instantly. “Really? So we can— we’ll do this again?”
“If you want,” you shrugged.
“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort. “Of course I wanna see you again. I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”
“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.
You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.
Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead. “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.
“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.
“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on. “You ready?”
“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be. W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”
You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask. You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected. Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming. His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.
Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.
You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.
“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”
[series masterlist here]
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one of the girls
pairing: famous!haechan x afab!reader.
genre: smut.
content: manhandling, brat taming, o. denial, o. control, unprotected sex, clit stimulation, creampie, princess treatment, argument for pride, stubborn reader, mean!hyuck.
party halls. fancy cars. effervencent champagne. dazzling nights.
in a room full of men thinking important thoughts, he steals the show. flirtatious whispers coming his way. the sighs that his cut-out profile draws, smiling because he knows the effect he has on people. lots of broken hearts wherever he goes. except one. or ones; he is the embodiment of romanticing. looking from below with his bright wild eyes as he takes off your shoes and kisses your ankles before leaving you powerless because he knows the effect he has on you.
dribbling the crimson liquid into the glass, your eyes cascading over his silhouette at the other end of the room. inhaling the exquisite scent of the liquor. the lipstick traces the edge of the glass, reminiscent of the hue delicately unveiling itself beneath the collar of his shirt as he unfurls the knot of his tie. muscles automatically flexing in the task as his lower lip, kissed a million times, is captured by his canines.
despite their delicacy, the movements carry a nuance underlying the grace of his gestures, and the aroma that envelops him is so exquisitely intoxicating that your thoughts are spilled all over the room. as if he carries with him the very essence of seduction. his masculinity is pronounced, yet seamlessly fused with a continuous subtlety. devilishly attractive, he exudes an allure so undeniable that one can't help but think he is well aware of his own magnetic presence.
you still feel the bubbly taste of wine on your tongue as you place the glass on the table and cross the hotel room as you catch him smirking because he's aware you tried to keep your breathing sounding rhythmic as his dazed eyes fall on you when your fingers tangle with his, honey hair tickling your forehead. “allow me.”
your thoughts are still messy everywhere. in his eyes like two wild suns, in his adam's apple when your hands venture up to his neck, undoing the knot because even though it's devilishly attractive, alcohol still has the same mundane effect on him.
he looks through you. as he's aiming for your heart, his hands ready to rip it apart before he decides to take care of it instead. fiddling with the cord of a bow almost undone in the restless night with his bewitched eyes following the stroke of his fingers burning the skin of your chest.
he leans in and his lips seek yours to press a small kiss. and then another. and another. until the ephemeral becomes everlasting. “i want you.”
“i know.” he hums in response, almost nonchalantly were it not for his velvety eyes still spilling on your lips and his tongue teasing the inside of his cheek. your eyes drift from his tongue when he wet his lips where your skin burns and tickles. “it looks good on,” he pronounces as you observe he knotted the loose bow again.
your lips stretch into a sharp smile, reluctant to show whether that could have affected you. “you're not special,” you say, “i'm not gonna remember you just because you've been putting your best behavior and decided to not have sex with me.”
he stays magnanimous as the anger starts to crisp you when he laughs with light amusement, “oh, i will fuck you.” your brows cloud in disbelief, which leads him to smile even wider, “i prefer it with clothes on.”
you're too stunned by his confession to feel him pull you to himself and leave a kiss on your wet mouth. much more disoriented when he murmurs against your mouth, too fond to be snarky, “is that okay with you, angel?” without waiting for an answer to kiss you deeper as he knew the absence of your answer already.
it's very hard to spin thoughts now that his mouth won't stop moving over yours. more intoxicated by the taste of his tongue than the liquor that runs through your body. “lay down,” he asks when his hands are already pushing you into bed. his footprints burn your skin. you look at him through the thick haze of your chaotic subconscious while furious flutters take place in your stomach.
“i thought you like it with clothes.” your voice comes out thicker and deeper than you want it to be. pure desire intermingles, and haechan can sense it as he unbuttons his shirt, raising the gaze that holds the answer to your intrinsic question. your clothes remain intact while his is disappearing, watching him taking his shirt off, you let the complaints to die on your tongue at the sight of his tanned skin.
his hands slide into the buckle of his pants and you hold your breath. face burning from trying to contain the flames rising up your neck. feeling the fire twitch in your stomach, and stream to your hands already perching on him before your mouth does. kisses pressed on his waist, in the valley of his stomach that leads to his sternum.
he stops every motion treasuring your lips on his skin, “weren't you taking off your pants?” his gleeful chuckle vibrates against your palm releasing liquid desire in your belly. your fingers pull down the piece of fabric as you keep kissing his warm, soft skin, so dangerously close if you just slide your mouth a few inches lower to his growing bulge. “want me to take care of it?” you inquire.
haechan catches one of your feet in his hands as you drop to the fluffy surface. a smile dances on his lips as he pushes it to open. “you will.” his hand wraps around your ankle and holds you in place on the edge of the bed, as you revel in his anatomy. eyes gleaming at the view when when his erection hits the spot where your lips were pressing a few seconds ago.
you shallow and he notices it, “don't worry, pretty. it'll fit.” wanting to hold it for yourself is a lot of greed that you're not willing to reveal, so you bite your lip as your eyes fall on the ceiling, trying to take away the appetite from feeling it in your mouth before answering, “so?”
his hand drags down the back of your neck, suspended above you as he places a long, lush kiss on your mouth. you feel him venturing under your skirt before his warm fingers meet your bristling skin, a triumphant smile rises on your lips as his mouth drifts toward your neck, releasing a small hiss as he realizes the lack of garments underneath the fabric.
he's flushed. moist eyes clouded with ache burning his pupils. “fuck you— you're playing filthy.” his raspy voice sends you to the edge of the world. “i'm not playing anything,” you feel your tongue unravel to respond with difficulty. he grunts. lie. he knows you were. all along. your games, all dirty. the constant competition to know which one bewitched the other.
just because you didn't want to admit that you were the first one to give in.
you press your lips together when he slides through your silky folds. he curses and you roll your eyes. “already this wet?” he clicks his tongue, drawing circles on your clit. the drunken taste of his tongue mingles with the wine flavor when he kisses you firmly. your breath is caught in your throat when his digits switch the intensity of the motions.
your warmth aches for him. legs spreading cause him to increase the enhancement of his strokes. silent hisses leave your lips the moment he pulls away just enough to look at you. “let me hear you.” his eyes eclipsed in two black orbs. he chuckles, “need help with that?” your lip is caught between your teeth when you sense him guiding his fingers to your entrance. fuck.
you're hazing. blurry thoughts as electricity is shot into your bloodstream. haechan eases his fingers in you, pumping with a steady pace, making sure you're feeling him. watching you from above as you twitch due to fire pooling down your legs. your being is burning and your chest is filled with dying moans. eyes rolling back when your walls clench around his tick fingers fucking the shit out of you. “let me stretch you pretty for my cock,” he coos. lush growing a hole in your belly as his relentless strokes send you to the brim, accentuating the strength and depth with which he buries his fingers in you, threatening to shatter you.
his firm grip lands on your collarbones. you're a mess uncontrollable. arching your back and squirming under his gaze. sensing your stomach tightens violently when you feel the crushing climax looming in your body, clouding your mind and filling your ears with white noise. your belly contracts and shakes, your legs jerk, and your mouth opens. a whine finally escapes from you when he stops all the actions.
you are beyond confused, dazed and disoriented. your mind takes eternal seconds to process the fact that you were about to unleash the ecstasy before he, who grins at you, ceased it all. you don't give a fuck at this point. the moans fill your mouth now turned into gloomy sounds while your eyes search for him in distrust as they begin to well up with tears. upset. vexed.
“haechan.” he kisses you and you sob. haechan's tongue press against the pulsing vein on your neck, “the only way you're coming tonight is on my dick, precious.” your fingers bury themselves in the tender skin of his shoulders, arching your back. a pant leaving your lips as the swirl of emotions takes place in your belly when he sucks gently. one of his hands grasps your waist making sure to exert force in it, “stop being a tease and be a good girl, yeah?” before you feel him guiding his tip between your folds. your body trembles at the sensation of his cock being lubricated with your arousal. your mind scatters in all the places he's present. physically and emotionally.
a high-pitched sound echoes in your throat when he thrusts you with ease, feeling every inch expand your walls. your head lolls inadvertently aware of his thick length pushing in. he grunts, wild eyes as he hovers over you to have a full view of you taking him. of his dick burying into your aching cunt.
hair being pulled as you curl under him. hand reaching his on your waist unconsciously when he starts to thrust. so torturously steady, so painfully rough. you feel him everywhere. your pulse quickens and pumps your ears. face burning and cheeks wet. your mouth feels dry and something warm and smooth takes place inside. his cock hammers your soaked pussy and your ears fill with the lewd sounds every time he sinks into you. “d-don't cut your hair—.” he hums with amusement.
a shudder whips you and you're a mess of tears and strangled sighs. hands clenched in your chest as haechan buries himself over and over again mercilessly, shaking your body due to the force he exerts every time he pushes you towards his pelvis before meeting you halfway and fucks into you, leaving you breathless and counting stars.
he breathes sharply, “not a single word of how good i'm fucking you?” you're numb, feeling more that hearing the lewd of your arousal mixing around his. “in subspace, angel?” he bends over you, bringing your legs with him. his hands stop caressing your inner thighs to go to your chest. your fingers tangle with his when he undoes the bow that keeps your blouse on, “should i stop?”
your body goes into alarm at the same time your stomach closes and twitches, “please don't.” haechan pulls away from you, decreasing the pace of his thrusts. a pant leave his mouth half-open, looking disturbed all of a sudden before you sense him twitch between your walls. eyes closing tightly as he rocks his cock back and forth, hand going towards your cunt to start circling your clit. your pussy throbs knowing he's so close.
your heart skips a beat. your whole body is covered with pure pleasure. raw. and you feel your blood boil when you think you're burning at any moment. pearlescent skin in sweat. wrinkled and ruined clothes, cuffed by his hands as he buries himself and hammers his cock into you. pelvis pounding you rhythmically, bringing you to the intoxicating sensation of climax destroying your belly. a painful sharp pleasure fills you up.
“you've been snarky all night, shall i remind you your place?” one of his hand gropes the soft skin of your breast. the mere touch stuns your senses and turns them into a whirlpool of ecstasy.
“'m so clo—se.”
your pussy starts pulsating and he can't take his eyes off your breasts wiggling to the rhythm of his thrusts.
“i can tell that.” your hands sting when he takes them in one of his, bringing them to your stomach and exerting pressure where it burns deliciously. “feeling bold telling me how to make you feel good?” he clicks his tongue, “answer.”
“please, don't stop,” you plead in despair. “i love you.”
your boyfriend chuckles with tender, “i love you, too. but that's not what i want to hear.” he increases the pressure on your swollen clitoris.
you gulp, suddenly flushed. “fuck,” you mutter, “—feel so good, 's too m-uch.”
you groan in despair as the world crumbles and blurs around you. sinking into a total catalytic state feeling every nerve ending twitch and release itself when haechan fucks you hard against the mattress, “s-such a brat.” a pleasurable pain whips and contorts your body when he coos, “just like that, keep moaning like that.” arching your back towards him as his cock pulls you to the edge of the world and drops you into the welcoming ocean of breath-taking spasms. it feels too much, so intoxicatingly sensitive when he keeps thrusting you until you feel him tremble and stop with a restrained whine.
you feel him pull out his erect dick and start stroking it as he growls before you feel his hot seed coating your pussy. his cum spills into your folds, dripping down your cunt before he guides his tip along the path it leaves to push it into you. hand on your knee to make sure you don't close your legs as he gazes at your destroyed pussy filled with him.
“at one point i need to go get clean,” you say snarkily.
he creeps towards you with a grin, “allow me.” before depositing a trail of kisses down your stomach until you can't keep holding his gaze when he buries it between your legs.
your sharp breath freezes in your throat.
#haechan smut#donghyuck smut#lee donghyuck smut#nct 127 smut#haechan hard hours#haechan hard thoughts#nct dream smut#♡haechan
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This is my first time doing this!!!!! can you please do 141 with a rich reader! Like she buys them cars,supplies,homes,etc but not in a sugar momma way like “ I’m make money……..and my love language is gift giving” like imagine them walking into her house mansion and is like “this is 10 times bigger than my flat building” and she’s like “oh shush….besides this is your home now” or when she picks them up to go to the pub she pulls up in their dream car and their like “love your car” she like “it’s yours” and throws the key. And when they give her gifts she ADORES them (it’s some purfum she likes) she’s just loves spoiling her baby and they don’t know how handle Being so special! CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A REACT ON THIS ITS BEEN ROTTING MY MIND
hehe thank you so much for requesting! we love expensive taste and a woman who's love language is gift gifting!!
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summary: When the 141 met you, they had no idea what kind of life you came from. However from extravagant vacations to luxury vehicles, you make sure to treat your man right.
pairing: Taskforce 141 x fem!reader
warnings: swearing
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price
Looking at John, you can tell he enjoys the more expensive taste in things. Holidays are always a joy for you both as you spend your hard-earned salary on practical yet extravagant gifts. For your anniversary, you wanted to impress. Earlier in the year for your birthday, he had gotten you a bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 and you were over the moon. It had it's own shelf in your home and he always made sure to compliment the rich, sultry scent when you wore it. This inspired you as you dragged John to the bright red building in Grasse. You had spent the last week in the south of France, seeing the sights and enjoying the extravagance of wine and pastries. He had been wondering where you were going as you maneuvered through the streets and eventually walked up the path. "This is the final part of a French tour," you smiled as you entered, "a perfume-making class!" As he chuckled at the idea, you checked yourselves in with the minimal amount of French you knew. "What made you pick this?" he asked as you waited for your perfume instructor. You looked around at the various creations and bottles that glistened in the afternoon sun. "You always talk about wanting to find the perfect scent," you commented, "especially when you have one of your fancy military balls or ceremonies." He nodded as he cozied himself onto the leather couch. "Well looks like this is the perfect place to do so," he smiled, kissing you on the forehead. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to pick an expensive-smelling one for my luxurious husband."
soap
"This can't be right," Johnny mumbled as he arrived at your address. You told him you lived in the English countryside and he expected a cottage fit for a granny. He was not expecting a castle that looked like it stretched various football fields. The exterior was extravagant and he was calculating the price of your marbled columns before you opened the door. "Johnny, a pleasure to have you," you smiled as you let him into the foyer. He took a minute to look at the not one but two staircases you had leading to the upper floor. Furthermore, the interior looked like a smaller version of Versailles. He thought he knew luxury when he saw Price's flat but that was a shoe closet compared to this. "Are you alright?" you questioned, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You live here?" he asked and gasped at the way his voice echoed amongst the mansion. You laughed for a moment before looking back up at him. "Yes, I do," you replied as if it was a silly question, "it's quite nice." He turned back to you with a shocked face. "This is more than nice," he said, gesturing to your extravagant home, "I was not picturing this during the drive." You blushed a little at the realization that this wasn't the typical home he had been accustomed to. "Well do you want a house tour?" you offered and he immediately took the offer, "let's start with the first library." "There's multiple?"
gaz
Kyle looked at his watch as he wondered where you were. "The missus running late?" Price asked as he searched for his car keys. "Probably had a meeting or something," Kyle said, looking back down at his phone, "perks of dating a CEO I guess." Just as Price offered him a ride, a silver Rolls-Royce Spectre came revving in front of the two awe-struck men. "Sorry I'm late boys," you said as you got out, "hope Kyle stayed out of trouble long enough, John." "He's a good one, Y/N," Price replied as he gave you a quick hug. He smiled back at you before waving off and walking over to his own vehicle. "This a new company car?" Kyle asked as he examined the pristine exterior and the practically silent hum of the EV engine. You had a small smile on your face as he tapped the front of the car and looked into the windows. "It's new but definitely not company-issued," you smiled, wrapping your arms around his torso. "Didn't think you needed a new car," he continued and the suspense was killing you. As you opened the car door and sat in the red leather passenger seat, Kyle looked at you dumbfounded. "You want me to drive?" he questioned as he moved the seat back into a comfortable position. "Of course, babes," you said, practically bursting with happiness, "you should drive your own car home." There was a brief moment of mixed screaming and excitement as he realized this was his. Once he was finished (and you stopped laughing), you turned on the seat warmers. "Go ahead," you smiled, "take us home in your new toy."
ghost
Simon was never one to gorge himself on the finer things in life. He would save 80% of his paycheck and spend the rest at the grocer's or off-license. He often would have to hold you back from ordering items for him or buying something at Armani on a whim. "Return it." you could hear Simon say behind you and you sheepishly closed your laptop as you knew you had been caught. "You need new jeans though," you tried to convince him but he shook his head. "I could get a pair of Wranglers for less than £47.50 on sale," he responded and that's how most conversations ended. However, you had spent your time finding him an expensive gift that you knew he would value. "What's this?" Simon asked as you pushed over a small parcel. "I know you don't celebrate your birthday but I got you something," you smiled before sitting down with him on the couch. He shook his head as he ripped open the packaging. Inside was a small box that depicted a pair of sturdy-looking earplugs. "For when you exercise or go on runs," you commented, "they're Beats Fit Pro." He opened up the box and you watched as he adjusted them into his ear. "You know I can just use those wired ones," he said before trying them out. You shook his head as he admired the noise-canceling quality. He was enjoying the gift no matter how much he said it was unnecessary. "Well if you don't like them I can always return them," you joked, reaching your hand across the couch to get them before he pulled it away, "yeah, that's what I thought."
#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#cod x reader#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#call of duty#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#soap x reader#price x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john price x reader#Johnny mactavish x reader#mw2 imagine#madebyizzie#mw2#izzie is writing
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Away For Valentine's
lando norris x fem reader
summary: McLaren had the fantastic idea to launch their car on Valentine's day, and as much as you reassured Lando he didn't have to worry about it, he still wanted to make it up to you (1k words)
warnings: none, just fluff
a/n: heyy everyone! so this is the very first fic i'm posting so please let me know what you think! i'm honestly pretty excited to get started with this blog so hopefully you guys like what i write. anyway please send some ideas my way!
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Valentine’s Day was off the table this year, and so was everything you had planned for you and your boyfriend.
You were disappointed when he shared the news with you, but you couldn’t be mad at him, not when it wasn’t his fault.
He saw the disappointment in your face, and how much you were trying to hide it by just smiling and nodding, your head finding a spot on his shoulder to avoid eye contact. He appreciated you understanding the situation, like you always did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty.
“I know we had plans-”
“Lan, don’t worry about it” You took a deep breath before looking at him again, trying to get rid of the sadness in your face “I mean it, we can do that some other time”
He was about to say something but a quick kiss on the lips stopped him. You proceeded to look at him, offering him a small smile and a glance that he knew meant ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’, so just nodded as he smiled back.
A few weeks go by and his winter break was coming to an end, meaning soon he’d have to leave the comfort of your shared home and go get started with his preseason duties. That’s something you were used to, having to see him leave for long periods of times but it barely ever affected your relationship. He always made sure he made enough time for you, even when the time difference was huge and he was feeling tired most of the time, he needed to make time for you. Your love for each other was so strong that, at the end of the day, you were just relieved you still had each other even if all you had was a five minute call every day.
But still, sometimes it was hard to see him go, and this time was one of those times.
The night you knew would be your last one with him before he left he decided to take you out on a date. Fancy clothes and an even fancier restaurant were your plans for the evening, and you knew he was trying to make up for Valentine's Day. It wasn’t the same, of course it wasn’t, but you still enjoyed every second of it.
The food, the small talk, the jokes, the stupid stories, the shy glances, the small touches, everything was perfect, almost making you forget he was getting on a plane in a matter of hours, but your smile slowly faded as soon as you remembered.
The ride back home was quieter than he would’ve liked, but he knew exactly what was going through your mind, and honestly he couldn’t blame you cause his mind was flooded with the same thoughts.
As soon as you got home he ran around the car and opened the door for you, offering his hand and kissing yours as soon as he took it. You smiled softly at him and you made your way to the door. Once you were inside, you dropped his hand to take off your shoes and tossed them somewhere close to the door, sighing in relief as you started walking towards your room.
“Mhm, come back here” He whispered as he grabbed your hand and pulled you back into him
“There you are” Lando smiled softly at you as his lips found yours. After a moment he broke the kiss, and both of his hands found a better spot on your waist as he started to move along the off-tune song he started to hum. You couldn’t contain your smile, quickly trying to keep up with him. You moved together in a slow dance, it was like your bodies were in perfect harmony.
Lando was looking down at you in pure admiration, almost as if he was trying to memorize every centimeter of your face so he wouldn't forget it while he was away, but you didn’t dare to look up, scared you would make eye contact with Lando and you wouldn’t be able to take it, so you safe option was to rest your head on his chest and pray you didn’t mess up. Although it wouldn’t matter if you did, you were just in the comfort of your living room anyway. But you didn’t wanna mess up.
He eventually stopped humming, hoping the silence would encourage you to look at him, but when you didn’t he moved one of his hands to cup your check, making you look at him. For a moment your eyes lock, making the silence feel very loud and Lando couldn’t help but smile at you, and you immediately blushed, but tried to play it off.
“You’re a terrible dancer” He laughed and you narrowed your eyes playfully and softly hit his shoulder.
“You’re one to talk” You joked, locking your fingers behind his neck and giggling when Lando scoffed.
“Maybe we should go out to dance and I could show you all of my moves” He started to move again, bringing you closer to him.
“I thought you didn’t like slow dancing”
“I do if I get to hold you this close to me” He replied, once again finding your lips.
This time the kiss was longer, both of them savoring each other’s lips while they still had the chance “I’m sorry about Valentine’s” He whispered once he pulled away, your forehead resting on his.
You giggled at this. You had assured him a million times he didn’t have to worry about that, and he still apologized every time he remembered “You need to stop apologizing”
“But I am sorry”
“I know, but it’s not your fault” You hand fell on his hair, slowly stroking his soft curls “And I had a great time tonight, so I’d say love is not dead”
He laughed at his, dimples appearing as his eyes vanish for a moment “I still wanna make it up to you”
“You will” You replied as your head fell back on his chest “But for now I just wanna enjoy this” You closed your eyes and inhaled his scent, and after a moment of complete silence you can feel him start moving again, his soft hums interrupting the peace his heartbeat was giving you.
#giannaln4 writes#lando norris#ln4#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris imagine#lando norris fanfic#lando norris one shot#lando norris fluff#lando norris smut#f1#formula 1#f1 x reader
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Lemon.
Word count: 13k+
You decide that you don’t quite like Balls (get your head out of the gutter).
Music: odd. Yes, it’s a fancy mansion—5 floors, the works… But you don’t know how to feel about the sole pianist in the centre of the foyer, the one that’s playing some classical piece that has the people around you murmuring about his technique and sound (whatever the hell either of those meant).
People: you don’t know a good half of them. Scratch that—it’s a sea of strangers
Drinks: strong, way too fucking strong for your liking. The drinks are free of charge, and the bartender clearly didn’t shake this Pina Colada well, but you have to drink it if you want to even try and get into the mood of the party. Around you, men in posh suits and women in flamboyant dresses skirt each other, talk to each other with placid smiles—hoodwinking each other with their highfalutin laughs and smiles to establish connections that probably won’t matter in a couple of days. The only person you’ve talked to tonight is the bartender, and that was just to order your drink.
This whole place stinks of capitalism, and you feel out of place in your cheaper suit and dress shoes. On your right, some guy is talking about how bitcoin and blockchain will make a grand return, some lady is gossiping about the latest Gucci handbag on your left. In front of you, a man and a woman are clearly flirting with each other, bashful grins on their faces as they hold their fancy drinks in their hands and talk about god knows what. You’re wondering if you should ask for a straw from the bartender just to dip your toes in social interaction.
Wonder why Cinderella was so hot on attending a Ball, thing seems pretty bland to me, you’re thinking, watching the tip of the ice that was shaped like an iceberg melt away and sink beneath the surface of your margarita. Some guy in a tux comes by, orders two glasses of Prosecco—one for him, one for the woman next to him. He’s talking loudly, disrupting your peace and quiet. Your solution: move seats.
From a distance—two chairs away from your original seat—you watch as he takes the two glasses from the hands of the bartender, hands one to the woman, then clinks his glass with hers. He’s preternaturally genteel, and you’d know because you recognised him as the guy that got slapped at the start of this whole thing because he grabbed the ass of someone’s wife. Impropriety, but it’s the behaviour of the newfangled rich.
Now he’s bragging about his car. Nissan GTR fitted with this engine, this ventilation, blah, blah… Whatever it is he’s saying, the woman’s having none of it. You’re no psychologist, but you can tell that she wants to get out of a conversation; her smile is awfully sweet, but you can see that she’s silently importuring him to shut his trap—her eyes give it all away. You pity her, silently sending her your best wishes as the man grabs her by the arm and leads her back into the sea of people. Personally, you’d be screaming if you were in her shoes.
(Off to your left, just at the edge of your vision, you see your boss talking to a woman. She’s getting touchy, really touchy and really flirty; her hand’s on his thigh, fuck me eyes out to play and on full display—A trite tactic used by these types of women to get lucky with a rich man at these type of events. Luckily for her, your boss is quick to bite on to such bait. God bless them both.)
For the record: you’ve never really enjoyed Balls or anything of the ilk, because quite frankly speaking, you’d much rather burrow up in your bed at home and binge Kimini ni Todoke till you were giggling and squealing like a little schoolgirl. Maybe I’m still young, I’ll learn to like these types of events later on, you tell yourself, I’ll need connections at some point, maybe I should start—
A sickly sweet fragrance crawls up your nostrils, truncating all thought. Perfume, you’re quick to identify, and then you’re aware of the presence of someone on your right. Your grip on your glass grows tighter in the slightest; you’re praying—Please just be ordering a drink, please be ordering a drink.
Frankly, you don’t know why you’d ever think anyone would talk to you, an unimportant cog that just tagged along with his boss because he had nothing better to do. Irrational fears are really a funny thing.
Sharp, clear, resonant—three words that came to mind when you heard the voice of the person next to you, the voice that delivered the simplest of orders: Yamazaki. I want it neat.
Your first thought is, Damn… Neat Whisky? Someone’s having a horrible night, as you turn your face away from her (if you couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be able to see you, right?). And just as you’re wondering if she’s gonna take her drink and leave, your question is answered by the soft creak and even softer rustle of shifting fabric from your right. You bristle.
The glass makes a sound against the wood as it’s gently placed down on the table.
(Now would be an excellent time for a subtitle to come in, one that states in square brackets: Awkward silence.)
You can hear her swirling the liquid around in her glass. Fuck, now this is awkward… You’re thinking, and then you’re wondering if you should just get up and leave, absquatulate, skedaddle—any word that can convey the act of disappearing in an instant—right out of there. But as you start to slide your butt off the chair, that voice rings out once more.
“Not much of a talker, are you?”
She doesn’t know how her simple sentence has caged you in the most challenging position (to you at least). Now you’re sliding your ass back into the bar stool and you turn and face her—
(Now that you’re looking at her, your second thought about her comes in: God, she’s beautiful. Dark brown hair that falls just past her shoulders like velvet curtains, soft yet somehow piercing eyes, a smile that makes you feel fuzzy all over—probably one of the most attractive women you’ll ever meet. She’s the woman from earlier, the woman that you saw smiling and nodding placidly to that guy who got her the Prosecco. She must’ve found a way to slip away, and she has your full respect for that.)
—and you find that you’re drumming your nails against the base of your glass.
“Shy, huh?” she’s throwing out a guess, watching as the Whisky in her glass slowly swirls to a stop inside the chilled glass. “It’s been a while since I met a shy man. You’re a breath of fresh air.”
You shift in the stool, and your first instinct is to ask her if you two had met before. It’s only after that last syllable leaves your mouth that you realise how stupid of a question it is. You don’t know her, and judging by the fact that she hasn’t called you by your name: she doesn’t know you either. You let her decide whether to oust you as a fool as she scans you up and down.
(Update on your boss and that woman: She’s kissing him now, full on making out. It’s an unsettling sight to behold, and you attribute your queasiness to the fact that they’ve somehow found they’re way behind the woman you're talking to. Your boss doesn't see you; you choose not to see him. God bless them both.)
“Well… Considering that you don’t look the least bit familiar,” she sets the glass down, “and that you haven’t been introduced to me like some product by a crusty, old man… I think it’s safe to say that we’re.”
Now her eyes are on your drink. What are you drinking this fine night? She’s asking, using her chin to gesture towards your Pina Colada. You tell her exactly what it is, and she cringes slightly. They say Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, I say it doesn’t belong fucking anywhere. Oust it as a fruit! she’s telling you, making sure to add a little more emphasis on the word “oust” as she couches her firm belief, something you find rather hilarious considering that it’s your first meeting with her. She sips the Whisky, grimaces a bit, then sets the glass back down to say, we skipped past a lot of formalities, didn’t we?
And here comes the part of talking to strangers that you’re the most comfortable with—Introductions. You think that it is safe to assume that just about anyone would find saying hello and telling someone your occupation much easier than holding up a conversation, what more with a beautiful woman like her. You give her your name, tell her what you do for a living, the usual stuff. She listens, the gleam in her eyes that comes when you’re done talking ever so enigmatic and cryptic.
“Lawyer huh?” She’s playing with her glass again, “considering were we are right now, I really shouldn’t be this surprised… Yet I am. Little shy for a guy dealing clients on the daily, no?”
Somehow, by the grace of some supernatural force (you call it alcohol), you crack your first joke of the night—I know. The most I ever talked is in court—and you’re relieved that she’s kind enough to humour you (or maybe she really does find it funny. You’ll never know), and gives you an elegant chortle, one that makes your hair stand at their ends as your third thought about her goes through your mind: even her laugh is attractive. Is there anything wrong with this woman?
And when she tells you her name, you realise why she seems to be exuding this inexplicable aura; Minatozaki Sana, pleasure to meet you, she introduces herself with a generous amount of pizzaz. You’re scanning her up and down at this point, and only now do you take in the expensive dress that dons her slender frame, the same dress that’s accompanied by a glimmering necklace and earrings, 3 rings on her middle, index and ring finger respectively.
“You’re…” you begin.
“The host���s daughter? Yes.”
Now you’re at a loss for words. Well uh… It’s an honour to meet you, is what you plan on saying, but it comes out as a simple, more blunt manner: Oh damn. Sana’s giggling to herself, swirling her Whisky as she watches you struggle to find things to say to her.
“I take it that you don’t come around here often?” she asks. When you raise an eyebrow, she explains how her father hosts a Ball like this every other month to try and find her a “suitor”. Apparently, 27 years old is “too old” to still be single, so my Dad just gets a bunch of men together and parades me around, she’s carping. The glimmering chandeliers, the array of drinks and food, the vanity of all these people; the dazzling marble floor, the glass sculptures, the embroidered tablecloths; this event, in all its glory and prestige, is all about her.
Christ, you’re thinking to yourself, money really gets you to places, huh?
Now she’s explaining how some of the people here are frequent visitors. Mothers and their sons, fathers and their sons, young business men, old business men, middle aged businessman; whoever can afford to come to this lavish Ball—all of them frequent this mansion like moths to a flame, all looking for a chance to ingratiate with the Minatozakis so that maybe, just maybe, they get a chance to get Sana’s hand in marriage. It’s a glorified yet obsolete form of Tinder really.
(Your boss is nowhere in sight now, and you’re pretty sure that the two of them have gone off somewhere to get it on. Maybe this event isn’t just about Sana, it’s about finding a rich person that can spoil you for the rest of your life too. God bless everyone here.)
“So what brings a man like yourself here this fine night?” She seems oddly interested in you (and also very hot on using this fine night as well apparently). You give her the truth that carries your watered down emotions in your tone—My boss asked me to tag along. Apparently all attendees were to bring a male plus one.
Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.
“So Dad’s reverted to these tactics huh?” you hear her whisper before taking an alarming large gulp of Whisky. She swallows, then sighs, “wonder what he’ll do next… Maybe an arranged marriage?”
Past the frustration and utter disappointment, there’s amusement in her voice. It tells you: if I could, I’d kill my Dad. It’s more of an inference from your end than a message that you’re sure that she’s trying to imply. You always had a bad habit of reading between the lines—probably picked it up from your job.
Sana downs the rest of the Whisky in a flash, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. She scratches her nose, then turns to you and asks, “say, you don’t look like you want to be here, and neither do I.”
Behind you, you can hear the voice of a man approaching. He’s talking to someone—my daughter should like you very much, you seem like a man that suits her taste—and Sana bristles. Her father, you deduce, noting the way that the woman before you is searching around for an exit. Then you blink, and in that split second, she grabs your hand.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Just like that, you’re running through a crowd of people, spewing a million-and-one apologies as you jostle your way through the crowd, in tow behind a woman you've known for a grand total of 5 minutes.
A very unlikely start to a romance really.
*
Now the gears in your head are whirring, your stomach’s churning—there’s no other way to describe how you feel when Sana’s looking at you like that from across the table: small smile, a slight gleam behind those eyes, hand under her chin and fingers tapping against her cheek… She’s got you in perdition just with a look. You’re a guy of relatively taciturn nature, and the last time you went on a date was in university. That date went horribly, and now you’re wondering if this one was gonna go up in flames as well. Your brain urges you to say something to her, but your mouth seems to be sewn shut.
On the other hand, Sana’s poised as ever. “What’s wrong?” she’s cocking her head and pouting slightly, “nervous?”
You're not ashamed to admit that you indeed are, and that you’ve never really gone out on dates in a long time. Sana seems tickled by this—It’s been a while since I’ve seen a shy man. I like it, she tells you—and assures you that she won’t bite. In fact, she’s glad that you’re quiet and not rambling off about some business venture. She tells you, I don’t recall the last time I’ve been with a guy like you, though I’d appreciate it if you assist me in starting some conversation, and you’re slightly ashamed of your reticence.
There’s a gleam in her eyes when you start asking her some questions on her personal life, and she finds it congenial to gesticulate in a moderate manner as she answers your questions. Her outgoing nature leaves you flummoxed, and there’s barely enough space in your brain to remember everything she tells you about herself. Born in Osaka, likes yoghurt smoothies, likes to take walks in the park, likes this, likes that… You vaguely remember her telling you this on the night that the two of you escaped that event.
(To jog your own memory: She took you to the garden, where the two of you spent the rest of the night strolling amongst shrubs and other greenery that thrived in Spring. The Pina Colada in your system allowed you to hold a conversation, one that lasted long enough for her to take a liking to you. At the end of it all, she gets your number, you get her’s, and a date’s been settled in some french restaurant she patronises.)
“Now, I don’t expect you to remember all of this,” she’s watching the wine leave streaks against the glass, “but if you do, I believe you're entitled to some extra points.”
“Points?” you’re keen on inquiring, “we’re keeping a scoreboard?”
Sana simply smiles. For asking that question, minus 2 from you, is her answer—not a very good one if you were to be blunt. You can’t suppress a chuckle as you take a sip from your own wine.
Unwittingly, Sana has eased you into her presence. It suddenly feels like you’ve known her forever (if forever meant 2 weeks that is).
A smooth start to a relationship if you do say so yourself.
*
“Sana, there’s people out there.”
“I know.”
“They might hear us.”
“I know.”
“We could get caught.”
“We won’t.”
It’s the confidence in her voice that irks you really. The lack of hesitance combined with the sheer lack of shame towards the fact that anyone outside the changing room in this damn Prada store could easily raise a phone over the door and start recording. It’s not that she’s not cognizant of this, but more of the fact that she doesn’t give two shits if someone captures a video of her blowing you in this dressing room. Shameless, aplomb, obstinate, are the three words that come to mind when dealing with Sana at the given moment, but there’s no energy in you to convey this to her, not when she wraps her lips around your cock. The outfits that she chose remain untouched behind her, fabrics still in light while the person that chose them remains active on her knees.
(Almost a year. Almost a year the two of you have been dating. You thought you’d learned all there is to know about her, yet she’s hitting you with new facts and surprises every day, left, right, and centre. There are probably many more things that you have yet to figure out, but they’ll all come to light in due time.)
Really, it’s on you for not exercising due diligence upon entering the store; you should’ve known better from the moment you saw that look in her eyes while she was looking at a dress. But there’s nothing you can do about it now, not when she’s already enraptured you with that damn gaze—the one that exudes want and lust, the one that’s the leaven to your morality in her eyes. She knows that she’s got you wrapped around her finger when your hand rests itself atop of her head as she slowly bobs her head over your crotch. She’s taking her time despite the situation that she’s placed the both of you in.
“This has always been on my bucket list,” she’s letting her hand run along your shaft, spreading her saliva with each stroke of her palm. Her nails, freshly done just over 2 hours ago, glisten under the light—partially because of her spit and partly because of the gloss. “Everything about this is just so… Eroctic, isn’t it?”
Christ, she’s really into this thrill-seeking thing, you note as you choke out a reply: Not particularly, but whatever floats your boat Sana (obviously, it doesn’t come out as smooth as it should. No one would be able to get out a full sentence with phonics properly strung together if they too were getting blown in a changing room). She’s got a glint in her eye, but it’s covered by your shaft as she slides her tongue down your cock, nose brushing against the base of your cock, just behind her tongue. She knows what she’s doing, she’s given you head before; she’s building up the suspense and waiting for you to beg for more. You really don’t want to indulge her, you really don’t, but there’s not much you can do when she starts placing kisses on your shaft—base to tip in a fervently slow fashion. How far is she gonna go with this, you can’t help but wonder, but you quickly have your question answered in the next second or so.
“Unenthusiastic?” she quips, “minus four”.
She wraps her lips around you and pushes her head forward, and you almost let the people in the store know that something’s going down in here.
You figure that the feeling of her lips wrapped around your shaft will never get old, not when it sends electricity up your spine and makes your hand ball into a fist in her hair. Her eyes seem to glint as you let out a sharp gasp. Yes, you could be caught by an employee at any second. Yes, you could very well be caught on camera by a customer at any second. There were a lot of things to consider when assessing the dangers of the circumstances that Sana has put the both of you in. Yet, none of them take anything away from the pleasure she’s bringing you, not as she starts to bob her head in beat to the metronome in her head. There’s no point in trying to figure out her pace.
“Jesus… Fuck… Sana I…” Your voice is—somehow—hushed as you struggle to convey how weak she’s making you, but it’s not like you need to anyway—she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s loving every second of the havoc she’s wreacking upon your senses. The slight tug in the corner of her lips is the suggestion of a smirk, and the muffled noise that rises from her throat is the implication of a giggle.
There's a knock on the door and you bristle; Sana slows down, but she doesn’t stop. Past the door, the voice of the staff that led you to this very room asks if everything is alright in there, and you’re praying that her eyes aren’t set on the floor. Sana locks eyes with you, then darts her eyes to the door to tell you—Answer it goddamnit. Of course, she doesn’t make it easy for you as you open your mouth, applying light suction to your tip as you find the strength to say: Yep, just give us a few more minutes please, making you choke on that last word and sending alarms blaring in your head. Thankfully, the store assistant is kind enough to leave you with a take your time sir, and the shadow of her feet disappear from the gap beneath the door. It’s then that Sana pops your glistening cock out of her mouth.
“A few more minutes, huh?” She’s got drool on the corner of her lips as she rises to her feet. “Better make this quick then. You gotta keep your word as a lawyer, don’t you?”
Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.
(There are customers outside now, you can hear them talking to the store assistant. They sound vaguely familiar… Maybe you heard them at the restaurant? Or maybe they’re colleagues… No, that can’t be it, at least you hope so).
Now for the record: you’ve seen Sana naked on multiple occasions, be it voluntarily or not. The shower, the bedroom, even a public shower at the pool… You could name a lot more places where she’d shamelessly flaunted her nude body before you off the top of your head. “A body to die for” is a fitting expression for Sana; you’ve always wondered if you’d find her on the top of the Google image search if you were to look up “dream bodies”, and you figure that you can probably get her there if you could somehow take pictures with your eyes as she undresses before you. She’s more methodical than anything, straying away from her usual teasing nature for the sake of being quick (that’s what you infer from her behaviour, but really, she could just be extremely horny and desperate. There’s never a solid answer to Sana’s behaviour). Mini skirt, then top, then bra; she’s going through the motions that she’d usually drag out just to get a reaction out of you preternaturally quickly.
Why is she getting naked in a changing room? You have no clue. Your best guess: she’s doing it for the thrill of it. The thought of getting caught completely nude with her boyfriend speared inside of her must be sending lethal doses of adrenaline through her veins. A pretty solid guess if you do say so yourself. No time for anymore guesses anyway—she’s already brought your hand up to her right breast, and she’s closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of your fingers closing around the semi-firm flesh. Her top lip’s furling behind her front teeth, she’s letting her other hand rest on your arm. She’s telling you where she wants it—did you cum in my ass yesterday? Or was it the day before? Ah, whatever… Give me a fucking creampie—in this soft, low voice that sends a velvet chill down your spine. Then she's kissing you softly, sweetly, nibbling on your top lip as usual, all while pushing you to the corner of the room where your feet aren't visible to those outside, flushing your back against the wall. It’s an uncomfortable fit, but that quickly changes when she grips the middle of your shaft and lines you tip up with her slit. The hand on her tit is guided to that slim waist, your other hand quickly finding its place on that symmetrical, slim figure.
“I don’t care if I cum or not,” she drawls, trailing a finger down your chest, “I just want your load inside me, right here, right now. Just focus on that, nothing else.”
(Half request, half demand—give her an award for being so damn ambiguous. Subtitles that could translate what she truly means would be really, really handy right now. Alas, such a system doesn’t exist.)
Describing how Sana’s pussy felt would be doing her injustice. The feeling was ineffable. From entering her to hilting yourself inside of her, there was never a second of that process where you had an easy time breathing or thinking. You’ve never been so reliant on your senses to keep you grounded in reality, nor have you ever been so glad that Sana’s nails are digging into your shoulder. This position—facing each other, standing and fucking against the wall of (all places) a changing room—is a stranger to the both of you, but the sheer tightness of her cunt working hand in hand with the intimacy of it all has you welcoming it with open arms.
Your hips are moving on their own, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you start thrusting into Sana. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into Sana in a mindless, slow fashion, relishing the feel of her skin in your palms, the look on her face, the soft moans that are slowly slipping from her ever so slightly opened lips. Then your ability to think slowly returns, and you’re thinking like a damn neanderthal—tight, wet, hot, so fucking good—as your grip on her waist tightens. Your shaft glistens in the light of the changing room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her slick, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weak. Sana cups your cheek, lifts your head, and it’s now that you see how her eyes have been completely glazed over with lust and want. Her face, her figure down to the sounds she’s making; everything about her, about this, is the phantasmagoria of a wet dream.
If you were being completely true to yourself right now: You couldn’t care less if you got caught.
And as if on cue, the voices approach as soon as you finish that train of thought.
“Do you provide altercation services?” It’s the voice of a man, closely followed by that of the store assistant: Of course sir. After you try on the suit, you can note how you’d like it to be altered to your liking.
A shadow of feet appears at the base of the door. Sana cups a hand over her mouth as the door rattles—the customer trying to open it. You stop your movements, breath caught in your throat as the store assistant tells him to use the other fitting room. Sana’s breath is loud in your ears as a second set of footsteps approach, followed by a female voice that asks, “Is my husband in there?”
Yes ma’am, is the assistant’s reply. Of course, this is hardly the end of it.
Now, as the woman engages the store assistant in conversation right outside your door, Sana lets the hand on her mouth drop. She flushes herself against you as the store assistant answers, and she whispers, “Keep going”.
Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.
The logical part of you warns you against doing as she says. Sadly, there’s not much room for logic in your head in the given circumstances, not when your balls-deep inside your girlfriend in a changing room. There’s barely enough room for dilemma to occur; Sana’s the sole occupant of your mind, rent-free, free-hold, and really: she’s the only thing that matters right now.
She almost, just almost, lets out a cry when you spear yourself back inside her. You didn't expect to start so soon, and neither did she. However, catching her by surprise is a novelty to you, and you relish in that brief rush of smugness before you restart your movements. Her mouth is frozen in a silent scream, but her eyes say all that she wants to: smug asshole, I’ll kill you later. You reply by letting your index and forefinger slip into her still-open mouth.
“Personally, I enjoy the Italian selection more…” The store assistant’s voice is barely audible to you over Sana’s small, muffled moans that manage to skirt your fingers and Sana’s closed lips, and as the lady starts talking about trench coats, Sana coats your fingers with a fresh layer of saliva, turning your fingers slick and slimy with her tongue as she looks you dead in the eye, as if challenging you: Is this the best you can do? Is this the riskiest you can be?
Every question from her deserves an answer, and your’s is to remove your saliva-slicked fingers out of her mouth, draw a circle with her spit just above her collarbone, then whisper right into her ear: I’m gonna mark you right there. The involuntary gasp that she lets out tugs the corner of your lips up into a perverse smile. Slowly your lips drift down to the glistening spot, and you wait just a moment to build up that sweet-sweet suspense. It’s a split second, but it’s a second too much for her to bear—the way her body tenses when you finally make contact is the clearest indication you will ever receive. And when you start sucking, God does she almost drive you over the edge: she tightens, she gasps, she starts twitching; she loves it, every second your lips stay locked around that sweet spot of skin is bliss to her.
You can hear the door to the other fitting room unlock, and you hear the man’s heavy footsteps as he walks out, no doubt in that suit he had earlier. The compulsory question comes: how do I look?
There’s a brief moment of silence, and you’re almost fearful of the fact that maybe, just maybe, their ears are picking up on the ragged breathing and slightly audible squelching coming from the other fitting room. All consternation dissipates when the woman starts to comment on how she looks, but Sana seems to have an answer to his question as well: So good. So fucking good. Harder, let me feel all of you, fuck me harder. Oh fuck, you’re so fucking deep.
You look dashing honey. The pitch of the woman’s reply harmonises with Sana’s soft whine as your lips leave her skin, the same patch where you’ve left your purple artwork on. I think we can afford to alter the pants—
Sana crushes your lips against hers, hot breath filling your mouth as you feel her lift her leg. You hold the back of her knee (like the gentleman you are), bring it to your side, hold it there. She bites your lower lip, hard enough for her to pull and tug it as you start losing yourself in her: her scent, her breath, her skin—all of it’s so deliciously addicting. You can’t get enough.
Then she’s going straight to moaning into your mouth, letting those muffled cries permeate in the small space and hopefully not outside the fitting room. She’s wet, she’s tight, she’s everything you need right now. You want, so badly, to pull her apart, ruin her till you can’t put her back together, get her begging at the top of her lungs for you to fuck her harder and harder.
And you’re almost on the verge of calling her a slut. There’s no need for that though, she knows what she’s made of herself.
—so that they’re a little shorter. I think we could also try—
Sana’s figured out the best way to moan: straight into your ear. She’s not letting up with them, and she’s giving you one hell of an array of sounds. There’s the common ah, the not so common, oh, and the very common shit, fuck, fuck me and so good. Her phonics are so loosely strung together that they’re just a jumbled mess, and you're perfectly ensconced with that; you love hearing those lazy, sloppy cries, and they only seem even more melodic at this volume, at this moment. Fuck, record them and play them as white noise as you sleep.
—changing the colours of the buttons? Ooh! Maybe we could even change the stitching around—
She tilts her head back, and you’re peppering her neck with kisses. She loves it, you know she loves it; all this attention, all this adrenaline, all this carnality she’s invoking—all of it for her. Each time you grunt, she knows that she’s the damn reason for it. Every time your fingers dig into her thigh a little more, she knows it’s because of her. Every kiss on her neck, every inch of her pussy you fill with your rock-hard meat, all of it’s for her. She isn’t vain, nor is she a pick me girl, but she sure as hell knows how to make you treat her like she’s the only girl in the fucking world, and you’re more than happy to give her what she wants.
Because it’s always like this with Sana: if she wants it badly enough, she’ll formulate a stratagem to get it, nip her cravings in the bud before they turn into desires that she can’t control. Mind you, she’s not dissolute; she’s just “riding the highs of life” as she calls it. Pretty bullshit and circumlocutory, but you always let her off the hook.
—the pocket area? That’s my two cents. What do you think darling?
Another moment of silence follows, and Sana seizes the opportunity to nibble on your earlobe. Her leg’s sweaty, slowly slipping from your grasp and trembling from the pleasure that’s giving her voice this lilt when she says: Carry me. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Pleasure, coursing through your veins, makes you comply in an almost servile manner. It’s precipitous, even fatuous to pull such a stunt in a fitting room of all places, but when your hands are supporting her by her ass and her legs lock around your waist, there’s no turning back.
And as the man starts going off on his own preferences, Sana’s wrapping her arms around your neck, letting you get a look at those bouncing breasts as you reach new depths inside of those slick, warm walls. If she could cry out, she would, but those damn customers outside are placing her in a box here, and it’s clearly frustrating her. If you were at your place, her hands gripping your sheets and her juices messing up your quilt, she could moan, mewl, cry and cuss however loud she wanted. In a way, it was funny to watch her hold back, but at the same time: you so badly want to make her scream, undo her right here and now and make her a mess in your arms, but you’ll settle for what you have right now. What the two of you have created is controlled chaos, and should it be released past that damn changing room door, God knows what will happen.
Now it’s the store assistant’s turn to speak, and she’s giving them a rundown of the pricings. Outside, they’re talking about the possibility of a discount; inside, Sana’s talking about how deep you feel inside of. Outside, the man’s trying to guilt-trip the store assistant by saying how exorbitant the price is; inside, Sana’s exclaiming and pleading in a hushed voice—Own me. For the love of God, fucking o-own me!—as each thrust you make into her pussy sends her further and further down this rabbit hole of pleasure. It takes guts to fuck in a fitting room, but it takes the guts of Minatozaki Sana to be this needy while fucking in a fitting room. The risks of being caught are high, the risk of being heard even higher, but neither of those affect her ardour. At a controlled volume, she’s pleading for you to fuck her harder, faster, unravel every single bit of her being while she tries to keep herself together. It’s one hell of a show, and it’s one hell of an experience too.
(The sight of her perfect body flushed against yours as she’s fucked in the air, the smell of her sickly sweet perfume, the feeling of that divinely tight pussy wrapped snugly around your shaft like a damned glove, the way those sonorously soft moans filter into your ears. Add these together with the fact that the people outside could hear you at any second, and you’ve got one hell of a recipe for a voyeurist’s wet dream. You’re no voyeurist, but everything about this moment is making you feel like one.
Right now, this is everything to Sana. Having you this close to her, feeling that cool Prada air conditioning against her bare body, listening to you grunt and sigh as you piston yourself in and out of that slick, wet slit… All her needs are being fulfilled, all of her senses heightened and primed, aware of every movement you make inside of her pussy. Sometimes, you feel so good and oh fuck, or maybe even oh god isn’t enough to convey how she feels, so she just opts to let out this strained, strangled gasps that tells you everything you need to know—a maelstrom of emotions and expressions compressed and compacted into one simple “hngh” is enough for you to know that you’re doing something right.)
“You like this Sana?” you find yourself whispering. “You like being fucked like a damn slut with people just outside, don’t you? You like everything about this, don’t you?”
Right now, she doesn’t have that capacity to reply. Of course, you know this, which makes you feel all the more smug as you watch, watching as she slips into a state of complete, utter bliss: her mouth hangs open, her eyes are unfocused, she’s barely holding on to you. The purple mark that your lips have left on her neck sears itself into your sight, and it’s joined by the breathtaking view of her breasts loosely bouncing each time you drive yourself into her. Loose strands of hair are flying, neither of you have any hands free to fix them. Her legs are quaking around your waist, neither of you want to stop just so that she can be back down on the floor. Her eyes are closing, you can feel her heartbeat in her pussy, she’s begging, pleading, fucking imploring you to keep going.
Christ. You want her to moan as loud as she can for you.
It’s hard not to get turned on by the sight of it, and it’s even harder to keep yourself controlled under the rapidly tightening grip of her cunt. Her breaths are shallow, her head is almost completely limp. She may not seem to be aware of it, but you sure as hell are more than cognizant of the fact that the both of you are about to hit that peak that you’ve been chasing for the past God-knows-how-many minutes.
“Sana.” Uttering her name is all that’s needed to bring her back to the real world. When you have her attention, you give her the sentence that she’s been waiting to hear for so damn long: I’m gonna fucking fill you, and It’s like the air gets heavier when she softly whispers, pleads for you to fulfill her new desire; cum with me. I need it so bad.
Controlled orgasm would take strength to pull off, and you silently pray that you have that strength as you send one final thrust between her shaking legs. Your cock twitches, spasms and the first rope of your warm seed that’s sent into her waiting walls is enough to send her over the edge. She bites down on your shoulder, quick enough to muffle the cry that escapes her throat. The tightening of her walls seem to coordinate with each spasm of your cock, and they sync up, working together to get every last drop of cum out of you and into her. She lets a soft moan escape her lips with each spurt, as though welcoming it, as though each one were something she long wanted and needed. You let out a single, soft grunt, as though thanking her, as though every twitch of her walls that sends a shock down your cock is a treasure to be relished.
So the scarf that she brought in to try is no longer just an ornament like the rest of the outfits. Even after adjusting her outfit, the fabric still can't seem to cover that hickey you left on her collarbone. The simple solution: Sana waits there, you buy the scarf, hand it to her, she puts it on and the both of you walk out of the store like nothing happened, like the both of you really were in there to try on some clothes, then leave.
It’s unsuspecting, it’s smooth. The store assistant wishes you a good day, and Sana smiles and waves to her, looking exactly like she did when she entered, plus a scarf. The only difference in Sana’s entrance and exit from the Prada store is the load between her legs.
But that’s a secret for the two of you.
*
“Hey. Could I talk to you about something?”
In your two years of dating Sana, never have you heard her this nervous in your life. The fact that your client isn’t responding to you a day before his trial plagues you no more, and your laptop is shut before she can close the door.
Your posture—arms crossed atop the desk and back straight—is all she needs. The message is implicit: I’m here, all ears, and she smiles softly as she walks over to the bed. The frame creaks a little as she settles down.
“My uh… My Dad is organising another one of those damned Balls again.” The way she intonates her words tells you that the Ball is the least of her concerns at the moment. “It’s gonna be at the usual time.. Usual place… Not like we can move it anyway.”
You offer her a chuckle to assuage her, diffuse the tension a little. She manages a half-forced giggle at her own joke. Is this a transitional opening? Or is this legitimately the subject of her conversation? you’re thinking, and as you sip from your cup, that subtle shift in her posture is shifting the atmosphere of the room.
She’s scared, but of what?
“I was wondering,” she drums her nails against her knees, “could I… Introduce you to him tomorrow? M-My Dad I mean.”
And now you suddenly understand why she’s on edge. She’s not scared for herself; she’s scared for you. The head of the Minatozaki clan, Sana’s father—you heard much about him, partly because of the stories that Sana tells you and partly from the things you heard through the grapevine at work. In your firm, there’s a whole box dedicated to storing suits that have been opened by him on the intern’s table (it’s a hilariously off-putting thing to say out loud), and from what you’ve heard: there’s another two in the storage room. Personally, you’ve assisted a colleague in one of his lawsuits, and the emails you billed weren’t pretty. You’d be throwing out a fib if you ever couched that you never once thought: It’s a pretty bad first impression of the man, could he maybe… You know… Stop suing people? Please? but you’re not going to let a mere few boxes and one night of reading through emails determine your perception of Sana’s father.
And hopefully, he won’t judge a book by its cover too.
“I have a trial tomorrow Sha,” you remind her, but it’s not like you actually expected her to remember this; you whispered it to her while cuddling on the couch a solid week ago. “I don’t know when I’ll end. It might be a little tight for me.”
It's undeniable that she sighs in relief. The blush that follows the breath is a clear indication. She’s glad, too glad. You can't help but ask: What’s up? Think I’ll flub everything when I meet him?
Sana does that thing where she wants to answer, but doesn’t know how to: her mouth opens, closes, opens again—longer this time, then closes again. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about; what your father will think of your partner is never not a touchy matter. All touchy matters should be discussed in comfort (Sana knows that you strongly believe in this, that’s why she’s situated herself on the bed), and you join her on the mattress.
“WIll he feel that I’m not enough for you?” You’re prodding, all while you gently reach for her hand and grasp it in your own. It’s cold, really cold. You’ll warm it up with your palms, keep them there while she replies, “it’s not that… I know that you’re more than enough for me, that’s what matters to him… At least I think so.”
She’s staring down at her hand, the one that’s slowly heating up via the warmth of your hand. Then what’s making you so worried? you’re asking. She folds her bottom in, past her front teeth. You rub her knuckle with your thumb.
“Yea I… I don’t know what’s making me so worried either,” she finally muses. “Guess I’m just… New to this practice. Never had to do it before...”
Because all the men that have tried to win you over have never lasted for more than a week, you complete in your head, smiling as she lays her other hand over yours. It’s cold too—that won’t do.
And as you set another hand atop hers, she’s asking you for a kiss. Luckily for her, obliging her wants is your specialty, and your lips are quickly travelling that small gap between the two of you. Connection is made, and you physically feel her relax. You know. You know that she belides a truth that she’s not ready to divulge. It’s in her kiss, it’s in her hands, and that’s fine with you. You can infer that it’s not something that’s going to be detrimental to your relationship, and whenever she’s ready to speak about it, you’ll always be available.
Now the kiss is done, she’s asking for fried chicken. You counter-ask if the kiss was to soften you up so that she could ask for her Famichiki. Of course, you get a classic Sana reply: a “maybe”, followed by that mischievous grin. You rise from the bed to grab your coat.
You're glad that the Konbini is just next to your apartment. Sana’s glad that she gets to be close to you as you walk through the snowy street.
“You know,” she’s whispering, “I really won’t mind if you propose to me one of these days.”
You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead.
In your head: you note to start looking for a nice ring.
*
Money can get you to places, but it can also get you a private soundproof karaoke room in a club. Three and a half years of dating—that’s all you need to know: you can bet your left kidney that Sana is taking full advantage of that room.
The bottle of Whisky that she opened to get the room is hardly the main event; Sana, slowly slipping out of that tight black dress she’s wearing, foreground to the default music that’s on the TV, has your unwavering attention. The smile on her face could've been mistaken for a sweet one if it weren’t for the fact that she’s getting naked, and the lack of a bra really doesn’t help with her case either.
“There isn’t a time limit to the use of this room, right?” You know the answer to that is no, the lady at the counter told you so. The question is more of a gauge, an instrument that’s helping you assess her plans for the night.
“If you’re trying to know how long we’ll be here for,” she slings her dress onto the couch next to you, and in her stockings and panties, saunters over with a sultry sway in her hips, “my answer is a secret.”
“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”
“Too bad. Call in sick.”
She picks up the glass of Whisky, raises it to her lips. When she drinks, she lets some of that amber liquid trickle out past her lips, down past her chin and onto her tits. In the light, her wet skin glistens and shimmers, and you once again find yourself in absolute awe with the woman before you. And as she straddles you, glass in hand, the way she uses her fingers to tilt your face up to the light tells you that she’s in control. She takes a sip of the amber liquid, swallows it, then brings it to your lips.
“Be a good boy,” she’s tipping the glass as she speaks, a strong way to convey that there’s no room for disobedience, “say ‘ahh’ for me baby.”
The glass is cold against your lips, the liquor even colder on your tongue as it flows into your mouth at a manageable rate. When she stops pouring, you take the cue, and you swallow all of it in one gulp. The burn in your throat is oddly rewarding, probably because Sana’s smiling down at you, stroking your hair and telling you how obedient you are as you swallow. Then she makes you open your mouth again, pours another portion down the hatch.
How does it taste, she’s asking, cupping your right cheek as she swirls the glass. You give her a short honest review of it: It’s good. The answer pleases her, and she sets down the glass in her hand to pick up the bottle from the table next to you.
“Yamazaki, 12 year old single Malt.” She’s letting you see the bottle under the light, though you have to admit that her tits right next to the bottle are a horrible distraction. “My personal favourite.”
She unscrews the cap and takes a swig straight from the bottle, swallows it without even flinching. She’s always been able to hold her alcohol well, and you know for a fact that she can probably outdrink 5 of your colleagues and maybe, just maybe, your boss too. But you’ll never have a fair gauge on how well she can drink in comparison to your peers; she only drinks around you.
Your face is back in her hand, and she’s got some more things to say—Drink it neat, on the rocks, add it to another drink, it tastes great no matter what—as she starts to lightly grind herself over your throbbing shaft in your pants. But you know what the best way to drink it is, she asks you. She’s not looking for an answer from you, just finding a way to transition from the Whisky to whatever it is she has in mind—you can tell because she leans down to capture lips right after she throws out the inquiry, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. The smell of Whisky is so damn strong on her breath, and the only thing hotter than the burning sensation in your throat is the fact that she’s using one hand to play with herself, the bottle of Whisky in the other. You can hear it slosh next to your ear as she raises it.
And as she breaks the kiss, the thin strand of saliva connecting the two of you doesn’t stop her from providing the answer to her question—it tastes the best when you drink it right off my body—as she straightens herself. The next second, still playing with herself, she’s bringing the bottle to her lips, tipping it just before it touches those red-tinted lips to let the golden liquid flow down her chest and breasts. There's no time to admire; you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. Her skin glistens with the Whisky on it. It looks like gold in the snow. She smells like lavender and lust.
Your tongue, saturated with Whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Sana gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples—roughly, hungrily. You could say that she’s wasted some perfectly good Whisky, but you say that she’s added complex flavours to an already exquisite meal. The blend of alcohol and Sana’s skin is not something you never knew you needed, but now you do. The novelty of it, the sheer lust she’s emanating, all of it makes her tits taste better than ever, and you find yourself leaving marks on her cleavage, the right side of her left breast, the left side of her right breast; every centimetre of skin that can be reached is marked and tasted—your attempt at dipping your toes in a little control in this karaoke room that is Sana’s domain.
Maybe you’re a little over-indulgent in her, maybe you’re just unaware, but you certainly can’t feel her slipping your tie off your neck. By the time you’re aware of the sudden feeling of freedom at your throat, she’s already wrapping your wrists, securing them together with an intricate knot. You know damn well that even the boy scouts couldn’t untie this one, even if they sent their best member. The theory is only enforced when Sana asks you to try pulling your wrists apart, and it feels like they’ve been superglued together. Satisfied, she feeds you some more Whisky off her body, then it’s time for her fun.
Palm flat against your chest, eyes flaring, wicked smile; Sana pushed you back against the couch with graceful authority—something that only she is capable of. Then it’s onto your shirt, and he’s unbuttoning it with practised dexterity: unfastening, pulling—motions so fast that she has your reverence for mastering the art. She takes a moment, parts the fabric covering your chest and runs a fingernail down the centre of your torso. The nail—painted black with little Sakura flowers adorning it—stops at your belt. It isn’t hesitance that keeps her finger there; it’s the innate cheekiness that makes her linger there a little longer, that makes her smile softly as the other hand joins in and starts undoing the clasp of your belt. Not a word is uttered as she pulls apart your belt, then goes straight for the buckle of your belt.
Then it’s back to kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing as she runs her fingers through your hair. The Whisky on both of your breaths mingle. Admittedly, you’re feeling a little floaty, engendering a pleasant tingle on your skin as she starts placing kisses on your cheek, then on your jaw. Next thing you know, she’s sucking hard at the nape of your neck, marking you with those lovely lips, as if she’s placing a wax seal on you, declaring: you are mine and mine alone. And when she successfully sears the shape of her lips onto your skin, she traces the slick outline with a finger, whispers softly, You have no idea how much I want to own you right now.
The excitement is palpable, the tension even more so. She’s whispering all sorts of things to you—most of them entailing what she’s about to do with your cock—all while she starts to slip your briefs off of your legs. Your cock springs out of your pants, slaps against her ass and twitches on the rotund flesh. The smile grows wider, devilish dimples appear. And for the record: no, she’s not gonna blow you. She’s gonna make herself cum before anything else happens, and she’s going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.
She slides off you, gets back up on her feet. With her back turned to you, she bends forward at the waist, shaking her ass while she uses her thumbs to hook onto the waistband of her panties. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. Her pussy glistens in the light, flushed pink and folds tantalising as ever puffy and swollen with excitement.
She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.
She wiggles her ass at you, looking back at you over her shoulder.
“Bet you wished,” she gets on her back, spreads her legs to get the spotlight on her slit, “that you could absolutely own me like this right now, don’t you?”
She’s so cocksure. It’s driving you crazy. You swallow, your voice barely audible as you utter her name. She crawls to you, sits up, her face in front of yours, so close, so hot. Her hand touches the back of your head, her voice barely a whisper as she grips the base of your cock—but you can’t, and it’s so damn frustrating, isn’t it?—and rubs your tip between her dripping folds, lathering her juices all over your head and smiling all the way through.
And when you least expect it, she turns and sinks down on your cock.
You throw your head back, groan, the sound of her wetness as she takes your cock into her pussy loud and clear over the music. Your head falls forward again, watching her sink further and further, taking more and more of your cock inside her with every passing moment as she lets a long, drawn-out moan float through the air. When her crotch meets yours and you are fully embedded inside her, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure that leaves open lips. You meet it with a sigh of your own, somehow tearing open your own shut eyes to watch the expression on her beautiful face as you fill her.
Christ, fuck and god—just some of the words that you want to cry out as she starts to slowly grind herself against you. The ride she’s about to take is one that’s of perverse nature; it’s not going to be a slow, pleasant ride. Naturally, her habit of jumping straight into things leaves her unprepared for what she’s about to experience, so now she has to slowly slowly adjust to your size, like striking the flint over and over next to the fireplace as you hope to get a flame going. Usually, this would be a time where you’d caress that beautiful body, run your hands over that unblemished white skin and pepper kisses all over the places that she loves to be kissed. But she’s not in the mood for that, not when she has this room and you at her disposal.
Then the fire ignites, and it is merciless, a force of nature—untameable, unrelenting. In your bonds you are unable to resist. You never would’ve in the first place. She begins to move, her pussy tight and slick around your cock. She rides you like she was made to do this, like a pro. She rides you fiercely, roughly, taking you in and out of her tight wet heat, caring little for your comfort or much of anything aside from stuffing herself over and over with thick, hard meat. Throughout it all she is digging into your thigh, crying out like her life depends on it as she goes up, down, up, down—a lewd seat on a merry go round.
Yes, yes, yes—she throws her head back, auburn hair flying like streamers in the wind as she has her way with you—o-oh fuck I need this! I need this so fucking bad! The rhythmic, repetitive motion, her unbridled desire to be filled, it sends you reeling. The pressure on your leg is forgotten, the slight discomfort in your arms pushed out of the way. You can do nothing but watch her ride you. You can do nothing but marvel at how good you feel inside her, how the tightness of her pussy massages your shaft, how the way she takes you so completely into her folds, how you stretch her and make her quiver and quake.
A part of you wishes the mirror were visible from your current position, so that you could watch as Sana impales herself over and over on your cock. You want to watch the expression of pleasure wrangle her cute features, want to watch her full, round breasts bounce up and down, want to watch every muscle of her long, perfectly shaped legs work to throw her body again and again against your cock. But you’ll have to content yourself with the almost equally alluring view of her sweaty back (not that it was a particularly difficult position to enjoy. How could you call it “bad” with the view of her round, full ass as she slams it down against your crotch?). It’s not like you can change anything about this anyway. No—the only thing you can do is sit back, watch, and savour how her ass jiggles as it crashes against your crotch.
Oh fuck, oh yes! I’m so fucking full! I’m so stuffed with this cock!
You lose yourself to the sound of her voice, the feeling of her pussy as it swallows up your cock, the sight of her back arching and her hands shaking. As much as you try, you find yourself unable to move, as though your own pleasure has been drained out of your body, and you are just an observer. You watch as she pushes herself down further on your cock, impaling herself with every thrust of her hips, her voice growing louder and louder as she gets into that dangerous rhythm, the rhythm that makes you think she’s on Acid. Well-formed breasts bounce, you see them past her slender figure. Her shapely, luscious ass ripples. Long legs work overtime, cooperating with the stamina of the girl who is using them to drive herself over the edge like it’s her be-all and end-all. It’s exhilarating. It’s thrilling.
It’s so fucking hot.
Oh god. You’re stretching me out so good. This cock feels so damn good!
Two things are getting you at the moment: (1) The sweat glistening that’s building up on her back. (2) The fact that she’s pushing your thighs apart to get more of you inside her. The former sight is a breathtaking process really: beady moisture on that well built back, pooling at all the best places and making her skin glow as some of it slowly trickles down her spine. The latter’s no grain of sand either mind you, maybe even hotter than Sana’s sweaty back if you dare say. Freshly done nails sit just outside the insides of your thighs, the palms that they’re connected to pushing down against the flesh beneath them. They’re indenting the muscles of your thighs, it’s uncomfortable, but only for a second at a time.
I don’t wanna stop. I don’t wanna fucking stop!
In your restraints, your hands grasp at the flesh that’s so close yet so far, the skin that’s rippling and slapping against yours. Her ass taunts you, tempts you, teases you. It’s so frustrating yet so erotic; you aren’t sure if you should welcome this mix of emotions or reject it before it folds its wings and nestles itself in your chest. The mix of desire and vexation, exasperation and ecstasy—any two emotions that shouldn’t go together are mixing, blending, forming these bubbles in your chest that you can’t explain.
One woman; innumerable sensations.
You need more. More of everything. More of her.
You wish you could touch her.
You wish you could fuck her.
But all you can do is watch, watch as she starts going down harder, crying out even louder.
Her body, so flawlessly feminine, is in deadly motion, working you over from the inside like you’ve never experienced. The air is filled with the wet, lewd sounds of her pussy sucking you in your hips slapping against her ass, her moans and groans, her curses that seem to go on perennially, blending in perfectly with that shitty synth in the background.
And you’re just along for the ride.
You have no idea… How good this is.. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And she wants you to see it, she wants you to watch her—it is exactly that kind of attention that she is basking in. So you watch. You watch her, the way she looks back at you, the way her eyes flare as she takes you in, the way her hands claw at your leg. The way she's moaning with that lilt back in her voice. Everything about this spectacle seems like it’s been scripted for some porno, and her body is certainly making you feel like you’re in one. The only grasp on reality that this situation offers is… Well, nothing. And it’s not that there really isn’t anything for you to root yourself in this real world, rather you’re choosing not to make that mental effort to do so; every little corner of your mind is being bled with whatever colour the image of Sana bouncing on your cock is. There’s no room for reality, and it's addicting, enthralling.
Fuck. You can't get enough of her, and you probably never will.
So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!
Your breath is ragged, and it takes every bit of control you have left in you to not cum right then and there. It takes every ounce of focus not to simply give in to her, not to simply melt into the couch, not to lose your mind to the sensation of her tight, wet slick as it swallows you in, pushes you out; fucking itself over and over and over again on your rock hard shaft. You don't know how much longer you can hold out for, and as if she can tell, Sana starts to move faster, her movements getting even more aggressive. The slaps of her ass against your crotch are louder now, and the wet smacking sound of her pussy's getting faster and faster. Her fingers are digging into your leg, her moans more frequent and more desperate. You can feel her tightening around you, the way her walls clamp down, the way her legs are trembling, the way her voice is going up in pitch.
(It’s the moments of privacy that really get her going; the moments where she can scream and cuss and moan like there’s no tomorrow are everything to her.
Yes, she likes fucking in public spaces for the thrill of it, but she likes it better when she can hold you freely as you fill her, not having to care for the fact that the way her body’s positioned engenders any discomfort or risk of being heard.
Yes, she likes it when there’s the chance that someone can walk in on the two of you, but the prospect of being able to own your cock, uninterrupted and unheard, thrills her like nothing else in the damn world.
Yes, she likes to see if she can hold in her cries while you’re rearranging her insides in a bathroom stall, but she prefers it much more when she can slam herself down on your cock—be loud and be proud of the fact that she loves every inch of meat that fills her till she can barely breathe.
Bottom line: she likes chasing that thrill of being caught, but she loves those moments where she’s alone with you in private even more. Now is one of those times, and God… She’s barely herself anymore.
She is a storm of pure, unfiltered lust. And you must say: it’s fucking sublime.)
Then the game changing sentence comes from her, and it's beautiful.
"I'm fucking cumming!"
The words ring out, clear and loud. And she doesn't stop; she keeps riding you, taking you into her wet hole and milking your cock, using you to bring herself off. It's not until the final second that she slows down, her back arching as she lets out the most satisfying scream that you have ever heard in your entire life. It is all that you can do to watch as she slumps forward, breaths ragged and body twitching as you hold yourself back. It takes everything—every fibre, every cell and every last bit of will—to not cum in her right there and then. And when the final spasm has passed and the shuddering has subsided, when Sana has collapsed against you, your cock still buried inside her, she turns to you.
There are no words spoken, just a mutual understanding of what comes next. She slips off the couch, takes your slick shaft in her hands. A few pumps are delivered, and they’re considerate and slow; she’s good at building tension.
“You’ve already marked my tits. Might as well cum on them.” She’s still got some cheekiness left in her, and that smile is really doing everything for you.
“Fuck, Sana, I—”
“Do it. Paint me.”
You feel the semen gather in your balls before coursing up your shaft and erupting from its tip, landing in thick, wet, warm ropes upon Sana’s creamy skin. Your tip is directed between her cleavage, and the first spurt of cum shoots itself between those wonderful mounds. It’s quickly followed by a second rope, and the third lands on her upper chest. With grace, she manages to direct your spurting cock by the base so the fourth and fifth ropes cover the front of her tits, then the rest don’t matter anymore.
The last ropes of thick, warm semen land upon her face, staining her soft, blushing features with creamy white cum. Some of it lands on her cheeks, on her forehead and onto her open mouth and the thirsty tongue within it. When you finally open eyes you hadn’t known had closed, the picture of Minatozaki Sana, face and chest painted with your warm, thick cum, is one you never want to forget. And as she scoops up your seed with her fingers, she’s got a thing or two to say.
“Excellent load,” she whispers, watching as the cum slithers down her palm. “Plus two to you.”
Just two? Is your reply of false bewilderment. Sana chortles.
Maybe if you can give me a load up my ass, I’ll consider adding another three points.
*
Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket.
Sana’s father seems more imposing than he should for a man his size, and looking at the Yamazaki bottle on the desk, you can tell that Sana gets her liking for Whisky from him.
“I’ve never met you in my life,” he begins, “and now you come here like a friend, asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Sana’s head is bowed. In the corner of the office she sits, hands clasped over one another as she listens in silently. No amount of trials or oral submissions could ever prepare you for this tension.
“Mr Minatozaki… I understand that all of this is sudden,” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a raised hand.
“You know boy… You sure do talk like you know everything about the situation.” His voice is nowhere near threatening as he speaks, and it’s absolutely terrifying. “For a lawyer, you sure do sound quite the fool. Guess I shouldn’t have been expecting much considering your background.”
And it’s that very statement that has you on tenterhooks. You’ve never met him, never even seen his face, yet he knows your occupation which you never even touched on, and from the sound of it, knows what went down in your family. Sana’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she watches her father produce a file from under his desk.
“It’s not the suddenness,” the air quotations he uses hold more weight than they really should, “that doesn’t sit well with me dear boy. No, no… It’s more than that.”
The broad leather chair in his office grows constricting. As he rises from his seat, the foam that holds your butt up seems to depress. And as he begins—if you sauntered in here as just a lawyer, I would’ve let you take my daughter in a heartbeat!—his explanation of what’s grinding his gears, you start feeling uneasy. For context on the severity of this feeling: the last time you felt like this was when you first met his daughter.
But you’re not just a lawyer—he’s opening the file in his hands, flipping through its contents—you’re a disgrace to this very world. You shouldn’t even be in this damn house right now.
Into the file his hand reaches, and out from it: two mugshots. You bristle; Sana gasps (and it’s not that she didn’t know, rather because she was shocked that her father knew.)
So it’s the next sentence that seals your fate. Frankly, you kind of expected it, but it still doesn’t take away from the sheer bedlam that goes down in your head when Mr Minatozaki waves the mugshots of your parents before your face and shrieks at the top of his lungs.
This isn’t the way you pictured this going.
Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.
“Do you seriously think for a second that I’d let the son of two druggies—two disgraceful, repugnant, filthy, druggies—marry my daughter?”
*
It’s hard to forget what she told you over the phone after your talk with her father (if you can even call it that): we’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out.
Money can get you a nice fancy Ball, some nice Whisky and a private Karaoke room. Naturally, it can grant you a means to keep the son of two convicted drug abusers that hung themselves in their cells away from your daughter.
So not even 12 hours after that fate-sealing conversation did you get a phone call from your boss. Next thing you know, you’re uprooted from your workplace in Osaka, transferred to the branch in Nagoya; Sana’s number mysteriously changes itself, none of your letters ever reach her.
It’s over the payphone, months after all of this, that Sana finally reaches you, and she’s ugly crying over the phone.
We can fix this, we’ll figure something out. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out.
In a way, she ended up being right.
And in your suit, you smile as you watch her walk down the aisle. She’s beautiful as ever, and you feel like that white veil over her face is doing her the biggest disservice ever. The little boy carrying the wedding rings seems a little confused, but it only adds to his adorable aura as he stumbles behind Sana. The flower petals are being scattered, the crowd’s on their feet. They’re clapping; you’re crying. Have you mentioned that she looks beautiful?
Oh? You have? Odd…
But just in case it slips your mind, you tell her how beautiful she is in your head, all while she walks right past you and continues to the stage. It feels like the ring boy’s acting stupid to taunt you for being the fool here.
In a way, she ended up being right. If “We” referred to Sana’s father and that man on the stage, “We” did indeed end up figuring things out. The invite broke you, and this wedding is breaking you even more. You know that this invite wasn’t sent by Sana—she isn’t cruel. This has the fingerprints of her father all over it: the seat close to the aisle, your wristband to authorise your access to the venue holding the same serial code as your father’s prisoner ID… All of it is him.
But there’s not much you can do about it is there? You chose to come, you chose this for yourself. There was the option to not come, to tear the invite up and go cry in your apartment in Nagoya, but you bought the Shinkansen ticket here, didn’t you? You walked through the doors of this damn place and took your seat, didn’t you?
And the Yamazaki doesn’t taste as good as it should, and the Spring air is sharper than it should be at the afterparty. They’re over there, congratulating the newly weds and wishing them all the best; you’re over here, sipping on your neat Whisky behind a bush as the music roars on.
It really shouldn’t be a question on how she finds you; she knows you too well to know where you’d go at a place like this. And in her wedding gown, she stands where she is, this look of a god-knows-what mix of emotions simmering on her face. You rub your nose with a thumb, sip on the bitter Whisky as your remedy. No words are spoken, not even a “hey” or “how have you been”—both of you know that there’s no use in starting a conversation here. It’ll go sob, fast, and this isn’t the place for it.
There will never be a place for it.
So why not substitute words with actions?
So in her bare feet, she hikes up her gown, runs over to you, lunges to close those years of separation between you two to hug you like she used to. The Whisky is knocked out of your hands; you’re knocked off your feet. And in the grass, she buries her head into your shoulder and weeps.
You always thought that only death would make you cry, but now as you hold her for what may very well be the last time, you realise: you're not as tough as you think.
Like a Lemon, the realisation that comes is bitter, and it has you bawling.
Cause maybe in a world that wasn’t so cruel, you could’ve been the one on that stage.
(Then the two of you could be in love, happier than ever.)
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a/n: continually obsessed w/ cod dads, here's price
part 1: simon here
part 3: soap here
part 4: gaz here
masterlist here
warnings: pregnancy
word count: 1.7k
buy me a ko-fi
Price was afraid to have babies with you because of the age difference and you rolled your eyes every time he talked about being an old man and how a pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be dating him much less trying to get knocked up by someone his age. As if he’d let you even entertain the thought of leaving him for a young buck who couldn’t spoil you like you deserved.
Throughout your pregnancy he treated you like fine China, afraid he’d say the wrong thing and make you cry. He’s heard about women’s hormones during pregnancy even as you remained rock solid, rolling your eyes when he’d ‘yes dear’ you.
You tried to kick him out of the bathroom when morning sickness hit and he refused. Instead sitting on the tub next to you, petting your back as you leaned into the toilet and tried to soothe you, telling you how strong you were and how beautiful you were carrying his baby even with sick bubbling up your throat at the slightest movement
“I thought morning sickness was only supposed to be in the morning,” you moaned with your forehead pressed against the cool floor tile.
“It’’s a misnomer, love,” John said, removing himself from his perch on the tub to wet a cool washcloth and wipe down your face.
He wishes this phase was over, hates seeing you in pain like this.
That changes once the baby’s born then he’s ready to do it all over again. He didn’t know how attached he’s gotten to helping you do the things you couldn’t because of your belly like putting on your shoes (looking up at your belly reverently the entire time before planting a kiss on it) for you and helping you pick things off the floor that your clumsy fingers dropped. He grew a particular affection for helping you rub shea butter and vitamin E oil over your rapidly appearing stretch marks.
Price insists on building the nursery furniture without reading the directions, “Know what I’m doin’ woman,” and to your chagrin he was right. Managed everything without a set of directions perched on his knee and instead chucked them to the side with the box.
The first thing he built was the fancy rocking chair he bought for you, insisting you don’t help him with anything
“At least let me hold the screws John, I feel stupid just sitting here!”
To him, peace is this. This is what so many long nights holed up in some shithole on a mission have led to. Him sitting on the floor at your feet, building a life together while oldies play on the record player in the next room. He’s so overwhelmed in the moment he can’t help but pull your hand to his lips and kiss it and laughs at you when you ask him what’s wrong
“It’s all right, is the thing, love.”
When you get the first ultrasound, he stops at the store on the way home and purchased a picture frame (insisting you stay in the car and not overexert yourself, he’ll just be a moment, love). The next day he’s on base it now proudly sits facing him next to the photo of him and you vacationing in London with your faces squeezed together in the frame, selfie-style.
Tells anyone who enters his office about you and how far along you are, whether they ask or not, comparing the baby to different sized fruits, which parts were developing that week.
“She’s the size of a lime now, tiny little thing.”
“Can you imagine that she’s growing fingernails in my bird’s belly!”
Absolutely rubbed your swollen ankles in the evenings when he got home from work, peppering gentle kisses on them when he switched feet
Loved your pregnancy brain fog and would kiss your nose any time he got to remind you about something. He became the keeper of your calendar, scheduling your appointments and taking you to them.
When you go into labor, he’s on base in a meeting with some high-brass in a meeting on a highly classified matter. He’s not even allowed to bring his phone into the room. Instead having to turn it off and lock it in a safe prior to entering even with a baby on the way. He was aware this might happen and had instructed you on the line of succession.
“If you can’t get ahold of me, leave me a message lovie, then go down the line. Simon’s second-in–command-”
“Then Kyle, then Johnny, I know, John, you’ve drilled it into my head,” You soothe him, petting the creases he’s worn between his eyebrows, “It’ll be just fine, women have been doing it for thousands of years.”
“I’ll be there, I promise lovie,” He kisses your palm
You leave the message on John’s voicemail, a curt, “It’s time John, once I hang-up I’m dialing Simon, just like we practiced.”
Simon answers on the third ring, “Missus?” His rumbly voice cuts across the line.
“It’s time Simon and John’s still in the meeting since his phone is turned off.”
“Copy.”
The line goes dead leaving you blinking at the Call Ended screen.
You decide that Simon is aware of the drastic nature of the matter and instead busy yourself, you lug the baby bag and your purse to the floor next to the door and go through the checklist John had created in the front pocket: Stove off, windows shut and locked, televisions off…It wasn’t until Simon was letting himself into your front door that the list was likely a distraction from your husband to stop you from leaving on your own until Simon arrived.
Simon collects you with the cool confidence of a Lieutenant in the special forces.
No, don’t worry about the bags or the door, he’s got it, just get yourself into the car.
You try John’s number over and over on the way to the hospital, narrating Simon’s driving, “John, I’m going to have words with you when this is over, I cannot believe you let your pregnant wife in a car with what has to be the worst driver in all of Manchester!”
Before you know it, you’re being rushed into the hospital with Ghost snapping at the nurse at the desk for a wheelchair, NOW! He barks out orders in true military fashion leaving your head buried in your hands as you’re being escorted to the maternity ward.
“Now don’t worry, Sir, your wife is in excellent hands,” one of the nurses addresses Simon, all muscle pushing you in the wheelchair, unblinking and matching their pace.
“He’s not-” You try and interject.
“She better be,” Simon cuts you off, “And the labor will be handled with the utmost care or someone will have to answer to me personally.”
The contractions have started coming back to back and you’re pacing the hospital room, sucking on ice chips fed to you by a patient Simon.
Kyle and Johnny have also arrived and join him in his vigil, somehow maneuvering their way through the “Father and family only” policy the hospital has.
“She was adopted,” You later find out Kyle deadpanned at the security trying to stop him from entering the room, “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”
True to his word, John is there.
He’s rushed into the room, frazzled and running his hand over his beard, eyes darting until he finds you, “Hey sweet girl, I’m here, I’m here,” pointedly ignoring the nurse trying to count out the men in the room
(“Who are these men to you again miss?”)
(“I’m the father,” Gaz informs, flipping through a magazine to pass the time between bursts of activity with contractions.)
You moan out John’s name slapping at his chest weekly when he gathers you up into his arms and hugs you, “I’m mad at you John!”
“Don’t be mad, love, I made it just like I promised,” He tries to soothe you, smoothing his hands over your disheveled hair.
“Not about being late, about getting me pregnant!”
“It’s a bit late for that now, love,” He does his best to hide the smile twitching into place under his mustache.
The boys remain in the room for the entire labor, John holding one hand and the other men trading off when your grip became too strong (“Dinnae know the lass could break my bones with just one hand,” Johnny moans shaking out his aching appendage.)
When the baby finally arrives, the doctor again looks around at the men in the room, “Would…Dad like to hold her?”
John finally extracts himself from your bruising grip to hold your daughter, eyes twinkling with joy at seeing the bundle covered in blood and viscera. Such a difference from every other time he’d been covered in the blood, these are stains he’ll gladly wear.
#1 baby wearer captain price
“I hardly get to hug you anymore because she’s always strapped to you!”
Price’s eyebrows go up at that, “Are you jealous, love?
“Not jealous, but I miss my husband's arms around me!” When you say that with a slight pout in your voice, Price is quick to arrange Uncle Soap and Gaz so he can wine and dine you like old times.
You make sure to wag your finger enough at the boys and remind them they’re there to babysit, not throw a rager and rile up the baby, even though you know your warnings are falling onto deaf ears. You wholeheartedly expect to return home to a cranky and overtired baby and two military men.
“Can’t neglect either of my girls” he’d mutter into your hair after pulling you close after dinner, holding you to his chest tightly in the middle of the sidewalk
“You never do, John, you’re the best man I could’ve hoped for,” You muttered into his chest, “Never did I think I’d get someone so in love with me and our child.”
Will regularly fall asleep with the baby curled on his chest, boonie hat pulled down over his eyes, with your daughter also lulled to sleep by his steady breaths. You can’t help but take a photo every time it happens, so smitten with how your husband enjoys his quiet days on leave.
You can’t help but send the photo to the boys, having the group chat with them immediately blown up with emojis sent by Soap, laughing at the Captain’s prone form.
As a joke the photo ends up framed on Price’s desk, next to the ultrasound. Price actually enjoys having it to remind him of the peace he has waiting at home and the joke is ruined when the photo remains in it’s place of honor.
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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— after sickness, after health + sae itoshi.
૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — your ex husband is a menace. married or not, you'll always belong to him.
⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, smut, angst, divorce, custody battles, you have kids, cheating (with sae lol), manipulation, possesion, slight yandere if you squint, dub-con, tummy bulges, hold the moan, spit!kink, drunk sex, unprotected sex, toxic relationships, previously established relationships, mentions of arguments, ex husband + pro player!sae, fem!reader - not beta read !
⭑ words — 1.5K.
⭑ notes — hello... i was not meant to write this but,, i fear i cannot escape the bllk brain rot lmao !! sorry if he's ooc or too mean but i hope u like it ily guys mwah <3 - m.list ✩
oooo ex husband!sae is so annoying, jarring, he’s horrible.
the divorce is somewhat amicable. both of you pretend it is. you were young and in love but now you’re growing out of affectionate shoes that are too small for you now. it hurts. but you pretend.
ex husband!sae takes what’s his and you take what’s yours. sae doesn’t want what you have and what he gave you — being the big bread winner he was, you keep the house and the cars, the expensive wedding gifts his parents sent from abroad. pity presents, he calls them. he doesn’t want you to be out on your own.
the only thing you and ex husband!sae fight over are the kids — it’s a long and drawn out battle. very messy with tears on your end begging him to call it even and take the deal your lawyer offers up so that the public stops tearing you down. he likes that you’ve called him against the wishes of your lawyers, you’re coming to him as his ex-wife — pleading with him in that way that makes his lips quirk up in a cruel smile because it’s been so long since ex husband!sae heard you beg for him like that.
maybe the custody battle was only to drag you through the mud, make you hurt a little bit so you remember ex husband!sae for the rest of your life. the time you spend with kids is split down the middle.
ex husband!sae hears it from one of your little girls on the way back from their ballet class that mommy is seeing someone new. your other daughter likes him a lot, says he gets them ice cream on the weekends where you have them. and sure enough, your ex doesn’t like that, a weird and sick sense of possession curling around his heart and lungs because you’re not supposed to have been able to move on from sae. you’re only supposed to be happy with him.
ex husband!sae who invites himself over to dinner with your girls on the night he knows that your new boy toy will be there. a sense of pride washes over him as he takes in your expression when you open the front door to him; your eyes wide, pretty lips parted in a delicate ‘o’ — you look as though you might cry, asking him if he’s here for the girls and blinking quick when he says he wants to join the four of you for dinner. he watches the curve of your ass as you lead him inside, wanting to rip that little apron right off of you and make you his again in front of your boyfriend.
the kitchen is cramped with both men politely arguing over how to make the girls’ favourite dinner while they watch bluey out in the living room — paying no mind to the tension building down the hall. your boyfriend seems uncomfortable with how comfortable ex husband!sae is in your space. he knows where the spices are, how you like to wash the dishes as you go along, the way you set the dinner table. your stress runs high as sae flits through your home, after all he did live here once too.
your boyfriend puts his hand on your shoulder. sae smiles when you shrug him off.
the polite yet snide comments continue when your girls are seated for their meals. ex husband!sae makes it known that your current partner has no place at the table, that he could never have you because you’re too loyal to the routine and life that you know. you turn to the fancy bottle of red wine sae bought with him as stress relief.
you’re slightly tipsy when ex husband!sae puts your children to bed — he stops on the creaky stairs because he can hear you drunkenly argue with your boyfriend about tonight’s events and he can’t help but feel as if he’s won. your boyfriend doesn’t think that sae should be around, that he’s bad for you, for the girls too for picking fights in front of them. and like the loyal little thing you are, you defend your ex-husband because he’s a good father and he takes care of you. he always has.
sae only steps in when he sees you getting upset, crumbling under the weight of the evening, the stress of being a single mother with someone who doesn’t understand it the way your ex does. no one else should have the power to make you cry like the midfielder does. that’s sae’s job. the steps of the stairs groan under the weight of his footsteps as sae trudges down them — intervening when you flinch away from your boyfriend who’s raised his voice at you in an attempt to get you to see that ex husband!sae is bad for you.
you screw your eyes shut and clench your fists, not intoxicated enough to fail to gently remind your current partner. “please don’t yell at me.”
you sound so hurt by the argument and that only serves to piss sae off.
“i can take care of her from here,” ex husband!sae brushes past your boyfriend to pull your swaying frame into his chest — sweeping in like your knight in shining armour and ushering the man out of his house with a sick smirk. “i think you should leave.” your boyfriend says he’ll text you later on, no doubt, with the intention to smooth things over while he still feels threatened by your pro-football player ex. but you don’t find the time to respond when later does eventually come around.
because later that night, you give into your urges and succumb to familiarity where ex husband!sae has your knees pressed into your shoulders and your hot cunt wrapped around his shaft — milking him so good like you always have. like you’re meant to be. the midfielder shudders above you, listening out for the squelching symphony your sex sings for him as he fucks you nice and slow. sae fills you up until you can feel his cock in your lungs, dragging his milky pre along your walls as if it’s his signature on your body.
the older itoshi brother would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you, your body, your kisses. the way you dreamily echo his name like it’s a prayer every time he angles his cock to hit your sweet spots. you find his hands within the messy sheets, the slickness of your heat making it easier for sae to grind himself into you. he feels lightheaded with ecstasy, his grunts turning to deep rooted moans as he swoops down to kiss you with tongue — a poor attempt to silence your squeals since your girls are sleeping just down the hall.
the bed that you used to share betrays you, crying from underneath the languid push and pull of your bodies working together for orgasm. ex husband!sae is torn between capturing your teary face in the now and reminiscing all the times he’d fucked you or made love to you against these very sheets. the thought of your new boyfriend doing the same makes him hotter, makes him move faster — slurring and spitting his praises into your eager mouth as his balls clap against the curve of your ass and the crude mix of precum and your juices tie sae itoshi to you.
licking into his mouth, you lift a hand to curl into sae’s roots and tug hard in the way that he likes. “sae,” you mewl, breathless and bambi eyed. “feel s’fuckin’ good. hah! d-don’t stop, m-missed you!”
“don’t tell me what to do, ‘couldn’t stop even if you begged for it.” sweat beads on ex husband!sae’s forehead and he closes his eyes, hips stuttering even though they piston into yours. he can’t tell if you actually miss him or if it’s the sex that’s making you feel this way — and quite frankly, he’s in the same boat. he hooks your thighs over his shoulders and presses the entirety of his body over yours, putting all of his energy in to deep, long strokes that make you choke on your words and gush sweet and clear streams around the base of his throbbing cock.
“you feel me here, love?” your ex husband!sae, asks, magenta hair flopping over his eyes — his hips flush against your puffy clit as your juices pearl along side it. he gives you a rough thrust, fucking you like it’s your wedding night all over again and he hasn’t made the last few months of your life a living hell. like he loves you. “c’mon baby, pay attention. can’t believe you’re so shameless, letting me have you like this again. do you feel me?” sae presses down on your tummy where his thick dick bulges, the sensation making the whites of your eyes visible as they roll back into your skull.
you nod, delirious with desire, pussy trapping your ex husband inside of you. “y-yes, sae! f-feel you!”
“good, because i belong here, sweetheart,” ex husband!sae coos, an evil spark haunting his aquamarine eyes. “i’m the only one who ever gets to fuck you here. because no matter what happens — you’ll always be mine and i’ll always be yours.”
#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#bllk smut#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae smut#blue lock smut#blue lock x you#bllk x you#itoshi sae x you#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae angst#bllk angst#sae itoshi x you#sae itoshi smut#sae itoshi imagines#sae itoshi angst#itoshi sae imagines#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing#tteokdoroki#tw: dubcon#tw: tummy bulges#tw: cheating
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attending a gala with young!politician!snow is both more and less terrifying than you’d imagined
he’d picked you up at 7pm on the dot, waiting outside of his car for you. coriolanus was dressed in all black, a departure from his usual red color palette. the moment you’d stepped outside to meet him in the dress and shoes (as well as necklace) he bought you, he’d smiled charmingly at you and offered his hand.
“you look absolutely enchanting, miss y/n,” he breathed, tone full of sincerity. you could feel your cheeks blaze at his compliment, giving a timid grin.
“thank you, coryo.”
coriolanus brightened even more, opening the back door of the car with his free hand and keeping you steady with the other as you slid in. he followed just after you, settling in beside you on the seat. now here you were, on the way to a big fancy party full of people who made more money in an hour than you did in a whole year.
“are you nervous?” he asks, glancing at you.
“absolutely terrified,” you admit with a soft laugh. “i’ve never been to anything like this. i don’t want to do or say the wrong thing.”
“you’ll be fine, i promise. just follow my lead, and it’ll be over before you know it.”
you nod, but still can’t force down all of your nerves. aside from this whole event being unfamiliar to you, you’re still jittery and unsure with coriolanus. he’s been so hard to read lately. you’re not sure if he’s just toying with you, but it feels too bold to think that perhaps he has a real interest in you either. too indulgent of your daydreams, your fantasies. you can’t seem to stop the fluttery drumming of your fingers against your thigh, until coriolanus is taking your hand and sliding his fingers between yours to stop their incessant tapping. your gaze snaps up to look at him, surprised by the touch.
“everything’s going to be okay. trust me,” he says gently, giving your hand a soft squeeze. for someone who’s last name is snow, his hands are so warm. his thumb brushes over your knuckles soothingly, looking down at you with a calm expression, and you nod. you do trust him. he adds, “i’ll be right beside you all evening.”
his promise makes you feel better, some of the tension leaving your body at both his words and his soothing touch. you glance down at your interlocked hands, his so much bigger than your own. his fingers are so long, pale and beautiful as if they were carved from marble. the veins along the top stand out, raised little rivers of blue that crawl up into his sleeve. his silver watch band rests against the delicate skin of both of your inner wrists.
once you arrive, it feels like a whirlwind of colors and lights and sounds. you find yourself dissociating from most of it, from the moment coriolanus leads you inside with a hand at the small of your back. you try to focus on the way his cologne catches your nose when he turns or moves, the familiar scent helping to ground you. the event passes in a flurry of coriolanus’s voice chatting pleasantly with Very Important Men, fond introductions of you at his side by your name and never your job title, being handed flutes of posca that you only sip on here and there. your date, however, seems to have no trouble at all socializing and sharing drinks with these people.
he’s a natural people-person. coriolanus charms and wins over just about every person he speaks to. the men respect him and listen to what he has to say, while the women giggle and let their eyes wander his face and body. you don’t like that the latter bothers you enough to sling back an entire flute of posca at one point while some district 8 office holder’s wife practically undresses coriolanus with her eyes. if he notices the female attention at all, he doesn’t show it. coriolanus simply keeps one hand planted firmly along your spine, occasionally stroking the exposed skin there softly.
finally, finally, the night comes to an end. coriolanus is loose from the bubbly drinks he’s had, making him a bit more smiley than you’re really used to. his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink that spreads over the bridge of his nose and makes him glow.
“did you have fun, darling?” he asks as he gets into the car with you. while he waits for an answer, he fumbles until he finds the button that raises the privacy screen between you two and the driver.
“fun is…certainly a word,” you offer, unable to stop your grin. coriolanus seems younger like this, spine less rigid and jaw less tense. he looks his age right now, you realize.
“hm. yes, well, i don’t have much real fun these days,” he laments, undoing his tie and shrugging off his suit jacket. “especially not with a beautiful lady on my arm.”
he glances sideways at you as he says it, sly smirk making his smile line in his cheek stand out. you resist the urge to reach out and touch it, instead looking down at your hands in your lap. you never know what exactly to say when coriolanus says things like that. you’re not sure if he’s being sincere, or if it’s just meaningless flirting to him.
he says your name softly when you avert your eyes, gingerly lifting your chin. “look at me, darling,” he whispers. he’s turned his body to face you fully now. his eyes search your face for a long moment before they trail down, landing on the snowflake pendant resting between your collarbones. his finger trails a path down your throat before tracing around the charm.
“it suits you,” he murmurs. the air in the car is suddenly so very warm, electric with the energy between the two of you. he’s so close to you, you wonder if he can hear your heart racing right now. if he knows its because of him.
“coryo,” you exhale, breath trembling slightly. you feel his touch again against your cheek, cradling it softly in his palm. his eyes seem to almost glow in the low light, the streetlights you pass making them appear almost translucent when they reflect off his irises. you both lean in simultaneously, eyes fluttering closed.
the first brush of coriolanus’s lips is soft, curious even. as if he’s giving you the chance to push him away. instead, you sigh and melt into him. his free hand comes to rest on your waist, squeezing softly as he kisses you more firmly when you don’t pull away. his mouth is plush and slick against your own, tasting like the sugary posca he’d drank.
you lose yourself to his kisses, slow and languid and indulgent, making you dizzy with how good it feels. coriolanus slides his hand down from your waist to your hip, then further down to tease at the slit in your dress that splits over your thigh. his teeth nip at your lip playfully, and he smiles against your mouth when you gasp at the way his fingers curl behind your knee to hitch your leg up over his own.
he encourages you to move so you can straddle him, sitting pretty in your silky dress on his lap. your hands land on his broad shoulders while his lips parts from yours, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses along your neck. his tongue drags along the side of your throat, making you shiver and moan softly.
“there’s a good girl,” he mutters, hands smoothing up and down your thighs that splay over his. “you make such pretty sounds for me.”
coriolanus’s words make you feel lightheaded, paired with his wandering touch and exploratory kisses. you shift in his lap just slightly, gasping softly when you feel how hard he is beneath you. his cock presses into the apex of your thighs, his hips pushing up subtly. he lets out a quiet groan, the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. the uncontrolled noise spurs you on, gives you the nerve to cup his jaw and bring his mouth back to yours and demand more of his heated kisses.
“stay with me tonight, my darling,” he pleads, panting against your mouth.
“yes.”
#ehehehe i PROMISE next part is when i’ll stop edging u guys and give u what we all want#i just love a slow build#its about the yearning 🤌🏻#politician!coryo x secretary!reader#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow#tbosbas#coriolanus snow smut#tom blyth
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౨ৎ VALENTINE’S DAY WITH ENHYPEN
pairing: ot7 x gn!reader ⋆ genre: fluff ⋆ warnings: none
⤷ happy late valentine’s day <33
¡ requests: open !
JUNGWON:
• nothing too big but also not too small
• would take you out on a nice walk before surprising you with a decorated picnic area with all of your favorites
• stares at you with a content smile as you gush over your new plushies
Walking hand in hand with your boyfriend, he would ask if you want to rest for a bit. Would ask you to close your eyes and guided you with his hand on your lower back. “Okay you can open them now..” he said shyly and when you did, you turned to him in awe.“Omg Wonnie you didn’t have too!” You gasped out as gaped at the picnic area. Jungwon rubbed his neck bashfully, “I wanted it to be special since normally we don’t have alone time like this you know..” and you couldn’t help but give him kisses all over his face. “Happy Valentine day love.”
HEESEUNG:
• princess treatment pt1!!
• would ask you to dress nicely for dinner nothing too fancy
• surprises you with a gift basket with all your favs
You gave Heeseung a suspicious glare as he giggles to himself. He had his hand on your lower back, guiding you to his car, “What got you all giddy seungie…?” He kisses your forehead and stop you in front of the passenger door. “Open it and find out” he winked and in response you playfully rolled your eyes. When you opened the door, you squeal and gave your boyfriend a squeeze, “Happy Valentine day sweetheart.”
JONGSEONG:
• princess treatment pt2!!
• he would normally take you out to dinner and spoil you but this year he wanted it to be just the two of you
• he would decorate your kitchen and cook your favorite, relaxing and doting on each other in private
You just got off work, taking your coat and shoes off as soon as soon as you got home. You had a rough day at work and the only thing you wanted to do was be in your boyfriend’s arm. The smell of your favorite danced around your apartment which caused you to walk towards the kitchen. “Jongie? are you in there?” you called out and he lets out a small yea telling you to come in. When you did, you stood shock as you looked around your kitchen. Jay walked closer to you with flowers in your hand giving you a small kiss on the cheek, “Happy Valentine day darling.”
JAKE:
• you two don’t really get the hype of valentine’s day, preferring to spoil each other daily
• Jake however was at the store when he got notification about a valentine lego set and his eyes widened
• he couldn’t help but drop everything he was doing and immediately went to go buy it
You were lazing around on your couch waiting for your boyfriend to come home. Jake all of a sudden busted through the door which scared you so bad, “ BABY! YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT I FOUND OMG” he would yell out. You eyed him suspiciously, “Yun.. where’s our food?” his face went pale when he realized he forgot them but his smile got bigger. “Unimportant! We should order food as we build.. THIS!” Jake excitedly said and you can’t even be mad at him when he has sparkles in his eyes.
SUNGHOON:
• our simple introverted prince
• he wouldn’t know what to get you for valentine day since he normally spoil you from time to time
• Would get up extra early to buy your favorite drink, cookies, and flowers before you got up
Sleeping soundly in bed, you turned around to hug your boyfriend. Confused, you opened your eyes just to see him gone. You sat up and stretched with a frown upset he didn’t say anything before leaving. You rubbed your eyes tiredly and made your way to the living him and that’s when you spot Sunghoon nervously hyping himself up. “Hoon? What are you doing over there?” His whole body went stiff at your sleepy voice before relaxing, prepping himself one more time before facing you. Your smile only grew more when you realized why he was nervous. “Happy Valentine day baby..” he said shyly as he held your favorites.
SUNOO:
• he would use this day as an excuse to be as close as possible with you
• would buy your favorite flowers with a teddy bear and a cute hand written sign to place on your bed
• skin care, snacks, and movies with just the two of you
Nothing but giggles and squeals could be heard from your bedroom. Sunoo was currently trying to convince you to do silly couple trends by tickling you. “Okay! okay! i’ll do it, you won!” you giggled out and your boyfriend cheered. You cuddled your new teddy bear as you watched your boyfriend bring out matching face masks and other skin care related items. You couldn’t help but give him a lovesick smile as he concentrates which allowed you to surprise him with a kiss on the lips. He looked up at you with a confused smile and you grinned at him, “You’re too cute for my weak heart… Happy Valentine day sunshine.”
NI-KI:
• our talented creative baby!!
• 24/7 he talks about how you’re the hello kitty to his spider-man and that’s how he came up with his gift
• gifted you a sketchbook with love letters and drawings of you, of course some being with you two
Ni-ki ran upstairs to your room after your parents let him (took a lot of begging for him to do). Slamming your door open, he leaped at you, “Ki! I love you but PLEASE get off of me!!” you groaned out. He giggled and rolled his eyes, “Oh but you can jump on my back whenever? Wow.. double standards.” You playfully punched his shoulder giving him a goofy smile, when you realized he was hiding something. “What’s that in your hand?” and he proudly smiled when he handed it to you. “Happy Valentine day from yours truly!” he replied winking. You looked up at him with a huge smile, “VICTOR YOU ACTUALLY DID THIS?!” and his face deadpanned, “i hate you..”
#૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა — works !#enhypen#enhypen jake#enhypen niki#enhypen jay#enhypen heeseung#enhypen sunoo#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen jungwon#enhypen ot7#enhypen x reader#niki enhypen#enhypen kim sunoo#enhypen scenarios#enha#enha x reader#enhypen fluff#sunoo x reader#heeseung x reader#jay x reader#jake x reader#sim jake x reader#sunghoon x reader#jungwon x reader#enha heeseung#kpop x reader#enhypen imagines#enha fluff#enha x you#enhypen oneshots
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𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ 𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘌𝘚𝘌.ᐟ [𝘛𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘖𝘒 𝘈𝘛 𝘔𝘠 𝘉𝘖𝘠𝘍𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘋]
༊*·˚ ୧ ‧₊˚ ☾ ༘ ೀ⋆
·.𐙚 ༉‧ 脹 ちょう 相 そう
𝖲𝖴𝖬𝖬𝖠𝖱𝖸 ┊ 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴
𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 ┊ 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦
𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 ┊ 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰
MDNI ACCOUNTS DNI PLEASE
To start off, this man would be so protective, not in a bad obsessive way. It’s just perfect. He knows when to step in and when you can handle it yourself.
you two would definitely have cats—maybe a black cat or two, and if you aren’t a dog person then deal with it. But seriously, if you prefer dogs he’d probably get a Doberman or a German Shepard; protective like him :)
Beatles and Nirvana kind of guy, blasting it at 2am in the car with you driving around, a hand on your thigh as you speak your mind and eating fast food.
Would Venmo you money, don’t have enough for coffee? 15 bucks in your account. want a shirt? +50 bucks. You don’t know how he gets all the money, when you ask he’ll just say from work.
Loyal!!! I mean loyal. You’re one of the only one he follows his social media, will hand you his phone the same millisecond you ask. Like this man would probably close his eyes when a girl walks by, he’s so loyal and I’m here for it.
Simp boyfriend. If he’s fallen for you, he’s fallen HARD. He’d get on his knees and worship you like the god you are.
Clingy!! It’s not so clingy to the point he’s annoying. For example if your out in public with him, his hand will be in yours.
Cuddles are his absolute favorite. He’s just so giddy about the fact he can just lay with you and relax in his arms. He’s also the big spoon.
He absolutely loved when you ask him to help choose an outfit. When he sees you showing him and him only the outfits he’ll just admire you. Eyes full of love and like “woah, she’s my girlfriend.”
Overdressed girlfriend x underdressed boyfriend dynamic. You’d be wearing a bunch of jewelry and accessories, while he’d probably wear like sweatpants or cargo pants with a hoodie or tee. (But he wouldn’t be like this on fancy dates) and a bracelet with your initial ALWAYS.
speaking of jewelry, you both have matching ones. Like those magnet jewelry or ones with eachothers initials.
(best) friends to lovers trope, like for him to fall for you he’d have to know you well first. I personally love best friends brother but realistically it’s this one.
Dates at eachothers houses are the best. Sometimes you’d do movie marathons at his house (and his brothers would join you, ruining the moment) or bake at your house. Either way, he won’t make home dates boring.
If you suck at school, he’d be the type to tutor you and say like “I’ll give you a kiss for each answer you get right” when you haven’t seen him all day. on the other hand, if you do good at school then you’d do study dates together, but it’ll end up you going out on for a date.
Would wrap is arms around your waist. Cooking? A sudden weight in your waist, and his head rested on your shoulder. Or even cuddling, he’d want to pull you in closer.
Also with Physical touch, he’d be an acts of service type of guy. Like he’d open your car door, pull out your seat, tie your shoe, order for you, etc.
your family loves him. He’s such a family guy it’s unreal. Would get along with your dad and brother if you had one.
#choso#choso jjk#choso kamo#choso x reader#choso x y/n#choso x you#kamo choso#choso fluff#jjk choso#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso headcanons#choso kamo x y/n#choso kamo x reader#choso x female reader#kamo choso x reader#choso kamo jjk#jujustu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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