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nichuuu · 4 months

Text

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.)

#minatozaki sana #twice smut #sana smut #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut

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sailorholly · 8 months

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Stressed

Summary: Spencer’s been in a bad mood lately, you help him feel better.

Pairing: Season 5 Spencer Reid x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

W/C: 1.4k

See my Masterlist here

“Who drank the last of the coffee and didn’t make another pot?” Spencer propped up on his cane, asked the crowded police station. One of the officers set his mug down beside the case files spread on the table before him.

“I did. I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t know it was a big deal.” Spencer scoffed. “You didn’t think that anyone else would want coffee, when we have barely had three hours of sleep?” The officer looked stunned, obviously caught off guard by the grumpy FBI agent.

“Kid, like I said, I’m sorry.” Spencer limped over to an empty chair, taking a seat. “Don’t call me kid. It’s Dr. Reid to you.” Hotch shot him a warning glance. “Reid.” Spencer dropped his gaze. The officer put his hands up in defeat, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

You wait until the room clears before going over to Spencer. You walk slowly as if you were approaching a wounded animal. “I started a fresh pot just for you. I’ll bring you a cup when it’s finished.” You smile at him, but he doesn’t return it. “Thanks.”

You can tell he’s still upset. He has been moody for a few weeks. Even though you all had agreed not to profile each other, the team had been taking guesses about what was wrong. You still didn’t have an answer. Hotch tried to speak with him privately, but he wouldn’t open up.

At the end of the day, everyone was glad to be back at the hotel. It wasn’t like the comfort of your homes, but at least it was a place to lay your head down. You all had been running on fumes.

You took a shower, thinking of every detail of the abduction. Something didn’t make sense to you, and you couldn’t get your mind off it. You dried your hair, deciding to knock on Spencer’s door to talk through it.

If anyone could help you figure it out, it was him. He answers the door, looking grouchier than before. “I’m trying to sleep. What do you want?” He snaps. You take in his attire. He’s wearing a cardigan over his button up and dress pants, the same outfit he had on earlier.

You frown, pushing your way into his room. “Since when did you start sleeping in your work clothes?” He closes the door, gripping his cane as he walks toward you sitting on his bed. He sits beside you, keeping his distance.

“You’ve been a real asshole lately, Spencer. It’s so unlike you. Is there anything you want to talk about?” He looks away, avoiding your face. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge you. I’d love to help you, especially if it gets you out of this bad mood.”

You watch as he considers your words. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” He asks quietly. You place a hand on your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” The faintest of smiles appears, the first one you’ve seen in a while.

“Now spill.” He sighs. “I am unbelievably stressed. My mom is on a new medication, and she’s giving her doctors a hard time. I got a new neighbor and he plays loud music late at night. I’ve asked him to stop, and he does for a while. Until I go on a case, when I get back, he’s started again. And I’ve been getting these headaches that won’t go away.”

He rubs his left eye, shoulders sinking in relief after he confessed. “Well, all those are valid reasons to be stressed. You really need to get laid.” You giggle, elbowing his side. “I’ve tried.” You stop laughing. You weren’t expecting a sincere answer. You were only joking.

“Wait, you’ve tried to have sex, but can’t find a partner?” You ask, a little surprised. “Yeah, I think it’s my awkwardness paired with the cane. It freaks them out. They probably think I’m an unsub.” He pushes his hair behind his ear.

“I like the cane.” You admit. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah! I think it’s sexy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but couldn’t you just take care of yourself?” You wince. You were having the most awkward conversation of your life with your favorite coworker.

“I tried that. But I couldn’t finish. My mind would race with a million thoughts. It kills the mood.” You lower yourself to the floor, getting on your knees in front of him. “Wha.. what are you doing?” Spencer asks nervously, his voice raising.

“Helping.” You state matter of factly. You unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down. You’re careful when you tug his pants and underwear down his legs, going slowly so you don’t hurt him. He takes a deep breath when you wrap both hands around his hard cock.

You lower your head toward his lap, taking him between your lips. You suck slowly, waiting for his reaction. He lets out a shaky breath when you take him to the back of your throat. You suck harder now, saliva dripping down your chin.

Spencer watches you intently. He can’t believe this is happening. All the nights he had laid in bed, imagining this exact scenario as he pleasured himself. His biggest fantasy was playing out before him. He grips the white comforter on the bed with one hand, the other holds your head in place as you bob up and down on him.

This was too much. He was going to come, and he hadn’t seen you naked yet. “Come up here, I want to touch you.” He sounds almost like he’s begging. You release him, standing to remove your clothing. “Take everything off.” You command as your panties hit the floor.

He wastes no time, throwing his cardigan and shirt beside your discarded clothes. He didn’t even unbutton his shirt. You didn’t know how he managed to get it off. “Lay back against the pillows.” He scoots until his back hits the cushiony wall. You climb on top of him, legs positioned around his hips.

You start grinding against him. The head of his cock rubbing against your clit. He tilts his head back, greasy curls splayed out on the pillows. You pepper kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, while large hands cup your breasts.

He tugs at your nipples, rolling them between calloused fingers. You feel your arousal dripping down your thighs. You couldn’t remember a time when you were more turned on. “I want you to sit on my face.” You notice the faint blush rising on his cheeks as he said the words. “You sure?” He nods his head, confirming. “I want to taste you.”

You place your thighs on either side of his head. He kisses your inner thigh, working his way up to where you need him the most. His curious tongue meets your center, collecting your arousal and bringing it to your clit. He moans, the sound vibrating against you. You clamp your legs tighter around his ears, letting him devour you.

His tongue swirls around you expertly. He could be writing in Morse Code for all you know. You reach for the headboard when his lips wrap around your most sensitive spot. The suction and heat of his mouth tip you over the edge. You reluctantly remove yourself from him, still feeling needy.

“I need you inside of me.” You kiss above his belly button and his cock twitches. “I can’t get on top because of my leg.” He points to the offending appendage like you had forgotten about it. You beam at him, as you you straddle him once more. “I got this.” You line yourself up with his hard length, sinking down on him.

He gasps when he fills you all the way. You move yourself on top of him, placing your hands on his shoulders for support. You rock your hips back and forth, letting your head tip back when he brushes your g-spot. You call his name, tilting your hips so he hits it again.

“You like that?” Spencer asks, gripping your hips, working your body with his. You feel the pressure building inside you. It’s unbelievable. You’re lucky if you get off once during sex, and your second orgasm is quickly approaching. Spencer feels you clenching around him.

“Already?” He is in complete awe of you. You were even better than he imagined. “Oh God, Spencer! I’m so close.” His hands hold you harder. He sits up, pressing his chest flush against yours. Your peaked nipples rub against his chest, adding fuel to the flames.

He removes a hand from your waist, bringing it down between you. The pad of his thumb drags across your clit, making you writhe with pleasure. He looks down at where you’re joined, admiring the view. “You’re taking me so well, Angel.” He swirls fast circles against you, and your orgasm rolls over you in waves.

Spencer watches as you come undone. He follows closely behind you, a string of curses leaving his lips. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. “I need to be in a bad mood more often.” Spencer thinks out loud, his lips curling upward into a smile.

Tagging some people I think would like this.

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lamentis-10 @megharat-barnes @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 9 months

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KINDRED — yang jungwon

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star taekwondo athlete and put them in front of a camera?

“Kindred” a student documentary. Pilot episode airing tonight on TVN 7PM KST.

PAIRING: athlete!jungwon x stucopres!fem!reader

FEATURING: enhypen, yunjin from lesserafim, ryujin and chaeryeong from itzy, chanelle from runext, beomgyu and taehyun from txt, wonyoung from ive, gunwook and gyuvin from zb1 etc.

GENRE: high school au, enemies to lovers, nerd x athlete, forced proximity, slice of life, coming of age, he fell first and harder, fluff, ANGST, teen drama, slow burn ish?

WARNINGS: contains profanities, horrible attempt at humour, urban lingo, probably cringy, kys/kms jokes, depression jokes, sexual innuendos (nothing too inappropriate), depiction of violence, reader can be a little bit annoying at first, family drama, incorrect timestamps/information, no fixed faceclaims, not proofread etc.

STATUS: completed! (01/09/2023 – 18/03/2024)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: please read! story concept is heavily inspired by the kdrama ‘our beloved summer’ other than that the storyline is completely original (or so i assume since i manifested this out from the crevices of my pea brain). i’ll try to keep this one to ard 30 chapters (who am i kidding). chapters with ‘(hw)’ next to them indicates that they are half-written, in case y’all skip over it! as always, the content and depiction of the characters in this smau do not in anyway represent them in real life. also i know how twitter has been rebranded to x, but we’re just gonna continue calling it twitter. lastly, if you do end up enjoying, please do like, comment (love reading your comments btw), and reblog so this can reach!! without further ado, enjoy!

TAGS: #tfwy kindred #tfwy smau

TEASER

profile. one | two | three

episode 1 - ratatouille and the underdogs

episode 2 - one way ticket to university

episode 3 - do you take constructive criticism?

episode 4 - unsolicited but appreciated

episode 5 - the art of benevolence

episode 6 - taekwondo-anti

episode 7 - beating the mentally ill allegations

episode 8 - can’t help it, i’m a libra

episode 9 - operation we-don’t-really-hate-each-other (hw)

episode 10 - she’s an oscar award winning actress

episode 11 - someone like me (hw)

episode 12 - ‘female-lead-realising-the-bad-boy-isnt-actually-that-bad’ arc

episode 13 - 5 foot 9 garfield meets avatar

episode 14 - yn the heterosexual

episode 15 - the ynwon getting closer montage :p

episode 16 - to the moon and back

episode 17 - eat 2 left toes

episode 18 - you are approved! (hw)

episode 19 - asking for a friend

episode 20 - rediscovering won’s ability to love

episode 21 - beomgyu’s 99999 eq

episode 22 - ynwon get together or else >:(

episode 23 - “hate”

episode 24 - not all problems can be solved with a formula

episode 25 - H.O.M.E.W.R.E.C.K.E.R

episode 26 - collecting facebook milfs like pokémons

episode 27 - you were brighter than the moon (hw)

episode 28 - no matter shrimp or whale, you deserve to flap your tail

episode 29 - the garden is full of surprises (hw)

episode 30 - weapon of mass destruction

episode 31 - the name above me (hw)

episode 32 - no offense but she’s a cockblocker

episode 33 - the bane of my existence (hw)

episode 34 - risky risky wiggy wigi this is an emergency

episode 35 - live my life on my terms (hw)

episode 36 - separation anxiety goes crazy

episode 37 - paparizzki

episode 38 - is it too late now to say Sorry?

episode 39 - everything will work out just the way you want it to (hw)

episode 40 (finale) - her entire being is loveable (written)

epilogue - kindred, signing off part 1 | part 2

bonus chapters!

yunjin x heeseung

i can fight

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help-itrappedmyself · 2 months

Text

Summoning Game Show Part 5

Masterpost

I just spent an unnecessarily long time making A Quiz so I would have questions and answers ready to go, only to not put any of them in. And spend a ridiculously long time doing math because I had to redo it like three times. Numbers are not my strong suit. In any case I now have a fully functional Jeopardy game and the next part.

~~~~~

It’s a close race. They were equal on the mountain track and neither really got sidetracked by Skulker on such a straightforward route. They made it to Zone Two almost even, but Jason almost immediately falls behind as Skulker hits him with a paintball. Being shot at shocked him more than anything, but realizing it was paint, he stopped trying to avoid it and just kept going, letting his armor deal with most of it. Skulker got bored and quickly went after Johnny instead, who got irritated and started a shouting match with Skulker as he drove. The different terrains meant they had to keep slowing down and speeding up, and Skulker got bored with the paintballs and started throwing water balloons instead. This was more annoying for the drivers because the water made the sand and mud trickier to drive on. Both Johnny and Jason both got their bikes temporarily stuck in mud and had to drag them back out while Skulker cackled above them.

Zone three allowed Jason to catch back up to Johnny. This was what he was used to and he was able to go faster with more confidence. Johnny and Jason separated after Skulker shot a net at them both. And they found each other again on a straightaway leading to the finish line. It was close at the end, but Jason managed to pull out ahead.

They shook hands at the finish line, walking back into the main room together. They separated when Johnny left to go back to the stands, followed closely by Skulker.

“Wonderful race, very intense, great driving all around.” Danny says, very entertained. “Well earned win, Jason. I’ll remind you this is what you have currently.”

“What letter would you like to guess?”

“I’ll take I.”

“Another vowel, very good.” Danny waves his hand again. “There are two I’s!

“The next challenge is trivia, which will be played by Red Robin as he is the only one who has yet to participate in a challenge.”

A new podium appears on stage as Danny’s podium rotates so the two are facing each other. Red Robin walks up to the new podium.

“ The theme is SPACE!” Danny is so excited he is practically bouncing. A jeopardy-looking game board appears on the screen. “ You have 6 categories, all space themed, they are: Earth, Other Planets, Space Numbers, Stars, Other Space Entities, and Spacecrafts! There are 9,000 possible points, you need to get at least 7,500 in order to win! The game can stop as soon as we’ve reached that number.”

Red, being Red, decides to do all the hardest questions first. He starts at the bottom left corner, gets the first question right. Tim thinks since he got the hardest one he could probably finish out the Earth category pretty easily, so he goes down the list and gets them all correct.

With 1,500 points he decides to start the next category with the hardest question as well. This is his first wrong answer. He starts going up the list, and gets the 400 incorrect for this category as well. Danny is disappointed. The rest of the boys are infinitely relieved that Tim is the one doing the trivia part. They probably would have lost already.

Tim does get the rest of the ‘Other Planets’ category correct and moves on with 2,100 points and 6,000 points left on the board. He decides to start ‘Space Numbers’ with the 100 point question and keeps going, acing the whole category. He now has 3,600 points. With 4,500 points left on the board he needs 3,900 more points. This means he can only lose 600 more points. He aces the ‘Stars” category, then moves on to ‘Other Space Entities’. He misses the last question, leaving him with 6,100 points and 1,500 left on the board. Tim can only afford to miss the 100 point question, so he decides to start at 500 and get it over with.

He continues until he reaches the 200 point question. If Tim answers this one he will win, and he does so correctly the screen changes to shoots of confetti.

#batman #danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #alternate universe #tim drake #redrobin #jason todd #red hood #skulker #johnny 13 #space!!!#summoning game show #my writing #fanfiction

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slytherinshua · 2 months

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YOU'RE SUCH A DORK

genre. fluff. warnings. kissing. pairing. taeyong x fem!reader. wc. 814. request. no. a/n. just a lil smth i wrote for @blue-jisungs but yeah this does mean that im writing for nct now !!!! im excited to write for them 🥹

“I can’t focus when you’re doing that.” You stated. It took absolutely every ounce of your willpower to not look at your boyfriend who was trying so hard to steal your attention away whether he realized it or not. His head rested on your desk, and you could just see in your peripheral vision his big boba eyes that watched you as you worked, as well as a small pout on his cherry red lips.

“I’m not doing anything.” He mumbled, and his voice came out so small and soft that you could feel your heart melting in your chest.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Yongie.” You insisted, dropping your pencil down on your notebook. You glanced at him just in time to see his lips lift slightly into a smile and you shook your head. No matter how much your boyfriend denied it, you knew he had perfected the art of how to distract you. It wasn’t even hard— all he really had to do was look at you with those big shiny eyes and you’d be folding.

“Do you have to do these stupid exercises?” He asked, lifting his head up from the desk and stretching. You didn’t blame him for getting a little bored; watching someone work was never the most entertaining thing to do. Even if you had only been studying for 20 minutes, you were also already tired of it.

“Unfortunately.” You nodded your head with a sigh.

“You’ve been staring at the same one for 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, I know.” You frowned, “I’m just not motivated, I guess.” Your boyfriend perked up at your comment.

“I can motivate you.” He offered, shuffling his chair a little closer to yours.

You raised an eyebrow, “How so?” Whenever Taeyong had that ghost of a mischievous smile on his face, you knew you were in trouble.

“For every exercise you complete, I’ll give you a kiss.” He layed out the rules, and you immediately had to fight back a smile. Your boyfriend was such a dork.

You pretended to think about it for a minute before agreeing. Even though you knew that the reason he was staring at you so hard earlier was probably because he wanted kisses, his plan did sound motivating enough to work on you. With your newfound focus from the thought of a promised kiss, you looked back at the problem and easily completed it within the next few minutes.

“Done.” You turned back to your boyfriend and used your pencil to point at the neat sentences you had written out. He nodded as his eyes scanned over it and his left hand pulled your chair closer to him at the same time.

Within seconds his lips collided with yours and you closed your eyes, savouring the feeling and taste of his minty lip balm. You pouted as soon as the kiss was over. It didn’t feel long enough, but you were sure that even if you kissed Taeyong for a whole day, you would still feel like it wasn’t enough. You went back to work on the next problem without any protest.

The pattern went on for about an hour, and each time you completed an exercise, you got another kiss. As it went on, the kisses started to last a little longer. You could only assume that your boyfriend was trying to balance out how long it took you to complete a problem with how long the kiss was.

It was in the middle of your 7th or 8th problem when you finally gave up, dropping your pencil down and slouching back in your chair. Taeyong’s kisses had definitely helped you, but your brain was exhausted and it felt like repeatedly smashing your head against a brick wall everytime you looked at another exercise.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You mumbled in defeat making your boyfriend look up from his phone.

“Do you need more kisses?” He offered. Your frown deepened at his offer, silently wondering how you got so lucky having someone as sweet as him as your boyfriend. You nodded in response to his suggestion and he let out a laugh.

“You’re cute.” Was all he whispered before he leaned over and reconnected his lips to yours. You could feel all the stress and exhaustion dissipate from your mind as Taeyong’s lips became the only thing your brain could focus on. He was balancing his hands on the armrests of your desk chair, holding himself up as he leaned over you; and it was perfect.

Perfect until he lost his balance and fell on you.

You burst into giggles when Taeyong’s lips detached from yours and his head hit your shoulder. You could hear him laughing too after he got over the shock of the kiss being unwelcomingly interrupted by his lack of focus on keeping himself up.

“You’re such a dork.”

↳ nct 127 taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,,

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procrastiel · 1 month

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My highlights from The Assembly:

Was John Taylor from Duran Duran your first ever crush? “Yes, he absolutely was.” Michael thought he was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, man or woman. And he tried to imitate his hairdo (didn’t work out though, because Michael’s hair is really curly and John’s is straight).

He’s not brave enough to go on Strictly because he thinks he’s not a good dancer.

How does it feel to be dating someone that is only 5 years older than your daughter? “Both of us were quite surprised when we got together, it wasn’t something we were looking for. I haven’t dated anyone who is much younger than me but you meet who you meet. We were both very aware how people might respond, and that it would be difficult and challenging, but ultimately we felt that it was worth it, because of how we felt about each other. And now we have two beautiful children together. We’re really, really happy. I am aware that I am a much older father, and it does worry me, and makes me concerned, and makes me sad thinking about the time that I won’t have with them. But if you find someone who brings you happiness and you make them happy you gotta go for that. So that’s what we decided to do, and I’m so happy we did because we have this wonderful family now.”

The next question (asked by the same girl) was: Who is the rudest celebrity? “Have you heard of a man called David Tennant? He was Doctor Who. Doctor rude! No he’s very nice. Someone will occur to me and I’ll let you know. (pause) Jennifer Laurence was very cheeky! She is very cheeky.”

How tall are you? “I’d like to be 5”11 but I’m closer to 5”10.”

He likes Dylan Thomas, even though he doesn’t understand all of his poetry.

He cries probably every day. And it’s totally fine to feel things deeply and get emotional about things.

His favourite Disney film is Moana. And that’s Mabli’s favourite movie at the moment, too. She watches it about twice a day.

He’s worried that AI will take his job away, and that it will change everything, not just actors and writers. And that by the time we will want to put a stop to certain things it’ll be too late.

His favourite food is Egg and chips. Only enhanced by ham.

He loves going by train.

If he could replace 2 people of the royal family he’d take away Andrew & Camilla and replace them with Joe Lycett & David Attenborough. Or Tom Jones as the Prince of Wales!

If he could play the Doctor or the Master, he’d like to play the Master and play opposite David Tennant as the Doctor.

His biggest fear is being alone. And it’s also what he worries about the most for other people.

Hot or cold? He does like winter and snow. ❄️

Walk us through the before, during and after of the kiss with David Tennant: reading the script he thought “that’s gonna be a big deal”. They didn’t really talk about it and just went for it. Everyone was quite moved by the scene, all the people around them, so they knew it had gone quite well. And now they never talk about it. (He said that last bit with a smile.)

5 OF THE INTERVIEWERS SANG HERE COMES THE SUN FOR HIM AND EVERYONE JOINED IN AT THE END 😍 Michael had tears in his eyes

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mournings-stars · 3 months

Text

doubt comes in

happy valentines day, here's my apology in advance for the angst. this is heavily based on the story of orpheus and eurydice specifically in the musical hadestown (my fav) with inspo from the lyrics so a lot of this is written with the intention to rhyme and be in a hadestown-esque song.. I probably wont write like this often, but i hope y'all like it there's one mention of pronouns (she/her) with lilith since i basically swapped the reader for orpheus and luci for eurydice but other than that i don't think there's much to indicate this is a fem!reader but this is an angel!reader if anyone would like a precursor with fluff, i'll compensate yall for the dramatic greek angst

part 2 (prelude) part 3 (prelude pt. 2) part 4 (prelude pt. 3) part 5/finale (semi-alt ending)

It was a long way down; winding, golden steps in a narrow hall that you didn’t know the depth of until you reached the bottom. Your legs ached with each step, and your wings fought not to fly the rest of the way. You could see it in the distance when you reached the ground, the red heat of the pride ring, and the home you were headed to.

It hadn’t been long since Lucifer fell, maybe a few months since he and his love were banished to the darkness he created with the worst of humankind, but you were given a blessing.

Sera, the oldest of the angels, allowed you to go down to Hell to retrieve him. There was a catch, however, one that made you wary as you now neared his home.

You could only retrieve Lucifer. He had to leave his love, and you had to trust that he would follow you. You had to lead the way back up the golden staircase she created for you, all the way to the very top where the golden gates you knew so well waited for you. Lucifer had to walk behind you without a sound; he couldn’t assure you that he was there. You just had to trust one another. To follow, and not to check.

You couldn’t turn around.

Finally, you reached his home, knocking on the door and waiting patiently before it was opened. “It’s you…” You knew his voice well, the sound of it making your heart swell as you wrapped your arms around him.

He was quick to return the embrace, the ache in your legs vanishing for a moment in his arms. “It’s me.” He sighed, hugging you tighter and shutting his eyes with his head on your chest. He could hear the drumming of your heart, and he knew if he held you long enough he’d be back in Heaven when he opened his eyes.

But he had to let go.

“How are you here?” He asked a question and it was like a melody, clear as day and symphonic as the winds that flowed beside you as you descended that steep staircase down to Hell. He stepped back, hands lingering until you stepped away.

“Sera allowed me to come down,” you said. “She said I could bring you back — that you could leave this place…” You looked around, shifting uncomfortably in the unnatural heat before you turned back to him with a gentle smile. “Come home with me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a trick. She’s never liked me—“

“No!” You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “It’s a trial — or a second chance at one.”

It had taken you days to get down. You hadn’t seen Lucifer in months. A few days without looking back at him would be nothing if that meant an eternity back home.

He squeezed your hands, looking down at them and suddenly feeling that it might just be possible. “How?”

“It took a while,” you said quietly. “She didn’t want to listen, but I knew you had the best intentions. I convinced her, and she’s letting you come home.”

“She’s letting me try.” He looked down, dropping your hands and frowning at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to follow me—“

“I can do that,” he said quickly.

“And you can’t touch me, or speak to me. You just have to trust that I’ll get us there and that I won’t look back—“

He cut you off with a dry laugh. “Just?” He laughed harder. “We both know how this will go.”

“I trust you to follow me. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” His hands went to your face, holding gently. You moved out of his grip, feeling the coolness of the band on his left hand. “We were always close; I trust you, I just… don’t trust her—“

“You should go, Lu,” a voice came from behind him, and the woman you recognized from Eden stood there. Her hair, long and blonde, flowed behind her in non-existent winds. Her smile made you understand why he fell — why he would for her. “Go home with her.”

It was decided then. Just one encouraging push from his love and he was prepared to leave. He looked back at her, giving a smile that made you look away as you turned.

As they said their goodbyes, you waited quietly, kicking at the ground absentmindedly until Lucifer put a hand on your shoulder. “Ready?” You nodded. “Alright.”

“We can walk together until we reach the stairs… Then, from there, we’re on our own.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he assured. “I’ll make sure you get back home.”

You frowned at his wording, taking his hand. “We’ll both go home.”

He nodded, correcting himself and squeezing your hand, “I’ll make sure we both get home.”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

The walk was quiet before it had to be, doubt already coming in and making its way between you. What would happen when you reached the stairs? Would he follow behind you? Who were you to think he would, when his love had to stay in a place like this?

“How bad was it?” Lucifer asked you. “Are you sure you want to go now?” You nodded. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I can rest when we’re home.” You gave him a smile that made him do the same. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

He had his doubts. He doubted that he could. He doubted he could make it all that way. He hadn’t seen you in months, and all he wanted was to talk to you — all he could do was touch you — but there was silence now. Didn’t that mean it’d be easy not to speak? Not to touch you… After all this time. After he found someone to love—

“Sera said if we make it, she’ll listen to you,” you tried, hoping he’d respond. He hadn’t even realized he didn’t answer you. “Maybe we can bring Lilith up soon.”

“I’d like that.”

The smile you gave him made him reach out his hand, the look on your face forced and sorrowful as you walked ahead of him. He wanted to take your hand for comfort — to both of you — but how was he supposed to go days without it if he couldn’t fight a simple urge now?

“We’re here…” You stopped some time later, silence blanketing the two of you a long time ago.

But now it was for a different reason.

Great golden steps stood before you, spiraling high up into thick clouds that shielded the true height of the stairs.

But even from here they looked endless.

“We can’t fly, can we?” Lucifer asked, half joking.

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” You laughed, but it died out quickly. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can turn back now…” You swallowed your pride. “Go home to her… It’ll be days of walking, and going back up is much harder than coming down.”

He took a moment to understand what you were telling him, but surely told you, “If you were down here, I’d come to find you, too.” That brought a smile to your face. There was another pause before he asked, “would you follow me?”

You nodded. “Anywhere.” Even here.

He smiled, taking your hand like he wanted to before. “Then show the way.”

You squeezed his hand before turning to the stairs and letting go, savoring that last touch until you could do it again; back home. You took a deep breath before taking the first step.

Immediately, a marble wall surrounded the staircase, and you could only imagine that the steps were shielded, a wall blocking off the first stair as you started to go back up.

You couldn’t hear a thing, not even your own footsteps as you climbed step after step.

Lucifer, on the other hand, could hear your footsteps echoing; one after the other, each of your steps right after the other, and sounding like the dull pounding of a drum. He couldn’t tell if it was comforting or foreboding, but he listened anyway. This was how he’d make it through, he decided. To the steady sounds of drumming.

But you were struggling. Coming down and back up so soon had made you tired already, but doubt weighing you down didn't help any. You let out a breath before beginning to hum as a way to ground yourself to these hellish stairs.

It was a song both of you knew well; there were no words or swells to make you know what came next, just an endless melody that the winds would sing as they carried the seasons through the Earth. Long before Lucifer went to see the world, this was how you knew it. Through the songs nature sang.

But now he knew the world much better than you did. He didn’t need this song anymore. You doubted he even remembered it,

but no, he was humming along, hoping you could hear that he remembered your song. He remembered how beautiful it was, and how when you sang it, the entirety of Heaven could feel your warmth — your love. It was why you were given the task to change the seasons, your song persuading nature into the most beautiful summers and captivating winters. But what else could he expect from an angel of Virtue? Could he expect that the love that he felt all throughout Heaven would ever be for him? How could he expect anything from you?

Pride does not deserve Humility.

And doubt comes in; he thought about turning back, letting you go alone, but even when he stopped for just a moment you kept walking. You trusted him to follow you, and as you hummed the song of nature, he felt that same love that he used to. The same warmth that was now pushing him up the endless stairs after you. The same winds that made him want to reach out and touch you, just to remind you that he was there. Just to see you look back at him.

But he knew what you were doing, using your gift of song to bring nature into this empty place so it could push you to keep going. You hoped the winds would push you up, but they weren’t strong enough.

You weren’t strong enough for this.

The song stopped after a while, but you continued to climb, up, and up, and further up to no avail. If it hadn’t been that there was only one path, you would’ve questioned whether or not you were going the right way.

It was harder going back.

But there was hope; a faint, golden light that led you back home. A faint, golden light that told you you were so close. A faint, golden light that made you want to turn, smile at him, and say, “we’re almost home,” but you stopped yourself and kept going.

You were much further than almost, but you were getting there. And this light pulled you to keep. Going.

You didn’t care for the exhaustion, or the pain, you didn’t think about the hunger, or the thirst. You kept in mind that you would sleep, rest, eat, and drink when you made it home with him.

When he made it home with you. He would worry about how tired you must’ve been. He would worry how much pain you were in — and he would worry about his own once he made it home with you. But he saw how you faltered, hand on the wall to keep yourself going, and he knew he couldn’t make it much longer like this.

But you trusted him, he had to try.

And doubt comes in.

He doubted how much longer he could take this. He doubted how much longer he could watch you fade into exhaustion and pain without doing anything about it.

He doubted that Sera didn’t expect this to happen.

He doubted, and doubted, until you were finally there. Until you were almost sure he hadn’t followed you. Until your legs gave out on the final step and you felt him rush to keep you from falling. You felt his hands keeping you up and his wings bringing you onto the pale clouds of your home.

And you turned back.

But he was happy that you did. He gave you that same smile he gave her and his hands held your face gently. You reached up to grip his wrists as your eyes pooled. Regret; regret for doubting, regret for tiring, for failing. For turning back. “Why would you?” You asked and it was like a broken melody. Clear as summer rain with no symphony to push away the doubt that just kept coming in.

And he spoke to you. He broke every rule.

“I couldn’t let you fall,” he said, and you knew how he meant it. You knew he never trusted Sera. She knew he’d fail. So did he. But not you. You were the fool that made him put his trust in you.

And now you knew he had to go. And he knew he could never return.

He tilted your head down, wings fluttering and lifting him off the clouds. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head and said, “Visit again if you can.”

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kaiijo · 1 year

Text

CAUGHT IN 4K — ITOSHI RIN

pairing: itoshi rin x fem! reader content: based on prompt 5 on this list, one physical description of reader (dimpled cheek), rin’s a lovable jerk and bad at flirting notes: rin has my entire heart <3

There are many things in life that Rin dislikes. Rainy weather. Clingy people. Overly crowded places. His brother — though, admittedly, his relationship with Sae is much more complicated than any other thing on this long list of “Things Itoshi Rin Dislikes.”

There are a few things on the “Things Itoshi Rin Likes” list, including good running shoes, horror movies, and ochazuke with bream. And, at the top of the list, competing for first place, are soccer and you. If he really had to choose, Rin knows that you eke out soccer, which says something.

And Rin’s unwavering love for you is also the main reason for another item on his dislike list: when people ask how you met and got together.

“Come on!” Bachata grins, throwing an arm around your shoulder, beer bottle in his other hand. “Tell it again! It’s such a good story.”

Rin’s glare is withering. “You were there for it.”

“But I like reliving it through the retelling,” Bachira replies.

Isagi smirks. “I want to hear it again too.”

“Me three!” Reo chimes in, and Rin is regretting letting you talk him into inviting his teammates for a get-together with each passing second.

Rin scowled. “All of you were there.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, leaning against Rin on the couch. He instinctively wraps his arm around you tighter, frowning in a way you always tell him is actually pouting. “I’ll do it.”

Bachira and Isagi always made fun of the fact that the only sort of media interaction Rin was ever willing to do were press conferences about the upcoming seasons. “There’s nothing but soccer in that head, huh?” laughed Bachira, and Isagi joined him with a couple of their other teammates snickering. Rin always sneered back, “As if any of you lukewarm fuckers have room to talk.”

But they weren’t wrong; Rin was notorious for brushing off any questions that were not soccer related, fixing an incredibly cold glare at whatever reporter dared to try. But he was typically focused when it came to these press conferences.

“Underlashes Junior,” Shidou said, kicking Rin under the table. Rin snarled at him and Shidou, unbothered, continued, “they asked you a question.”

Rin turned back to the mass of reporters. “Repeat it.”

“Do you think your approach to your gameplay will be any different this season?”

Rin doesn’t even remember what he said, turning his mic on and rattling off something about how his skills will just be even better than last season, eyes not even on the reporter but to another journalist a few people to the left of them. You were waiting patiently to ask whatever question your bosses drafted for you. At first, Rin’s eyes were drawn to your pretty face and the little dimple in your cheek that deepened when you smiled. And his eyes probably would have stayed staring at your face, if not for the necklace hanging around your neck along with your press pass.

Kunigami took the next question and Isagi leaned over the Rin, asking, “What’s up with you today? You’re pretty distracted.”

Rin glances back at the journalist — you — who he had been staring at and he answered, “That’s the ugliest necklace I’ve ever seen.”

Isagi’s jaw dropped as the rest of the reporters and their own teammates grew silent. All eyes turned to you, the only person wearing a necklace noticeable enough from where the soccer team was sat.

Rin’s eyes widened a little. Fuck, he hadn’t turned his fucking mic off. Shidou, Otoya, and Karasu roared with laughter at his expense as Isagi apologized on Rin’s behalf and, on Rin’s other side, Bachira chimed in, “I like your necklace! Very colorful!” with a little thumbs up.

Rin ventured an (admittedly embarrassed) peek at you as you gave Bachira a thumbs up back before your eyes settled on Rin, expression morphing into something he couldn’t read and he couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t said stuff before that had garnered disapproval from everyone for being ‘rude’ and ‘unnecessary,’ and he generally didn’t care. But there was something about this instance that had guilt creeping up in his gut.

“You need to go find her and apologize,” was what Reo said immediately when they finished the press conference.

“Can we go watch?” Shidou asked. “Maybe she’ll slap you.”

Rin glared at him and stalked off ahead of his teammates. He wasn’t about to tell them that he had already planned to do that.

You were finishing the last of your notes, standing just outside the venue that had been in when Rin found you. He stopped a few feet beside you, shifting his weight on his feet and running a hand through his hair. The movement caught your attention and you turned to look at him.

Rin couldn’t help but glance down at that necklace. Hideous. Absolutely, positively ugly — an explosion of mismatched beads and tasseled pieces with dried macaroni. Who in their right mind would wear that?

You and Rin stared at each other for a little, and Rin opened and closed his mouth no less than three times, mind in overdrive. He was supposed to say, “I’m sorry for making such a rude comment about your necklace.”

Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “Why the hell would you wear that?”

Your eyebrows raised again in the same way they had when he first said it but to his surprise, you just looked amused. “You don’t think it suits my outfit?”

Rin looked you up and down quickly. Your pantsuit was a nice, neutral color that complimented your skin tone and was tailored well to your body. The rest of your jewelry was simple and classic. “No,” Rin said.

Your mouth twitched into a smile, that dimple returning, and Rin felt his ears heat up. You just hummed and replied, “Not that I need to justify myself to you but this fine piece was handcrafted by my favorite artist.”

“Who would that be?” Who the fuck would make jewelry that ugly?

“My nephew.”

And suddenly, it made sense and Rin felt himself flush, unsure if it was from shame or from your unfettered attention but he found himself mumbling, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

You crossed your arms across your chest and said, “I don’t know if I can forgive you for insulting his hard work.”

Rin frowned and racked his brain for what else to say. What did his teammates say to pretty women when they got in hot water? “Maybe I can take you out to dinner then?” he asked, cringing a little as the words left his mouth.

You snorted, “Hmm, no thanks.” And Rin’s heart sank. You instead said, “Maybe I’ll consider forgiving you if you stop by at my nephew’s birthday this Saturday.”

“Really?” he asked, tone flat.

“He’s a big fan. You’re his favorite player, which I can’t say I necessarily agree with.”

Rin scowled. “Who’s your favorite then?”

You shrugged. “Yoichi Isagi.”

Rin’s scowl only deepened. You stepped closer to him and Rin could smell your perfume and it made him a little weak in the knees. You added, “If you come, maybe we can grab dinner afterwards.”

“Okay,” left his mouth before he could think and you grinned, reaching into your handbag. You pulled out a business card and a pen, scribbling your cell phone number and an address on the back.

You pressed the card against his chest and Rin grabbed it as someone shouted your name from a car. You turned on your heel and called over your shoulder, “I’ll see you Saturday, Itoshi!”

“I still can’t believe you went on a date with him after all of that,” Kunigami says, and you giggle. Rin grunts in disapproval and you just lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

His eyes flicker to Isagi, who’s grinning wide. “I never heard that part where you said I’m your favorite player.”

“Yeah, Rin definitely omits that part,” chimes Reo.

“Shut up,” Rin growled.

“Don’t worry, babe,” you say. “You’re still number one in my heart.” Rin rolls his eyes as his teammates chuckle and you snuggle deeper into him. He watches with an embarrassingly fond gaze as you carry on talking with the others, your eyes lighting up, that dimple appearing in your cheek as you laugh.

He may hate the way he comes off in the story of how you met, but he can safely say that he doesn’t regret a single thing.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock scenarios

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steviewashere · 27 days

Text

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts.

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #3+1 #humor and hijinks #humor #or at least an attempt at humor #mild hurt/comfort

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ada7201 · 4 months

Note

Jealous Sae Itoshi x manager reader? The reader is the manager of Sae's team and Sae is in love with her. The reader is a sweet and kind manager who is nice to everyone and would help them in anything, this causes her to get lots of attention from Sae's teammates. Sae gets really jealous when his teammates try to be close to the reader. His blood boils when he sees his teammates being simp around the reader (only he can be a simp for her). He wanted her to only be with him. One day he couldn't take it anymore. He fired his own manager from his job and asked her to be his own manager.

hello! sure i can do this, sounds like such a cute idea! 🤍 also, im just making Sae’s team the u20 team because it’s easier. (^з^)〜☆ also i am very sorry for releasing this late. i have been a bit busy lately :(

miss manager

Sae Itoshi x female reader

Sae was cooped up in his office, signing away at papers with an angry and tired scowl on his face. although, the malice which was radiating off of him before had melted off as he heard two knocks on the door, followed by his sweet little manager’s voice.

well, not his. but his. you know?

“yes, come in.” he’d say, masking the happiness he was feeling with a neutral expression and tone

“Itoshi, you have a request for an interview, and the team is going to be having a group training session in a day or two. will you be able to make it? and i need your signature for this document. oh, and don’t forget to get back to me about that interview. they’re quite impatient!” your words are quick, and you pull a paper away from your clipboard and slap it right onto Sae’s desk, before you flick through the rest of the papers that are clipped onto your board.

Sae quickly signed the document, eager to do whatever you asked of him. “yeah, i can make it to the training. and is the interview necessary?” he’d inquire, sharp teal eyes looking up at you, who had already clipped the now signed document to your clipboard as you headed towards the door. “and please, call me Sae.”

“it’s not necessary, i’ll decline it. i apologise, but i need to get the rest of the team to sign a few things, give me a call if you need me!” you say hurriedly, before rushing out of the room - leaving as quick as you came.

Sae sighed.

you’re always in and out like a flash, and he barley gets to see you. you’re always busy with the rest of the team, but after a few subtle questions he found out that you’re just a busy person. how annoying. what were you doing all the time? just relax a little … with him!

the next time he saw you was in the group training session, and that was probably the first time the team had seen you in one place for more than 5 minutes.

“miss l/nnn〜” Shidou would grin, wandering over to where you were sat, calmly taking notes on the team’s improvement. “watcha’ doin?” he’d ask, leaning down to look at the notebook in your hand. it was filled with sticky notes and bookmarks, each labeled with a variety of things, ranging from wins, losses, each team member, and other things that you thought were important.

if Shidou was being honest, he had no idea why you kept that. but he didn’t care, either!

“taking notes. your skills have improved s lot since the last match, Shidou.” you say sweetly, looking up at the player as your back rested against the chair you were sat on. it was a nice setup, the team really treated you, with an umbrella shielding you from the hot sun, a cool drink, sunglasses, and some snacks.

well, it wasn’t the team. it was Sae who had done all that for you.

“awe, thank you!” Shidou would coo, making himself comfortable on the floor next to your chair. “you were watching me train, right?” he’d ask, tilting his head slightly as he smiled at you.

“i was watching everyone.” you respond simply, but keeping the sweet tone on your voice. your hand reached over to Shidou, gently scratching at his scalp to calm him down before he has a tantrum.

Sae was watching from the other end of the field, foot rested on a ball as his eyes narrowed. what was that fool doing with you? yeah, it was his break, but he shouldn’t be spending it with Sae’s manager!

“l/n.” Sae would call out to you, before kicking the ball away and walking over to where you and Shidou were sat.

you looked up from your notebook, eyes locking with Sae’s. “oh, hi Itoshi.” you smile at the man.

“hello.” he greets, sending a glare over to Shidou, who simply grinned back at him.

“hey, little manager!” Aiku would shout from the field. “watch this, it’s for you!” he’d wink, before his foot slammed down onto the ball and he… scored!

Sae grumbled something under his breath, before reaching out and grabbing your hand, pulling you up from your seat before dragging you away from the team.

“aw, don’t take her for yourself!” “where are you going with l/n?” “l/nnnnn!” “come back miss manager!”

“don’t listen to them.” Sae would huff, tugging you closer to him before walking into his office.

“Itoshi! what are you doing?!” you squeal, a hand pushing at his chest.

“how many times have i told you to call me Sae?” he’d frown. “whatever. you should be a manager for me and me alone. i’ll quit this stupid team and join a new one as captain, yeah? and you’ll be mine.”

“what? that’s absurd!” you respond, eyes widening at his words. “how would that even work-“

your voice was cut off by Sae’d arms wrapping around you, one hand on the back of your head as he (gently) pushed it into his chest.

“shut up.” he’d say simply. “please?” he adds after a moment of hesitation, suddenly terrified of the way he was going about this. could it really work? like, he literally just dragged you into his office and forcefully hugged you. maybe this wasn’t -

“alright… if that’s really want you want, i wouldn’t mind.” you say, snapping Sae out of his doubts “Sae?”

his ears perked up at the sound of his name, his arms instinctively hugging you a little closer. “yes, y/n?” why was he blushing so much after just … speaking your first name? well, you say his… so it’s only fair, right?

“can i tell you something?” your voice comes out a bit shaky, hesitant, even.

Sae nods.

“i like you.” you confess, slightly impressed with the way you managed to not stutter.

“i like you too…” Sae pauses. “but i’ll like you more when you’re my own manager.”

sigh.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk x you #bllk #bllk x y/n #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #sae x y/n #sae itoshi x reader #sae x you #sae itoshi #sae smut #sae x reader

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hxltic · 8 months

Note

Hello! I have a request!

Could you do something where Kenma isn't really giving the female reader any attention because he's busy streaming so the reader sneaks under his desk where the viewer's can't see her and she pleasures him until he eventually cums down her throat?

:) I un-ironically love writing bjs

The shared house was silent anytime after 5 o’clock. Kuroo had just left— his afternoon business management classes calling him in, and Bokuto’s practice overcrowded his schedule to the point where he went twice a day with some gym sessions in between. That leaves you alone with Kenma in your 4 bedroom home off campus that was supposedly his father’s apology gift.

The bills are mainly kept satisfied with Kenma’s profit as his streaming allows you all to live as you do. Of course, there was a sense of independency by your own jobs regardless. There has probably been twice where everyone was in the living room at once, but it’s like there’s a tacit agreement each of you have your own goals.

You can’t be mad at the man for being busy when his job supports his friends and himself.

Kenma has been your friend, now boyfriend, for the longest out of all of them, next in line being Kuroo. Kenma took computer engineering and coding related classes, despite having already perfected building PC’s just out of pure experience. The work is hard. You’ve seen it.

You’ve witnessed him stress first hand about a single error in a strenuous, long line of codes—and you ask him why he doesn’t stop doing it if it bothers him to the extent it does. His determination has grown for activities he enjoys over the years; 12 year old him would have quit.

Kenma’s way to deal with stress is isolation. The entire day he’s been crammed in his room, and with being the only other person in the house majority of the time, you bring it upon yourself to feed him. He gets focused and forgets to eat.

The reminder has you clicking your Ipad off from whatever distraction show you had playing. It was so boring most of the days, Netflix couldn’t even fulfill you. You toss the covers off yourself, then bounce downstairs into the kitchen.

It was so quiet that your feet patting against the floor filled the air. To cure the ennui you felt, you’d take the time to have fun with this culinary experience.

By the time there was fluffy white flour messily coating the kitchen and dishes stacked like game cards in the sink, your dish was plated for two. Maybe you’d keep him some company?

Careful not to fall up the stairs, you prod at his door in attempt to knock with one hand. Somehow you turn the knob successfully.

The fan cuts through the air, every click of Kenma’s pen accompanied with a glance to the paper beside him. He won’t even look up at the waitress bearing goods.

“Hi Ken,” you grab his attention but his slim eyes only dart up at the smell of cuisine. “Have you eaten?”

You know the answer. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, so when he shakes his head the usual strands that follow aren’t there. You place the plate on his desk, next to the two cans of some energy drink and a diet Dr. Pepper.

“Thank you,” he speaks softly. There was a hint of edge to the sound, like he hadn’t used his voice all day.

“Mhmm.”

You turn on your heels to his bed, then sit criss cross as it squeaks and dips. “Do you mind if I just stay in here? It gets lonely in the house.”

To be honest, you forget he’s there sometimes.

“I’m kinda busy,” he replies. He loves you, and your presence, but he just knows he won’t be able to focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

The pout you flaunt deepens, “You’ve been stuck in here for almost a week now! Come out; I miss you Ken.”

He refrains himself from turning to look at you because he knows when he weighs his options, you’ll always come out on top. The chances of you getting picked multiply with your pout.

“Soon, I just need to finish this.”

“Please?”

He doesn’t even have a valid response for that, so he forces the spoon into his mouth. You’re actually a great cook, but since you all eat so much takeout, nobody’s at the dinner table at the same time to enjoy it.

You huff and negotiate to just sit in silence, as long as you’re in his presence. As long as you know he’s there.

This only lasts about fifteen minutes before you’re whining for him again. You completely understand the heavy load of schoolwork, and that it has to get done, but he genuinely has been at it for so long it cannot be healthy.

“I’m done,” he announces coincidentally, his soft fingers coming up to brush a tendril of hair back as he gathers his things on the desk into a neat pile.

Your head perks up like a puppy at attention. He arises from his chair after closing the laptop, pulling his rubber band from the hair connected at his nape as he steps towards you laying on his bed. You giggle in expectancy when he smiles gingerly at you, reaches his arms forward around your feet to plant his hands on the duvet, then crawls up your body. The hair tie wraps around his wrist to join all the other colorful bracelets and bands.

He makes you swoon by just giving you attention.

His hands grew into proportion as he aged, so now they were relatively large. Large enough to connect at your hips as he kisses his way up.

Stomach, chest, then an abundance on your chin and around your face, just for his thumb and index finger to hold your cheeks in position for his softer, slower kiss right on your lips.

You wrap your arms around him like he’d just disintegrate any second. You can feel his body slump, leaving you with most of his weight to carry and his head withdrawing from the kiss to between your breasts. With one hand massaging the round muscle, Kenma was in his element.

Black with barely-there blonde crowds your vision. His soft skin felt warm as you two lay intertwined in the still house, and if you were to fall asleep it would greatly help that Kenma never keeps the big light on. He moans in satisfactory below you.

You lift your hand to rest over his face, the bigger part of your thumb gliding gently over his cheek.

“I love you,” he mutters.

“I love you too Ken.”

After a while of Kenma following your heartbeat and breathing, you would’ve guessed he was asleep. He clarifies he isn’t when he groans lowly.

“I have to get up.”

The words rest tensely in the air, and maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him, he’ll lay there and forget about it.

He attempts to raise himself from you, politely grabbing your hand and locking your fingers when he comes to a hover above. His pink lips come to the corner of yours as you blink open your eyes.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to be with you, here, resting—but he hasn’t streamed in a solid week because of school. You were completely his priority though, so he would make sure to give you equal attention as his stream.

He finds the little willpower to come off you and the bed. He was genuinely hoping you’d stay there and sleep peacefully, that way he’ll come back to join you and it will feel like he never left.

He flips a blanket over your body before he strolls to his setup usually beaming with bright lights. He takes a seat, making sure to turn the brightness down of everything, refraining from playing music, and ultimately deciding not to turn on any light not connected to his PC anyway.

As much as you hate that he’s not cuddled up next to you right now, you love the fact that he’s a steamer overall because he looks so damn hot doing it. Especially the way his muscles on his forearm flex as he quickly types or plays. His hair that’s usually up is down, because he isn’t wearing his mic.

Or like the way every now and then he’ll pop a piece of gum in his mouth and manspread in his gaming chair to shoot a quick message or check his feed. Or like the way he’s so attent, making call-outs, or whenever he gets angry his brows furrow the slightest bit and his face displays whatever he’s actually thinking. You find it hilarious when his eyes roll.

At some point, he hears you come up behind him into view, and his head relaxes into your two hands sliding up his neck to his jaw. You crouch into the screen and the chat immediately multiples. It’s too quick to read them all. Knowing his viewers, Kenma takes the responsibility of closing it with the click of a button, so fast that it seems he never even did it.

“Cracked, 130,” he calls.

You stood there for a moment to watch him play. He and his team beat the level, game, you don’t know, but he releases his focus from the screen and mindlessly cracks his knuckles.

A donation comes in that’s read aloud. Kenma tenses, but you’re excited to hear it.

“jump1nnit donates $70. ‘girl to girl, is it big?’”

Kenma’s head drops back in your hands, eyes closing in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Where were his mods?

All you were thinking about was how much Kenma was actually earning. 70 dollars in a single donation? How many of these does he get a day? How much more do people pay that’s over 70 when you aren’t here?

You shake these questions away. You knew he was famous. This was not new information; his fans see you sometimes in the background, and they adore you. It’s why your instagram has so many followers and people saying outrageous things in your comments. Ken begs you not to check them.

You find it amusing honestly. God knows what he’s being sent despite his DM’s or what they’re saying in his chats. You know there’s girls all over the world after him, but he doesn’t entertain them, so you don’t either. You trust him completely.

Brought back to reality, you look down at Kenma.

He starts, “Are you-“

To rile up the scene, you nod at the monitor with a mischievous smirk on your face. You bend and kiss his forehead.

“Can I sit right here?” You ask quickly, already pulling up his desk stool because he has no reason to say no. He takes your momentary absence to mute the computer.

“Yeah. yeah, Definitely.”

The blonde’s tone is a little off, but you chalk it up to what just happened. He was just surprised you’d actually respond. He ignores them so he doesn’t get demonetized.

So you sit next to him on your phone playing games, or watching him, or laying on his shoulder. It made it a little difficult for him to play with the last one, but he doesn’t mind. He places a kiss to your forehead, matching earlier actions, and the way you two looked at each other after will definitely reel in some fan edits.

You return to gaming on your phone until you drop it. It tumbles down and under the PC, into the jungle of wires below.

At least with everything included in the setup, that’s what you expect to see, but they’re all neatly accounted for. The seat moves back against the carpet to accommodate for your body, the space you’ve created to retrieve the device. The problem is, you and Kenma occupy this space. You won’t fit.

Kenma heard your phone drop, so he had an idea why you’re down there. He even chuckled a little. Once you pick up the phone, you use his thigh as leverage to turn yourself around, causing him to flinch, and immediately an idea pops into your head.

You could stay down here.

You press the heart of your palm into him once more, the same reaction procreating ideas like a lightbulb.

His voice from above makes another callout.

The lightness of your fingertips glide across his thigh and up to his waist, slipping past the barrier of the thin shirt he’s wearing. Kenma is not ticklish, but his abdomen turns concave to your touch.

By now he has concluded what is happening, or going to happen, and just the thought has him hardening in front of you. Of course it’s something he’s thought about. He hasn’t asked because it feels unnatural—like you would only do it because he suggested it.

His poker face remains stone cold, but the rest gives him away. With every touch you only got closer. You trail your whole hand up the shirt, running this one along the dips of his pale skin, while the other goes back and forth along his thigh. Inwards, then back out. Your phone was long forgotten.

You run the length of your fingers over his center sneakily before meeting both hands in the middle and fiddling with his waistband. He shivers, but continues to play.

He hadn’t been purposely edging himself, and he definitely knows that you would help him whenever he asked, but with all the schoolwork piled on top of him, it never crossed his mind. It was now though, and sensitivity was at its highest.

“No, why would you do that; that’s stupid,” Kenma replies to what you assume is a donation. The technological voice isn’t there anymore for you to hear.

The tips of your nails dive past every ounce of clothing settled at his hips.

He shifts in his seat, whether to allow you to pull the band down just enough or to calm his nerves, you don’t know, but the opportunity was right in front of your face. Literally.

You don’t even do anything but hold his length before you start the up and down motions. It’s enough to turn him on more, having him grow in your hand. You can’t imagine the faces he’s making while his viewers’ minds were already polluted.

“Keep going, push,” he exclaims. Voice still soft, but with some sense of urgency.

He was not speaking to you, but you listen anyway, and do as he says. Maybe you could play a game: see how long it takes before he realizes you’re taking orders.

With this, you stroke him a little faster, then run your fleshy thumb over his tip. It began dripping, a single bud threatening to fall. After swiping it away, you disperse what little you could, then wrap your plush lips around his head.

He wasn’t expecting it right after your slow pace.

“Ugh, fuck- third party.”

The groan he emitted was covered quickly by a call, as if that’s what “frustrated” him.

You pop off as quickly as you came, spread your saliva, and now slide your enclosed hand down his cock steadily. Silky smooth, it took no energy to glide along him. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his thigh through the cotton.

“Down, he’s under and one shot.”

You jerk him off as his breathing barely picks up, occasionally coming down to wet him some more, but you see a significant difference when your hand consistently twists just the tip. You’d swirl your tongue around the reddening, most sensitive part of him before dropping even farther to take his balls in your mouth.

You tug and pull harmlessly.

“Hmm...”

Despite what was going on, the streamer was clever with how he hid it.

He asks, “Hey, what do y’all want to hear?”

The viewers were astonished they were being asked; Kenma has previously told them he likes his music and would play whatever he felt like hearing. He did a stream for song recommendations and half of it was him hating on their music and the other half was his viewers attempting to find songs he would like.

Regardless, he unmuted the sound on his computer and turned on the playlist, only slightly louder than usual.

You took this opportunity to actually wrap your lips around his cock, not having to worry about the sounds. You start on the slower side but it didn’t take long to get comfortable. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you jerked off.

His abdomen showcased whatever his face wouldn’t, stuttering every now and then with his hips correcting their position. You brought the wet hand to his balls once more, and attempted to fit all of him down your throat. There was a deep sigh above you.

You closed your eyes and went again, trying to go deeper. You didn’t gag, but your throat made sounds that was enough implication of what was going on. That’s okay though. Some random band one of his mods recommended was playing.

Once more, you tried to go deeper, actually sputtering this time, but once you got past the uncomfortableness of it all, you could go the same depth over and over. You did, breathing through your nose. He could hear your throat, but chat couldn’t. If they could, they would be saying something.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s on me,” he huffs, “I’m gonna twist around to cover.”

You remove yourself, partially to breathe, and take two hands to twist on top of each other in opposite directions. His belly button caves in with some more muscles, pure evidence of his pleasure.

This was the second he knew what you were doing. What game you were playing.

If you wanted to play, he could too.

“Where is she?” he reads chat calmly. “I think she’s downstairs eating.”

Was it calm enough—you’re not sure, because he was fidgeting excessively in the leaning chair.

The double entendre has you giggling silently. With a deep breath, you’re back down on him again. It’s not long until you sputter.

“Do you want me to tell her to come back up?” You hear him spit out quickly.

You do as he says, but not without the price of your fingers doubling speed at his head.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Hold on.”

With quickness, he mutes and turns his camera off.

He was sweating and physically overwhelmed. Pushing back on his heels, his chair rolls from under the table with you following, finally in his sight. He could already imagine how you looked.

Red lips. Glowing face. Glossy eyes, smiling and happy. You were ethereal. Your hands are working him, but now with his cock down your throat too? Oh my god.

He held a soft touch at your cheek and caressed your face with his thumb. Picking up speed, you smile.

The other hand of his would do the same, brushing a loose stand of hair behind your ear. Faster.

“Just like that,” he breathes.

“Mhmm?” you deepthroat him.

His head drops back involuntarily. His mouth does the same. The heavy breaths that he was holding from the stream let loose.

One last look at your flushed features and-

He groans heavily, adam’s apple bobbing and cock tightening. Skin usually pale but red with desire, he stills.

You close your eyes. It was so fulfilling with your throat stretched and his hands on either side of your plush face.

Warmth seeps past your tongue and down the cavern. It causes you to choke but Kenma definitely doesn’t mind. His sounds flow into your ears, plus some faint praise as he soon begins to release from his high.

You couldn’t taste anything as you slowly raise yourself from him, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and pink, but the taste just barely started to form once it caught your tongue on the way down. You swallow anyway—it wasn’t bad.

You use the back of your hand to wipe your eyes and breathe freely. You lay your cheek on the driest part of his pants, even though you’ll have to get up. You just aren’t ready to see the red wilts on your knees.

“You are amazing,” Kenma catches his breath. He looks back down with his eyes glossed over and tired, but he still runs his finger over your wet lip. You softly kiss it.

. .

“Are you getting back on?” You climb into his fluffy bed, throwing the covers back.

Kenma shakes his head and follows after you in a fresh new set. He grabs the covers and returns them over you both, pushing his hair back and holding you close.

©️ hxltic

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bellatriestowritesometimes · 4 months

Text

To Know

aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: You attend your best friend's wedding where you see Hotch for the first time in four years since you were shot on your wedding day by Peter Lewis, forcing him to go into witness protection and leave you.

Part 2

AN/explanation:

Listen it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything and by minute I mean 4 years so bear with me!! There’s probably spelling and punctuation errors but I wrote this in the middle of the night so cut me some slack.

OK so a bit of an explanation on this.. so you know how everyone has their imaginary scenarios they make up before bed or wherever (and if you don’t you’re weird!) well this is mine!! OK not really but ever since I watched CM which was probably about 5/6 years ago now, Hotch was on my mind 24/7 and I have this plot in my head with YEARS worth of scenarios thought out with original characters and everything!! This is just a small snippet of the whole plot I have had thought out for Hotch and Alex (that is what I have named her in my head, but have obviously written it as a Y/N to make it more enjoyable I guess? Idk what people prefer!!). I could probably write a book on this crap but I’ll just start with this part. I am in the process of writing a part two to this so if anyone’s interested I’ll try to get it out before the weekend’s over as this is the only free time I have currently! Now if I ever was going to make this into a series (that’s a very big if) this would be a chapter towards the end of this plot that I have created. Anyways enough rambling…

I am an angst over any other kind of genre girly so that’s all this will be :D this seemed better in my head and it ALWAYS does but I just wanted to get it out of my system.

Hope u enjoy xx

Warnings: smut (a little not too much), cheating.

Word count: 3.9k

It was your best friend’s wedding and you couldn’t have been happier. Henry was your rock and pretty much the only family you ever had. He had been with you through everything, all the highs and lows, so he deserved today to be absolutely perfect.

You were helping Luca with his tie and giving him a final check over before he went out to marry your best friend. Luca knew how important you were to Henry and how important Henry was to you. The three of you were practically a throuple. OK maybe not a throuple but anyone who was important to Henry became important to you. They had been together for almost 5 years but knew each other for even longer.

“He’s here you know...” Luca said “Henry invited everyone from the BAU..”

You raised an eyebrow at Luca whilst finishing up with his tie.

“I know,” you replied simply.

Henry was the one who got you a job at the BAU. He knew almost everyone and if he didn’t, he knew someone who did. He had helped out with several cases and knew everyone at the BAU well, so of course they all got an invite to his wedding which was in London. Henry knew your history with Hotch and that meant so did Luca.

“He has them all staying at the Ritz you know, booked a suite out for everyone,’’ Luca rambled.

“I know,” you repeated and rolled your eyes.

Of course he has you thought to yourself, money was never an issue for him. Not that it was for you either but you were slightly more modest than him.

Luca could sense that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you so he decided to change the topic.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” He asked referring to him and Henry.

“Absolutely,” you confirmed “he needs you Luca, I don’t even want to imagine what he would be like without you. It’s not something I’m prepared to take on” you let out a laugh. “You two have practically been married for the last 5 years, now it’s just time to make it official!” You gave his arms a squeeze.

“I’ll see you out there, no backing out now,” you gave him a wink and Luca gave you a nod with a smile.

You took that as your cue to leave and made your way towards the alter and towards Henry. As you made your way up to the front you saw all of the guests take their seats. You spotted JJ, Will and her boys a few rows from the front, who were staying at your place for the next few days. Emily, Spencer and Garcia were seated a few rows behind them and you spotted Morgan and Savannah seated on the other side of the room. You were trying to find Rossi and Krystall until your eyes landed on someone else. There he was sitting right next to Rossi with a brunette next to him which you assumed was Beth.

“How is he?” Henry’s voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh?” Was the only thing that came out of your mouth as you slowly dragged your eyes away from the man that left you on pretty much your death bed and then divorced you.

“Luca – how is he? He’s not making a run for it is he?” Henry laughed but behind the laugh he needed the reassurance. He hadn’t been the perfect fiancé and has put Luca through the wringer at times, but there’s no one else for Henry other than Luca and vice versa.

“Stop being stupid!” You swatted him gently, “Of course not! I stopped him just before he got to the fire exit,” you replied playfully.

“Ha ha very funny,” Henry replied dryly, “And how are you? …You know with him being here.. You did say it was okay for me to invite him but I can send him home if you want. Just tell me and I’ll have him escorted out by security-”

“Please stop, it’s fine. Honestly I mean it. We’ve both moved on. I’m with Avery now and he’s with Beth,” you answered. “Besides today is not about me or my woes, it’s about you!”

The wedding ceremony was beautiful and it was now time for the reception. You made your way round to all the tables saying hello to the people you recognised until you reached the table you dreaded the most. Thankfully your husband Avery caught up with you to let you know that it was time to make your way to your seat as it was almost time for your speech.

You gave Rossi a smile in the distance before walking back to your seat, avoiding contact with Hotch for now who was sat right next to him.

After the speeches were done and the drinks began floating around the room, everyone felt a lot more relaxed. You were listening to the conversation Emily and Avery were having about a book they both had read, until you felt someone tap your shoulder.

“Hi you must be Y/N! I’m Beth, Aaron has told me so much about you!” Beth exclaimed as you turned around to face her.

“Yes hi! It’s lovely to meet you, I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce myself earlier,” you gave her a smile.

It was a genuine smile, she seemed nice and in any other situation you could even be friends. She is not to blame for what had happened between you and Hotch, however you did wonder what kind of things he has told her about you.

“It’s okay don’t worry about it! I understand how stressful weddings are,” she continued and for a second you thought if she had married Hotch without anyone telling you. Your eyes flicked towards her left hand that was wrapped around a champagne flute. No sign of a ring. You cursed yourself for still caring enough to check.

“That’s a beautiful ring” she said bringing you out of your trance.

You followed her gaze which was now on your own left hand. You hadn’t realised that you were twisting your own wedding ring with your thumb, reminiscing about how it felt when you had the ring on that Hotch gave you. It was a lot smaller than the one you have now. It had an oval diamond in the centre with three green sapphire leaves holding the diamond in place on each side. It was a delicate ring and you loved everything about it. Everything but the dreaded memories that came along with it. The ring was now replaced with a big teardrop diamond from Harry Winston and it was beautiful. It sparkled even in the dark and felt almost heavy on your finger. You had to admit that Avery had great taste, the two of you had now been married for almost 2 years.

“Thank you..” you smiled and let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding.

“Uhm this is Avery my husband-” you cleared your throat, almost forgetting to introduce him to her.

They shared a few polite words until Beth excused herself. You assumed she had gone to find Hotch as she disappeared into the crowd.

“She seems nice,” Avery said and gave you a small smile. He knew what had happened with you and Hotch and he wasn’t his biggest fan but he was never the one to bad mouth him.

“Yeah she does…” you replied quietly whilst your mind drifted off elsewhere. Emily sensed that you were uncomfortable and resumed her conversation with Avery in an attempt to take his attention off you.

It was several hours into the reception and you had stepped outside with Luca and lit a cigarette for you both to share.

You had noticed Beth was in the distance on the phone but Hotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Today has been beautiful,” you hummed as you took a pull of the cigarette and passed it to Luca.

“It really has been, thank you for helping Henry with the planning,” he expressed.

You both conversed about the wedding and your favourite parts until someone had interrupted you.

“Oh sorry,” your eyes followed his voice, “I thought Beth was out here,” he explained as he looked between you and Luca.

“She is,” you pointed with the cigarette between your fingers “she’s just gone into the gazeebo over there to take a call I think,” you replied.

“Thank you,” he looked into your eyes longer than he should have before he began walking her way.

“Is this the first time you’ve spoken to him tonight?” Luca asked whilst following your gaze that was still on Hotch.

“Yup.”

“There’s an explanation. I am sure he has an explanation,” Luca tried standing up for the man he barely knew.

You didn’t respond and instead focused your gaze on something else.

“You know… and I really shouldn’t be saying this but... I think Henry might’ve had something to do with it,” Luca continued.

“What makes you say that? Has he told you something?” You questioned focusing your attention back on Luca.

“Nope. He doesn’t tell me anything when it’s to do with work and I thank him for it. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. He would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant putting your newly husband into witness protection…”

You thought about it for a minute or so and yes maybe Henry was the one who suggested going into witness protection but that still doesn’t explain the radio silence from Hotch even after Peter Lewis was caught.

“I want you to have what me and Henry have,” Luca brought you out of your thoughts once again.

“I have that. With Avery, he makes me happy,” you replied not knowing if it’s the full truth. Avery does make you happy and you love him but you’re not sure if it compares to what you and Hotch had and it seems like Luca doesn’t either.

“Let’s get back in there shall we? I’m sure Henry is looking for you!” You perked up, trying to change a conversation that was becoming too heavy for your liking.

Since you were one of the few people who didn’t drink at the wedding, you decided to give Emily, Spencer, and Garcia a lift back to the hotel whilst Avery, JJ, Will, and the boys got an Uber home back to your place.

The car ride back to the hotel turned into an episode of carpool karaoke with Emily blasting any and every song that came on the radio.

Once you pulled up to the hotel you helped Emily out of the car and then let Spencer take over. You were about to shut the passenger door when you noticed a phone on the seat Emily was sat in.

“You left your phone Beyonce!” You called out to Emily as she was finishing her 3rd run of single ladies from the start.

You caught up with her and placed the phone in her hand, she took one look at it and blurted out that it’s Beth’s and that she had found it by some gazebo outside.

You pressed the lock button on the side and the phone lit up revealing a picture of Hotch and Beth set as the lock screen.

“What room is she in do you know?” You asked Emily but she just shrugged her shoulders and carried on signing. Spencer and Penelope both gave you a shrug signalling that they didn’t know either.

“Right I will just leave it with reception. The three of you get some sleep ok, we have brunch tomorrow!” You shouted even though the three of them were already inside the hotel queuing up for the elevator.

You pressed the lock button once again making the phone light up just to stare at the lock screen once more. With a sigh you then began to make your way into the hotel and walked towards reception.

“Hello Miss can I help you with anything?” The lady asked.

“Uh yes actually, I’m trying to return a lost phone to a friend of mine but I don’t remember the room number. Could you please let me know? It should be a suite under the name Hotchner, they’re here for a wedding,” you smiled hoping she’d give you the information you needed.

She typed away on her keyboard for a few seconds before replying to your question.

“I have an Aaron Hotchner on the system along with a Beth Clemmons sharing suite 107?”

“Yes that’s the one! Thank you so much!” You thanked the lady and made your way to the elevator. Emily and the others were long gone, probably passed out in their beds by now you hoped.

You tapped softly on the door waiting for someone to open it and hoping that it wasn’t Beth. You weren’t even sure what you were doing, what you were going to say, what if Beth’s awake, what would happen then?

You had no excuse and no business to be knocking on his hotel door. Well aside from the fact that he left you on your wedding night right after you got shot, had someone serve you with divorce papers as soon as you came out of your coma and you still haven’t had an explanation even though it’s been close to 4 years.

After a few moments the door was gently pulled open and there he stood. Still in his shirt and trousers from the wedding. He looked taken back seeing you stand there in the hallway. Although you were the only one on his mind tonight, you still had caught him off guard.

“Hi…” Was all that he managed to say.

“Hi…” you breathed out. “..Beth left her phone at the wedding reception,” you said holding it up as proof.

You looked behind him and could see 3 mini whisky bottles that were now empty, lined up on the coffee table. On the left you could see two large double doors that were shut behind the sofa. You had assumed that’s where Beth was sleeping as there was no sign of her anywhere else.

“Oh… Well thank you for bringing it here, you didn’t have to go out of your way...”

“It’s okay I was dropping Emily and the others off anyway,” you replied whilst handing him the phone.

As he took the phone from you he moved slightly to the side, almost inviting you in before actually saying it.

“Would you like to come in?” he paused for a moment, “…please come in” he pleaded. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you the whole night I just didn’t want to disturb you. Beth’s asleep so you don’t have to worry about her or we could take a walk somewhere,” he went on; desperation clear in his voice.

Instead of replying you walked past him making your way into his room, a completely different side of you taking over.

You made your away towards the sofa, never sitting down just standing in front of it. You turned to face Hotch who closed the door and walked towards you, stopping just a few inches away. You could tell he had been drinking. You had obviously seen him drink at the wedding but he left several hours ago yet here he was emptying the mini fridge in his hotel suite.

You eyed the bottles on the coffee table.

“Rough night?’ You asked but it sounded more like a statement. When you looked back at him his mouth was slightly open, almost as if he was thinking of what to say but no words were coming out.

You tilted your head to the side as you took in his features. He looked different. Good but different. After all these years had passed, you never knew when you would be able to get a good look at him again, and god how much you’d missed his handsome face. The last memory you had of it was when you collapsed in his arms after being shot during your first dance as Mr and Mrs. You don’t remember much after that, just faint shouting in the distance as your vision went blurry until you eventually passed out in his arms.

“I- um I don’t know what to say Y/N… I don’t even know where to begin,” he expressed. Concern, pain and regret all clear in his voice.

Before he could continue you lifted your hand up in an attempt to stop him from saying anything else. That’s not what you came here for.

“I am so sorry,” he breathed out but you took a step closer to him and placed one of your fingers on his lips to silence him.

“Shh,” you whispered whilst you ran your other hand slowly down his chest stopping at the belt of his trousers. You could feel his pulse quicken as he took in what you were doing.

Never breaking eye contact you began to gently move your hand lower until you reached his crotch. You then began to palm him with a bit more force, feeling him harden underneath your touch. A slight smirk played on your lips as you realised how much of an affect you still had on him, how much his body still responded to you. You believed that you were the only one that could get him this flustered, to get him to cheat on his girlfriend, to get him this hot and bothered over practically nothing.

“Take off your trousers...” you hissed.

The concern and regret was now replaced with confusion and curiosity but he did as he was told and began to undo his belt. You watched him carefully as he dropped his trousers to the floor stopping at his boxers.

“You can leave those on, this won’t take long,” you instructed coldly and pushed him onto the sofa. As he sat down he reached over to switch a small table lamp off, leaving a soft glow on your silhouette that was coming from a floor lamp on the other side of the room.

You lifted your dress and rolled it up stopping at your waist whilst you straddled Hotch. The familiar feeling of his dick beneath you was enough to send you over the edge.

You lifted yourself up slightly using your knees and grabbed him through his boxers, silently thanking him for wearing a pair with the slit. He watched your every move and took in a sharp breath when your hand made contact with him and took another when you gently lowered yourself onto his dick.

You began rocking your hips, savouring every single second. You started to pick the pace up and you felt Hotch move in to kiss you to which you gently pushed his head back with your hand, not wanting any other intimacy other than the feeling of him inside you and maybe you inside of him.

You took two of your fingers and placed them on his lips again, this time using them to part his mouth. You gently slipped them inside and he welcomed it. You decided to push them in deeper. Not deep enough to hurt him but deep enough to your liking. Your fingers felt cold against his tongue.

At that point you knew you were close and so was he, your fingers in his mouth helped him to stifle his moans, whilst you watched him intently. After a few moments you felt him twitch beneath you as he threw his head back when he came and you shortly followed.

You removed your fingers from his mouth and gently stood up lowering your dress back down giving the man you still loved one last look before turning around to leave. Just before you got the door you stopped and turned around, he was now up grabbing his trousers off the floor.

“You left me… I was in a coma Hotch and when I came out of it you weren’t there. You left me Aaron.”

Without giving him a second to respond you left and closed the door behind you.

As you stepped into the elevator a thousand thoughts were racing in your head. You began to question yourself on why you had come here in the first place, but you knew exactly why. You wanted to see if you still had that control over him, you wanted to see if you could still have him, if he still belonged to you. And he did. You thought about how your relationship had evolved from being just co-workers to friends from friends to lovers and from lovers to strangers. That’s what it felt like being in that room with him. Just two strangers having sex. That was probably the first time the two of you had sex instead of making love. There was a difference between the two and you knew which one you preferred.

Deep down you knew why he had to leave and most importantly leave without you, but it still didn’t make it any less painful. You had thought back to what Lucas said earlier when you were outside, that Henry might’ve had something to do with it... But the truth is whether he did or didn’t it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. He needed to leave, to hide and go into witness protection. Not only for his and Jacks safety but for yours too. It all made sense. Peter Lewis couldn’t hold you over him anymore if you had no connection to him so he left. He left without you and then had you served with divorce papers.

The elevator doors opened and snapped you back to reality. You shook your head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. You didn’t want to go back there, you had tried your hardest to move past that part of your life and dwelling about the details and the what if’s is something you didn’t want to do anymore. You had wasted enough time doing that and you’ve moved on since then and so has Hotch. But sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, those thoughts creep back in and they have a way of suffocating you.

“Did you manage to return your friends phone?” The lady behind the reception desk asked with a smile.

“Yes I did, thank you so much for your help again!” You replied and returned the smile.

You made your way to the parking lot and got into your car and made your way home… To your husband…. Who you had just cheated on with your ex-husband. You pulled out of the parking lot and let the memories from earlier fill your mind. You had glanced briefly at your watch and the time told you that is was quarter past three. You groaned at the thought of having to be up before 11 am later that day for a brunch that Henry and Luca had organised with a smaller amount of guests, which included the BAU team.

You had wondered if he’ll be there with Beth or if he won’t show.

To be continued....

Part 2

#ycriminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x y/n #bau x reader

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potentialguybodyswaps · 9 months

Text

Cum Locked Into a Marine:

Are you in the military but feel like you joined the wrong branch? well there’s a way to swap branches, only catch, you have to swap bodies with someone in that branch and live their life, you can always swap back but only after both parties have finished their contract, so if you have 1 year left on yours, and you decided to swap with a fresh boot, you gotta finish the rest of their contract

Not many people wanna swap with a guy fresh out of boot camp but I did.

I’ve spent a year in the navy and didn’t like it one bit, when I joined I was hoping to join a brotherhood but the comrodery wasn’t there , when I was in A school, the base I was at for training was actually a joint base with the army, navy, Air Force and marines

Something that always upsetted me is when ever we’d see the marines, they were fine as fuck, for no reason, hands down the best looking fucking branch, no homo.

Even when I got to my ship and did a deployment with the marines onboard, they always looked hot and way fitter, if I would have join them instead of the navy, I’d definitely have abs but a lot of the navy struggles to stay within height and weight regulations

So I decided I wanted to swap with a marine, I made an account for the Body Exchange Program (or B.E.P. For short) and went to the subsection for military swaps and clicked on the marine branch to see what bodies were available

One thing I loved about the B.E.P. Is while the swaps are basically contracts and ment to last for the agreed time, they’re a couple ways to get out of that aswell… The B.E.P. Isn’t actually ment for long term swaps, so the only real way to do so is by breaking the TOS (terms of servicing). if both parties end up ejaculating while swaped, they end up locked in each others bodies

A lot of them had high standards in order to swap with them but I did find one Private named Matt Cummings. his profile says he’s only been out of boot camp for a week now and hates it, willing to swap with anyone from any branch as long as their not old.

I’ve only done 1 out of my 5 years so it didn’t bother me basically losing a year and having to restart a 5 year contract, especially if it ment I got to look hot as fuck and be a marine

Luckily I was only about 3 years older so I sent a request and after a little talking he agreed saying “I’d love to be in the navy and see more countries than just being deployed and stuck in 1”

Since we were in the same time zone this would actually be somewhat easy, we just set the time to swap to 3 A.M. when we’re both sleeping, and since we both actually had the next couple days off, it’d give us time to adapt and try to figure out our new lives

He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this, promising it’s not like how I think it is. And I told him yes I’m sure…

Unfortunately he was one of the few profiles on here that didn’t have a profile pic so I was a bit worried about walking into this blind, but checking out the basic stats on his profile made me a bit more confident, 5’10 and 140. At the very minimum I might lose like 2 inches of height but atleast I lose about 40 pounds of weight also haha

I woke up the next day in a bed that didn’t belong to me and a dorm room that didn’t look familiar to me. Needing to piss I flung the blanket off me and saw that I was in nothing but my underwear, I rushed to the head (bathroom in military talk) and lowered them to piss and was kinda shocked, nothing too special about the dick, I mean about the same size as my actual body, but maybe a bit longer, ok, more than a little, I had to be atleast 3 and a half inches soft now, bro probably had like atleast 2 inches on me hard, I don’t know yet, so I’ll assume im about 6.5 or 7 inches hard maybe more now. What had me shocked tho was that I’m now uncircumcised! This is awesome man! I always wanted to be uncut. I just woke up and I’m glad this guy wanted to swap, definitely lucked out.

After I got done pissing and shooked my dick, I went to the sink to drink some water straight from the facet, after I got done drinking I stood up water dripping down my face onto my chest and onto my thin 6pack… if you could even call these abs, I’m not sure, maybe inbetween toned and abs status. Finally taking the chance to look in the mirror, I believe I lucked out, this guy seems to be one of the finer looking ones

While admiring my new self in the mirror I started to get hard and decided to check out the goods, pulling my underwear down my initial assessment seemed to be right, definitely bigger than my original body, so definitely atleast 7 inches. I decided to save playing with myself for later, hate to be a cliche and immediately go to touching myself after a swap, I’ll save it for later when I decide to act like a true marine and go get day drunk!

I tried finding some clean clothes but everything that wasn’t a uniform item was kinda just thrown onto the floor so I don’t know which piles are clean and which are not… I decided to take from the pile that smelled the lest like B.O. and get dressed

Once dressed I grabbed a backpack I saw laying around and left the onbase housing and found a store that happened to sell some IPA’s in there. I got a 6 pack and headed back to my room. on the way to the store and on the way back I was getting looks from everyone like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, can’t be the alcohol can it? I mean no way, I tucked it into my bag. I mean, ya bro didn’t check the back of my CAT card to see my date of birth, so it’s technically underage drinking, but no one knows I have beer in my backpack nor does that explain the looks I was getting on the way to the store in the first place

I shrugged it off and just went back inside to my room. Once in I started drinking right away after I found some good shows to watch on this guys phone, I don’t know his password but the finger ID works, I’ll have to message him and ask him for the code later

It was taking me longer than usual to finish these due to not liking the taste anymore, and they were fucking me up more than usual making me a bit nauseous, I guess it makes since, this Matt guy has only been in for a week, probably didn’t have a taste for alcohol yet, not to mention different tastebuds in general, dam that sucks, this was one of my favorite brands too!

It took me almost 3 hours but I was finally on the last one, on a scale of like 1-10 I was probably a 6 on the drunk scale, trying not to throw up, which is ironic sense I use to black out and wake up never throwing up once throughout the night

When I get drunk I like to start cleaning or working out drunk, makes everything a bit more fun, I decided to do laundry, sense I can’t tell what’s clean and what’s not, I decided to just wash everything on the floor

Once I put everything in the washer I had a thought, technically I don’t know if the clothes I put on today were clean or not, and after spending some time in them today, technically they are dirty “fuck it” I said outloud and stripped completely naked tossing my clothes into the washer too before starting it

I went back and sat on the couch buck ass naked, it always felt weird walking around naked, so the fact that I’m doing it now in a slimmer body, balls swinging? Was kinda erotic, I started to get hard but the hornyness turned into fear when I herd a knock at the door

I remained still hoping they’d just go away, but then herd the sliding of the lock and the door open

“Aye Private FuckFace, I gotta talk to you. A sergeant and 2 corporals came in with him and closed the door behind them. For some reason I forgot that I was totally nude and thought it’d be a good idea to just start playin a movie again and pretend like I didn’t hear them

They walked around the corner into the living room to see me naked on the couch making them freeze and recalculate for a few seconds

I tried to not look up at them and continue watching my phone

“Well what do we have here” the sergeant said walking up to me

“Uh, uh, nothing much sergeant, just watchin a movie, you?”

“Me? What do I have? Let’s see, I’m given the task of coming to scald you for going out in public today and not shaving, what is this? Like my 3rd time telling you in the last week since you’ve been here that you have to shave EVERY DAY. And now I have YOU sitting on the couch, buck ass naked with beer cans on the table” he yelled knocking my partially full can over

“So that’s what we’re doing now? Underage drinking in base housing, not shaving. Sitting in the couch naked, legs open, not even trying to cover yourself, you know I told you if you kept fucking up I was gonna cum on your fucking face Private Cummings, I wasnt joking” he said unbuckling his belt

It didn’t register with me the first time, but it did the second, I’m so fucked up right now that I totally forgot that I was nude, fuck. Wait did he just say he was gonna fuck my face!?

I went to get up off the couch but he pushed me hard when I got half way up, sending me back on the couch.

“Now you know the rules to this, you can try to get out of this but I doubt you’ll be able too” he said nodding to the two corporals as he pulled his 5 inch hard dick out

I went to get up a second time but the corporals went behind the couch, each grabbing an arm and holding it back so I can’t go anywhere

“Suck” he said dick inches away from my mouth

“Fuck that” I screamed trying to spit on his dick as a sign of disrespect

Due to my slow reaction time the moment I tried to build up saliva and spit out on his dick, he just Jammed it in my mouth the second I opened it

I didn’t dare move, I’m not gonna fuck him up by hitting his dick but I’m not sucking it ether

I quit trying to fight to get up and just fell back into the couch more trying to get the dick to come back out my mouth

“Private FuckFace you are to suck my dick until I cum in your mouth, do you understand? That’s an order soldier” the sergeant said yelling at me

The moment he said “that’s an order” it’s like the combination of my boot camp instincts and this Cummings guy’s kicked in and I just quit resisting giving in and sucking his dick

Like a good soldier does, I gave it my all trying to do a good job and I suppose I did cause he yelled “I’m about to cum” I sped up a bit just so I can be done with this gay shit, the moment he started to blow his load in my mouth I quit sucking, but he wouldn’t pull out

I looked up to see my sergeant looking down on me, saying “you know the rules, now swallow, Private”

The moment I swallowed my sergeant nodded again and the corporals finally let go, they came back around the couch laughing

“Oh my god sergeant did he actually do it? Haha” one of them said laughing

“Yep, he swallowed it, which by Marine Social Code, means you, private fuck face, are officially my bitch now and have to do whatever I say whenever I say it” the sergeant said with a smile

“Bro what the fuck is wrong with y’all, fuck that I’m not nobodies bitch, you just mad a private has a bigger dick then you dude” I said standing up

“Private I told you, you know the rules, if anyone is able to take you by force and make you swallow their cum, your their bitch now, you could have gotten out of the hold we had you in, you just decided to say fuck your training, I feel like becoming a bitch all of a sudden right? Just accept it for what it is and do what I say like a good little bitch”

One of the corporals decided to tap the sergeant and ask him a question

“So uh, sense he’s your bitch now, do we get any sort of compensation for helping you? I mean he did put up a fight in the beginning and make us put some effort into holding him down, for someone that decided to become a bitch, he should have known he shouldn’t fight with his superiors” one of them said

The sergeant smiled and said “perhaps… Private go ahead and suck these two’s dicks aswell, take as much time as you’d like”

“No dude what the fuck is your problem I’m not doing that gay shit I’m a marine” I said angrily

“Private, you will suck these two men’s dick, that’s an order” the sergeant said

Once again it was like something in me was triggered and I proceeded to get down on my knees to make it easier for them to stick it in.

“ and you might be a marine but your a fresh marine, ment to be made into whatever the fuck we want you to be, if we want you to be the bottom bitch of the whole platoon, guess what your doing? Suckin dick just like we want you too” the sergeant said as I was giving one of the corporal the works

Both the corporals were bigger than the sergeant, so my only assuming is that the sergeant likes to get drunk with his power and assert it whenever he can, like now

After I got done blowing the first corporal, just like the sergeant did… he ordered me to swallow after cumming in my mouth. laughing, he pulled out and let the 2nd corporal take his turn

This time I didn’t need any instructions and just knew to swallow that way his dick come out my mouth faster, I hated every second of this, I thought the marine corps was the straight bad ass branch but I guess their even worse than the navy somehow

As I swallowed the 2nd corporal’s load I moved my eyes and glanced over at sergeant to see a pissed off expression

“What sergeant, I’m just doing what you told me to do” I said feeling the urge to please my superior officers

“I told you to suck their dicks, I didn’t necessarily say to let them cum in your mouth and swallow it, did i” he said rubbing his hands against the sides of the his temple

“Your point” i asked

“My point is now that you swallowed their cum, your all of our’s bitch now…. man you must really love this don’t you? It’s ok private, I knew from the beginning you must be a little gay from our first encounter, with that being said, we’ll round up the rest of the platoon and make sure you have plenty of cum to swallow and dicks to suck by the end of the week, I’m sure the rest of the guys will be ecstatic to find out they can get free blowjobs whenever they want and not have to go out into town to get it. Good work private” he said now smirking a little bit

“Ok I’ll leave the rest to you two” sergeant said and then walked out

Once the sergeant walked out the corporals both started dying laughing

“Hold up just stay right there private, ima make a call to the E-4 Mafia and get you some more dicks to suck tonight” one of them said pulling out their phone and started reading aloud the text he was sending to a group chat

“E-4 mafia, new platoon bitch is with me right now, drunk as fuck, giving out free blowjobs and swallowing, hit me up if you’d like to get in on this day one, goal is to get him to swallow every guy in the platoon by the end of the week” and send he said

Guys, come on now, this isn’t cool, y’all are gonna make me get a STD or something, you really want that? I said panicking

“Really only a problem for the ones after/if you get one private, but I think most would say it’d be a fair trade off in the hopes of having a platoon wide bitch, it’s gonna be a long 4 years for you dude haha” he said sitting down on the couch keeping an eye on me to make sure I don’t escape before his buddies show up

For some reason thinking about what just happened has me getting hard, the sergeant can go kill himself for all I care, but just like my new marine body, these corporals are starting to look kinda hot

The one that send out the group chat noticed I got hard and addressed me

“You find this hot Cummings” he said with a sly smile on his face

“I got something for you private, just go ahead and close your eyes and start stroking your dick dude, slowly”

I do so, and next thing I know I hear the corporal searching his bag behind me untill he found something, I herd a bag open and he asked me

“ do you like poppers private”

“I love them! What type of popper tho? Like jalapeño poppers?” I said starting to sound excited from the sound of food, drinking on a empty stomach wasn’t my brightest idea

As I’m still stroking my uncut cock I feel the corporal grab the back of my head and go

“ no these ones” he said as he forced my face into the bag inhaling chemicals

It suddenly felt like my dick was about to explode and so I let go immediately but it was too late

My dick started to twitch for a few seconds before I shot my load all over myself

“Noo!! What the fuck was that I yelled”

What I thought you said you liked poppers? I just figured I’d help you get off since you’ll be helping a lot of guys tonight he said with that same sly smile

My whole life has been turned upside down, I was hoping if I could make it pass the next few days the B.E.P. Would swap us back knowing I never cummed, not wanting the swap to be locked in

But now I’m stuck as this private Cummings guy for sure, since the corporal wanted to mess with me and make me cum myself, locking me in this body for years to come

#edit, I’ll try to make a patreon next week where y’all can see the pictures I really want to use for these stories 😏

#body swap #bodyswap #jock #male body swap #Military #Marine Corps Gay #permanent #temporary2permanent

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