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#I didn’t binge on the whole thing
danrifics · 6 months
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them letting the captain be outwardly gay at the last possible second of BBC Ghosts is so iconic i’ll be real
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bogslob · 30 days
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Okay, so I finally finished the live action atla and I have some thoughts.
I feel like they have stripped away the soul of the cartoon. By taking away Aangs fun, Kataras angriness, and Sokkas humour the story feels empty. Also, someone said Zuko doesn’t say honour once, which is truly detrimental to his character.
By not having any filler episodes, we didn’t get to learn who these characters were, and they didn’t get to bond with each other, so it made no sense when they kept telling each other they were family like guys you met a week ago.
I think they tried to make up for it, including as many fan favourite moments as possible, and by sticking to the key original plot beats. But in doing this they’re getting there in very different ways, which don’t always make sense, and feel really crammed together and rushed. I think they needed to let some of these moments go and tell their version of the story, because let’s be honest, the show really doesn’t hold up on its own and I think the main reason people are enjoying it is because of these references, not because of the story as a whole.
It seems like they’re trying to make a live action cartoon rather than a live action adaptation of a cartoon. All the wigs are terrible, Yues in particular. All the costumes look really cheap, I think partly this is due to them sticking too close to the cartoon and wanting the characters to look exactly the same when it doesn’t fit in this new medium. I think another reason for this is that particularly the water tribe costumes don’t look fit for use, the coats are all way too thin and I cannot believe that they would keep anyone warm enough at the poles. I think another reason for this is none of the clothes look worn, and they all look freshly ironed, which makes it difficult to believe in this world.
I will give them credit though, making the 41st Zukos crew was so smart and I love it.
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no1ryomafan · 3 months
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I’m very tempted to make a post on twit asking peeps what makes new unappealing compared to arma bc even if I still really like arma and sick of how tarnish it gets in the SRW fandom, I do think new is more cohesive and probably the best written of the 3 ovas-
But whatever unappealing aspect it has that I haven’t recognized-bc even with the “flaws” I pointed out to myself that it has I don’t think their show ruining-must be a universal thing because for some fucking reason it’s been a struggle to finish this god damn show irl with friends and only two people seemed fully invested anyways 💀 This NEVER happened with arma, especially when I actually sat down to watch episodes with someone, and SVN I’ve always finished in one sitting bc it’s so short, so I don’t know why new is plagued with “oh you wanna finish this show? Throw some life inconveniences above you!”
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littlestlake · 6 months
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alice in borderland is getting a season 3 and i am insane therefore i will be rewatching season 1+2
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bulletsfrank · 1 year
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getting bad enough i want a drink. ......heh
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alx-albon · 1 year
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Thinking about how to talk about t r o p without people being able to find it and comment on it
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heirhonkful · 1 year
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Doctor Who rant, feel free to ignore lol
Doctor Who always gets real bad when it tries to do “plot” stuff. I like it better as a weekly adventure show, that seems to be its strong suit. I just don’t understand how anyone could have liked the past few seasons. Jodie Whittaker deserved so much better than to be part of probably what is the worst written part of DW.
It’s like they literally went out of their way to ruin anything that made DW interesting and compelling by trying to add weird, stupid, kind of “chosen one” story. The best part of The Doctor is that they’re just a person - and also an almost immortal alien lol, but just a person, it could be anyone with that box, The Doctor isn’t supposed to be super important and stuff. That kinda feels like where DW fails the most, is trying to make The Doctor to be some kind of incredible superhero or something as opposed to a person who just gets into adventures with their friends.
That’s why these last few seasons were just so much worse. And it sucks even more because so many chuds and idiots are going to blame it on The Doctor being a woman or something like that, as opposed to a complete destruction of the character and their backstory. I wonder how in the world they’ll fix it, I don’t know if they even can.
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melonnade · 8 days
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if you like both orv & mxtx I’m begging you on my knees to read global examination/quan qiu gao kao by mu su li, it’s so good
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blkkizzat · 2 months
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please write nerd geto ! i’m sure you’ll write something amazinggg
Of course doll! Sorry this took a while I was sick most of December and January whooped my ass with classes starting again but I love love the idea of Nerd!Geto especially a Nerd!Geto with glasses so had to write a whole fic. Hope you like it :3 ♡
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Lessons in Anatomy
“Shall I give you a lesson, Y/N? Do you want me to teach you how to squirt?”
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summary: thanks to some bad choices and party girl ways you're on academic probation and can't afford to fail another test. fortunately your longtime friend nerd!geto is there to give you lessons in both economics and anatomy.
cw: college AU. fingering, squirting, dirty talk, edging, mentions of satosugu, rich party kid shit, incestuous friendships, mentions of reader x other jjk men, mentions of casual sex/hookups, mentions of drinking/drug use, reader is a dumb (and I mean dumb) bimbo, a little bit of a brat too, slight coercion, slight dubcon, virgin!suguru, soft dom!sugu, sex ed!sugu, roleplay as sugu is pre med major, some minor fluff, pet names: slut, bunny etc. a bit of a crack fic too haha. slightly black fem coded, no descriptors. a/n: LOL how this became an 8.2k fic about squirting idk chile... but special shout out to @littlemochabunni who talked me off a ledge when I was being emo and I wanted to scrap the entire thing and start over. w/c: 8.2k
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“I can’t believe I’m here and missing the biggest party of the year!”
You groaned as you scrolled through your stories to see all the pics and vids of your friends living their best drunken lives and happily binge drinking on frat row to celebrate your school’s football league championship win.
Toru just did unassisted keg stand pushups and you missed it! 
You, on the other hand, were stuck studying with Suguru in his dorm room. 
100% sober and being forced to learn 5 weeks of econ, that you never took a single note for, in one weekend. 
Well not forced exactly. 
You and Satoru had practically begged Suguru to help you study this weekend. If you failed this class you would flunk out as you were already on academic probation.
“Well I for one can’t believe you’re dumb enough to attempt to cheat off Toji and Sukuna of all people.” 
Suguru quipped back while pushing up his glasses. He snatched your phone away from you and placed it on the other side of his desk, away from you.
Not that he took offense to the remark, but he too had better things to do on a Friday night than tutoring you. Keggers definitely weren't his scene though and Suguru wouldn’t be caught dead at a party celebrating with those frat monkeys. Even if said monkeys included his childhood friends. 
However, as a pre-med student he’d much rather stay in to write his essay for the clinical research internship he was trying to get. 
“Hey! I didn’t cheat off them for the record! Toji and Sukuna said they had the hookup for the answers!”
You pouted grumbling as you tried to reach for your phone on the other side of the table only for Suguru to take it again. This time he slid it into his pockets, keeping it away from you for good.
“Urgh, it’s not my fault they got the test for ECON 230A and 230B mixed up. I didn’t even know there was a second section!”
Suguru had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at you again. The pilfered test definitely had ‘ECON 230B’ printed in big bold letters at the top. 
You all were idiots. 
Unfortunately for you, you were just a cheerleader idiot. 
The other idiots, Toji and Sukuna, dubbed the ‘The Boom Bros’, were the reason your team even won the championships in the first place. The best defensive backs your college or any college in your division have seen, ever. Not letting an opposing team score more than 10 points the entire season, there was no way in hell they were going down for that right before the championships.
That left you as the scapegoat, which was something Suguru noted that you happily took the fall for.  Although there is a very good possibility of you being a soon-to-be college dropout, your social clout was skyrocketing. 
Word spread among the popular social circles fast on how you ‘saved the big game’. 
Suguru couldn’t care less about football, though he was getting annoyed at all the texts, DMs and messages you received asking where you were. They were making you completely lose the little focus you were capable of, which is what made him confiscate your phone in the first place. 
Sighing, Suguru was pretty sure you would be competent enough to pass if you just applied yourself more to anything other than drinking and parties.
“Y/N, just try to focus on studying, please.”
You pouted, turning back to the textbook in front of you.
How did Suguru’s nerdy ass enjoy studying so much?
Studying, especially anything to do with math, gives you an ick. In fact, you were sure the only reason you graduated from high school and even got into this university was because you played 7-minutes-in-heaven with Choso at the start of senior year. 
It had been a secret double dare from Gojo but you sucked the soul out of that boy in Gojo’s closet that night. From then on, Choso pretty much did anything you wanted that year, including all your homework. Hell, he even wrote your college admissions essays and in turn you gave him some sloppy toppy here and there.
Choso was always eager to feel your soft lips on his cock, so you’re sure he could have thought of a better way for you to cheat so you didn't have to study at all and could be out partying right now. It’s just your bad luck that he was studying abroad this semester with his little brother Yuuji.
Although, even if you did flunk out you weren’t that worried. Worst case scenario if you couldn’t find a career or a husband you could always be one of Gojo’s three mistresses he said he would keep once he was older, married and had taken over his family’s company. 
He had pinky-pie-promised he would take care of you if you needed it and as one of your best friends you knew he was good for that promise. Even if he did make it while you both were partying, tripping balls off acid so hard that Satoru convinced himself your cunt could produce cotton candy. He chewed on your pussy for 2 hours straight one wild night on your group’s graduation trip where he then asked if you would be his future mistress.
But that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted that life for yourself. You liked your independence and Satoru would be alot to deal with, even with 2 other mistresses and a wife. 
Therefore, unless you wanted to resign yourself to that fate, you were stuck with Suguru as your tutor.
It’s not like you didn’t get along with Suguru, he’d been one of your closest friends since you were young along with Satoru. But as you got older your interests kind of drifted apart and you saw him less and less, especially as you got to college. 
You wanted to party and Suguru prioritized studying.
You had missed him. You wanted to have fun with him again.
And this was definitely not fun. 
Reading the same paragraph for the fifth time and retaining shit all of whatever the passage had said about ‘demand curve fluctuations’, you were ready to climb up the walls. 
You began to fidget, still in your cheer uniform from the game earlier. The material of your skirt rode up to your upper thighs when you splayed your knees out and leaned forward to lay your head on the desk face down with an exasperated yawn. 
Suguru shared in your exasperation but directed his towards you with another sigh, looking you over. His weariness at you from your inability to study causes his eyes to linger on your form longer than they should. 
Resting against his desk, your back had molded into a nice natural little arch as your tits pushed forward . Adjusting his glasses Suguru found it difficult to pull his eyes away once they landed on your thighs. Practically leering, Suguru is transfixed by the way the fabric bunched at your hips digs into your soft skin. 
He curses your university’s school colors as the next thing that caught his eye was the bright yellow cheer panties you wore that were tight enough to show the full shape of your cunt. Your panties are so skinforming that they don’t fail to give you camel toe. The indent of the slit between your fat pussy lips is on full display.
You’ve always been attractive, Suguru muses as he feels his pants slightly tighten. But it’s no mystery why you were such a slut now if these were the positions you found yourself in when alone with guys.
“Seeing something you like, Sugu baby?”
Suguru snaps his head up at your teasing to see you looking straight at him, your head still resting on his desk but has since turned to face him. The wink along with the lazy yet knowing smile forming on your cherry stained lips lets him know you know he was staring at your cunt. 
Caught red handed, Suguru rolls his eyes and scoffs as he returns back to the textbooks in front of him while you laugh. Dismissing your question entirely he changes the subject back to studying but can’t resist throwing in a little dig to take the heat off himself. 
“Y/N, can’t you just focus? You’ve barely made any progress… Or is it that you want to flunk out and be reduced to Toru’s mistress or something?”
Fuck, you forgot Suguru knew about that too. (Duh, of course he did. He was the sober one who found you both, taking care of you once your come downs had hit).
Not letting him get away with that shade, the brat in you clapped back as you returned his sarcasm back at him.
“Okay, well high school was one thing but do you want to go through college without getting any play too? Or are you satisfied just from peeking up a skirt?”
Annoyance flashes in Suguru’s eyes. He thought you had some audacity seeing as you were the one who was casually flaunting your pussy for him in the first place. Nevertheless, you continued, using Suguru as a punching bag for your current academic frustrations.
“Your pocket pussy and getting head from Toru behind the bleachers at prom doesn’t count by the way!”
Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose as his tolerance of the situation had officially bubbled over. He was tired of everyone thinking he was missing out on something just because he didn’t want to kill off brain cells partying every weekend or play STD Roulette with casual hookups. 
You bringing up prom was a low blow. It was the first time he’d ever had a drink and Toru had practically begged him. Satoru wanted to know if his head was just as good for guys as it was for girls (spoiler alert: it was).
Also, what you thought just because you fucked around alot it was actually any good?
“Yeah and getting railed by a bunch of banana brained monkey jocks, that counts Y/N? They wouldn’t know what to do with your clit even if it was an actual football.”
Suguru retorted and he watched as your eyes widened with shock then seethed with anger as you finally sat upright in the seat. 
Ding Ding! He had hit a nerve. 
“Oh and you would know what to do, cherry boy?”
Suguru knows he probably shouldn’t push it further. But like Satoru, you always knew what buttons to push to get under his skin. Suguru can’t help but to want to get under your skin as well, especially since he was never one of the ones getting under your clothes. 
“Well I can actually spell clitoris, so that already puts me at an advantage over those ball chasing monkeys. Have you ever even had a real orgasm before, Y/N?”
You started to speak but Suguru cut you off before you could.
“—and I mean one that didn’t come from tripping with Satoru or a toy? I bet you’ve never even squirted before.”
Damn. 
You resisted the urge to chew on your lip, not wanting him to know just how right he was but your immediate silence was telling. Racking your brain, you tried to find a way to get your lick back but found yourself at a loss. 
It was mostly true to be honest. 
A hot and heavy make-out session at a party would typically lead to mostly underwhelming sex and you would have to return to your dorm or wait for them to leave to finish yourself off with your rose or dildo… or both. 
Okay and sure, maybe the one and only time you did really have an intense body orgasm was the time you dropped acid with Satoru but… fuck –Wait…squirting?! Wasn’t that just pee? Gross! 
Satisfied with your small ammunition, after a pause you bit back again.
“Alright, so frat boys aren’t sex gods, tell me something I don’t know. It’s still sex Suguru—” 
You flipped your hair and crossed your legs arrogantly as you continued.
“— sex that you aren’t having, which, duh, is obvious if you think squirting is an actual thing. Because Eww nasty, I’m so not into piss-play, Sugu!”
You waited for his reply, assuring your win but Suguru just blinked at you, dumbfounded. 
The thought of you having won shatters when Suguru erupts into a fit of laughter. Hitting the table for emphasis Suguru was near howling as the glasses fell off his face and he had to clutch his sides for support, keeling over in his chair. 
Suguru couldn’t actually believe that you believed squirting was the same as urinating! 
On second thought, knowing you, this kind of checked out…
Watching Suguru in a fit of hysterics had your face burning with embarrassment as waves of self-consciousness came over you. 
To be honest, you weren’t even sure why you were feeling insecure as this was supposed to be your victory!  This was not the reaction you expected from him at all to say the least!
Just what made this so funny!? Because you didn’t want to piss yourself during sex?! 
“Sugu…”
“Sugu…”
“Hey, Suguru!!!”
Frustrated with him ignoring you and still laughing after failing to get his attention, you jumped up from your seat and marched directly in front of Suguru. Angrily you yanked his head up by his man bun. 
You were so ready to tell Suguru to go to hell for laughing at you. Even if you weren’t too sure exactly what he was laughing at you for, he was still being a jerk right now. 
However the words caught in your throat as soon as you saw his face.
Suguru’s wide grin easily illuminated the dimly lit dorm room. Tears gathered in the crinkle around his eyes and pulled into an expression of such warmth that you were reminded of all the fun times you had together goofing off over the years. You nearly forgot what it was like to see him laugh like this.
So nostalgic you almost forgot he was still laughing at your expense — almost.
“Don’t be an asshole Sugu…” 
Your voice was low, lacking any real bite as all your fire fizzled and was replaced by a pout.
Defeated, you let go of your stiff grip on his silky bun causing it to unravel and frame his face with thick black strands that flowed down past his shoulders. Although it wasn’t the first time you had seen Suguru with his hair down and no glasses, you couldn’t help but stare at him now. 
He had grown much more into his features since high school. 
College Suguru had sharper eyes, a slimmer face with a strong jawline and hair that flowed down to his chest. Not to mention his lanky boyish frame had filled out. The muscles underneath were prominent now even if he was wearing a baggy band tee and sweats. Suguru didn’t go to parties but from the looks of him he certainly didn’t miss going to the gym. 
He didn’t look much like the nerd you knew him to be right now at all.
Granted, you were still a bit salty with Suguru but didn’t want to fight with him anymore. Especially given the way his dark eyes sparkled as he gazed up at you, your heart nearly skipping a beat as if you were really only noticing him now for the first time. 
Sniffling, a cocktail of emotions swirls in you. Moisture pricks in the corners of your eyes despite yourself.
Suguru, who was also staring at you, took notice right away.
“Hey Bunny, I’m sorry...” 
You relaxed a bit hearing the old nickname he and Satoru gave to you back in middle school, you couldn’t remember the last time he called you that. 
Grabbing your hand in his much larger one, Suguru gave your palm a gentle rub with his thumb. His hand was surprisingly soft. 
Despite his sweet gesture, your brow twitched slightly at Suguru’s soft chuckles, still continuing albeit less frequently, at your expense.
“It’s just that… I dunno, I guess I would have expected you to have experienced it at least once before Y/N, it’s definitely not pee.” 
You huffed. You still weren’t convinced it wasn’t pee but now you were more curious than anything.
“And how do you know that Suguru? You’ve made a girl squirt before?” 
There was no sarcasm in your tone this time, just doubt since he would have told Toru and Toru definitely would have told you if Suguru was getting play from someone. 
Suguru to his credit wasn't discouraged though. 
If anything, he seemed to gain confidence on the matter now that you weren’t fighting him, rather looking to him for knowledge, for the first time tonight.
“Well, no, but I did get a 4.0 out of Anatomy last semester and unlike you I actually paid attention in Sex Ed. Also, just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I’m completely clueless. There is a little thing called the internet, Y/N.”
You mouthed an ‘O’— a bit ashamed that you actually thought because he was a virgin who didn’t party he was merely just sitting around clueless to everything about sex.
But what could just reading textbooks and the internet teach him over actual experience? 
Then again, Suguru was practically a genius, if he was saying something was possible you could be sure it was. Still you couldn’t stop your mind racing as you considered his previous words.
You were the one with all the experience so you should have experienced it before, right? 
Maybe the guys you hooked up with weren’t the problem then? Maybe you were. 
“What if– w-what if I’m the problem Suguru? What if I just can’t?”
Tugging you closer, his fingers now interlacing with yours, Suguru’s other hand settled on your hip giving you a warm squeeze. You were so close to him now that his chin almost rested on your belly and Suguru was craning his head up to you with a small sly grin still on his face.
“It’s not a matter of can or can’t Bunny, you just don’t know how. Shall I give you a lesson, Y/N?” 
“Do you want me to teach you how to squirt?”
You felt a bit lightheaded as you considered the words that just came out of Suguru’s mouth. You weren’t shy at all when it came to matters of sex and you had the reputation to prove it. Yet your stomach still did a little flip at Suguru propositioning you. 
Sure you were a bit of a slut and had at least made out with almost every guy in your group of friends, but not Suguru. Not for lack of attraction though, you had teased Suguru in the past but he had always been the responsible one, like an older brother or protector. 
Besides, Satoru was always so needy for his attention. There weren’t often times you were with Suguru alone and he never seemed all too interested in sex either, at least when directly compared to a horn dog like Satoru. 
You didn’t actually know if he was serious though so you decided to make light of it, giggling.
“If you wanted me to pop your cherry Sugu, all ya had to do was ask.”
Suguru smiled back at you, he shook his head chuckling. 
“I’ll only need to use my fingers, Y/N. Besides, this is about you. What I really want is for you to not flunk out, I would miss you, ya know?” 
You try to keep a poker face but you couldn’t help feeling giddy at the fact you were extremely happy to hear Suguru would miss you. You had already missed him and combined with the inkling of new feelings stirring in your chest from seeing your old friend in a new light you feel adrenaline begin to pump through you as you brim with nervous energy. 
“Let’s think of this as a study break from Economics. You had to miss the party but we can still have some fun. You might even learn something for once, eh?”
His hand left your hip in order to push the books and papers on his desk aside and patted the wooden surface. The hand still intertwined with yours guided you over.
“Hop on up, Bunny. It’s time for your anatomy lesson.”
You look at the desk and pause as if you are unsure, biting your lip. 
Thoughts of finally hooking up with Suguru excited and the fact you were nervous whether you would disappoint him if you couldn’t actually squirt flood your mind at once. However when you meet Suguru’s eyes and feel gentle reassuring pressure on your hand your body is already moving towards the desk, making the decision for you.
Your heart is already thudding in your eardrums by the time you settle on top of Suguru’s study desk. Suguru immediately shifts into instructor mode, picking his glasses up off the floor and adjusting them back on his face. 
He directs you to lean back and relax and soon your shoulders are against the wall behind the desk as you are propped up on your elbows. 
You yelp as Suguru startles you by grabbing your hips with a firm squeeze and scooches you flush to his pelvis. Feet propped up to the edge as well all you needed were the stirrups and you could have been at the gyno's office, giggling now at the thought.
“Sugu, you can’t be serious. I feel like you’re about to give me a pap, not an orgasm.”
Suguru’s mouth twitches up into a smirk.
“There’s a reason they have you lie in this position, makes for easier access. If you’re going to squirt I’m going to need to find that slutty lil’ gland of yours and I don’t mean your clit, Bunny.” 
You huffed but you were otherwise agreeable. 
You couldn’t deny you were a slut especially not now with your legs spread open wide exposing your bright yellow cheer-panty clad cunt to Suguru. Laid out like this, the thin layer of spandex is stretched to its absolute limits causing your chubby pussy lips to poke out of the sides. This does not go unnoticed by Suguru who hadn’t taken his eyes off your lower half since you initially spread your legs. 
His Adam's apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed and breathed deeply at the sight of you.
Suguru can barely believe he’s really about to do this. 
If anything he is overconfident in his abilities, despite his lack of actual on-the-job experience so to speak. From all his studying as a pre-med student, books, health articles and yes even porn, Suguru could say he had an in-depth understanding of human anatomy and bodily functions. 
But that didn’t mean he didn’t need to calm himself enough to stop his balmy palms from sweating further at the reality of finally being allowed to actually touch you.
“I’ll be in your care then, Doctor Geto.”
You make a lighthearted joke with a nervous laugh to ease your own anticipation. However the joke has the opposite effect for Suguru and he snaps his head up as if you had activated something in him. 
Suguru’s fiery expression sends shivers down your back. Although as quickly as it appeared it was gone again, replaced by his trademark comforting grin. Even so your fingers pressed a bit deeper into the wood beneath you, steadying your frazzling nerves.
“Well aren’t you a lucky one then, being my first patient ever. You’ll be a good little pussy and listen to me, won't you?”
Suguru is looking down again, speaking directly to your cunt who is tingling in response to his voice. It’s fucking lewd. But then again so is the studious scrutiny of Suguru’s eyes so single-mindedly transfixed to your cunt you wonder if his leer alone could dissolve the cheer panties right off of you. 
You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding once Suguru finally starts touching you. 
But not your pussy just yet. 
His long thick fingers are surprisingly cool on your skin as they press into your warmth, ghosting just above your knee on both sides. 
Gentle strokes travel down along your inner thighs and up again to lightly tickle the backs of your legs. You tense and squirm beneath him when your eyes meet Suguru’s own.
“Sugu–”
“Patience, Bunny. It’s no wonder you never cum if you’re so used to diving right in. You need to relax first. This won’t happen if you aren’t relaxed, can you try to do that for me?”
You nodded back at him, yet the goosebumps left in the wake of Suguru’s soft caresses had you trembling. So used to rushed thrusts and hurried grasps, you don’t know how to just take it in the moment. 
You had never been touched this delicately before.
Already oversensitive, if anything you felt like the one who was the virgin in this situation.
If Suguru notices, he says nothing. His touches are progressively firmer, the light pets morphing into soft squeezes and circular strokes of the hand once he traverses closer to your core.
“You know Bunny, the inner thigh area is an erogenous zone? Can you say that, Y/N? Ero-gen-ous?
Suguru pronounces the word out for you as his heavy muscular hands make their way to the crease of your inner thighs, his hands once more perilously close to your pussy as he pauses looking up at you again expectantly.
“Say it, Y/N.”
Your cunt clenches at his command and it leaves you stuttering. Heat blossoms across your cheeks from how needy you sound choking out the word. 
“Er-Ero-gennn-ous.”
Suguru rewards you by moving his hands again but to your dismay they pass your core to dig into your hips, his thumbs swirling over your hip bones. He leans his body in closer to you and you break eye contact to turn your head away lest you really start falling apart in his hands.
“Good girl. Ya know, you’re quite bright with the right motivation, Bunny.”
Puffs of moist heat glide over the tip of your ear as his lips are only millimeters away from your skin. His words stimulate a deep in your gut reaching all the way down to your toes, trying to resist how much he’s affecting you. 
Suguru chuckles at your bashfulness.
“Are you always this shy, Bunny? Or does that honor just belong to me?”
You whimpered. You aren’t sure how you got here. 
How was Suguru, a nerdy virgin, making you come undone like this? You didn’t know where the darkness that crept up on the edges of his eyes was coming from either, yet you squirm in anticipation despite yourself. 
You loved it. 
Always a know-it-all, so you would hate to admit it outloud, but Suguru was already making you feel more excitement than any frat boy you had been with. Lack of hands-on experience be damned. You’re losing it as his lips sensually flutter against your collarbone. 
“Y-you s-said only fingers, S-Sugu!”
Your voice lacks any real reprimand as you are arching up into his touches and quivering for more. Suguru obliges as he alternates between delicate nips and open mouth kisses sinfully marking you. Groaning into the crook of your neck Suguru savors the lingering taste of your perfume and the natural saltiness of your skin. 
Returning his attention back to your ear Suguru’s breath trails over your skin until your lobe is once again trapped between his moist lips. He lightly tugs it between his teeth before giving it a sharp bite.
“AHH!”
The sting sends a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your cunt and a strangled noise escapes your lips. Your knees are starting to buckle but Suguru’s quick reflexes stopped your legs from clamping together all the way, bracing you. 
Taking your hands and leading them to the backs of your thighs, Suguru is making you steady yourself back into a spread position for him and gives you strict instructions not to move.
“Good girl… This should be more than obvious now Bunny, but there are erogenous zones all over your body that connect to the pleasure nerve endings here.”
Suguru’s voice is silky as his index finger tows long strokes over the slit of your clothed cunt and applies pressure on your clit for emphasis. Whines fumble out of you when Suguru switches from steady swipes to idle flicks with pads of his fingers and your legs twitch again once more.
“It's important to simulate multiple areas simultaneously and I only have two hands, don’t I? You don’t mind Y/N do you?”
You still can’t bear to look Suguru in the eyes, much less respond vocally so you just shake your head. 
“Feeling good, Bunny? Which do you like better, the strokes or the flicks?”
Your eyes squeeze shut from Suguru demonstrating both over your covered cunt. You try not to tear up but the amount of autonomy you had in this situation was new to you. Embarrassed and vulnerable you’re realizing that in spite of all your sexual experiences you still don’t feel comfortable expressing your needs.
“Hey, Y/N–”
Suguru clutches your face in his massive grip, squishing both your cheeks with a single hand and forcing your glassy eyes back on him. It was hard to focus on what he was saying anyway while you cooed from the feather-like circles he had been drawing on your clit.
“–you have to talk to me. This and sex in general, is just another form of communication. It won't work well and you definitely won’t squirt unless you can express to your partner what feels good and what doesn’t.”  
You are sure he can feel the heat gathering in your cheeks radiating off your skin.
“Stop t-teasing S-Sugu… I-I know you can tell it’s good.”
Suguru eases his hold on you, his smirk deepening at your complaint.
“Oh I can, tell Bunny. Believe me. Your pussy, she’s so sensitive no matter how much you try to hide it from me. But I still need to hear it from your mouth regardless.”
The hand playing with your cunt splays out and Suguru fully cups you in his hands. The pulsing of your clit vibrates against his palm even through your panties.
“If you’re going to be a slut Bunny, at least be a vocal one. Be a slut for your own pleasure...this fat n’pretty cunt of yours deserves it.” 
Suguru’s mouth is mere millimeters above yours, floating suspended both your lips are parted as you’re sharing the same air. The dizzying effect of breathing him in only intensifies with his words.
“Or perhaps you just get off on the idea of being free use?”
Suguru chuckles but doesn’t make you answer that question in favor of pulling back from you to inspect the large wet spot you soaked through your cheer panties from all of his taunting.
Pleased he gives your clothed pussy a smack, the moisture underneath the flimsy fabric evident in the soft squelchy sound that fills the room.
Smack, another moist sound echoes from your cunt.
“Oh, looks like she’s ready. This mouth down here is so much more talkative, Bunny.”
Hooking his fingers in the fabric Suguru peels your soaked cheer panties to the side, whistling at the thick strings of your essence that lingered between your cunt and your panties.
“So fucking wet, the prettiest most obedient lil’ pussy, aren’t you?”
A fleeting thought of sassing Suguru since yours is the first real pussy he has actually even seen up close dissipates as soon as your entrance flutters against his two thick fingers that rub over your uncovered opening. 
Involuntary bucking your hips, the burning urge to feel him inside you is all you care about now, pride be damned. 
You want him.
“Sugu–”
“–Shhh!”
Suguru cuts your pleas short.
“Don’t interrupt Doctor Geto when he’s speaking with his favorite patient, Bunny… Your nasty lil’ cunt is really begging for her treatment, isn’t she?”
You pout at him, quieting down while Suguru rewards your submission by slipping into your folds once more, entering fully past your entrance and into your gummy walls. It’s only a single digit inside you but your pussy is hungrily sucking him in deeper, trying to devour his middle finger whole. 
Suguru murmurs intelligible obscenities from how warm and tight you are. He needs to find that spot. 
Your hands struggle to keep your legs from quaking when you feel his finger, longer, thicker and far more pointed than your own, bottom out before languidly dragging delicious pressure back through you, exploring your walls in search of–
“Found her.”
Your ass jerks up and nearly off the desk entirely when his finger roughly prods into the firm spongy spot within your cunt you didn’t even know existed until now. 
“FAH-FAH-FUHHCKKKKKKKKK–”
Your voice cracks and your vision blurs with tears that finally are cascading down your face smudging your mascara. Your reaction has you missing the wide-eyed look of amazement Suguru gives you utterly entranced by the way your entire body quivered from just a solid tap to the gland. 
Suguru had expected an intense reaction. He’d seen and read about how temporary control of muscles and spasms were common when abusing this spot in women. But the one thing textbooks, articles, nor porn could prepare him for was how fucking sexy you’d be while he was doing it. 
The ache in his pants has him groaning as he has to lean nearly his entire weight into you in order to get your lower half to settle back down on the desk. Pausing his movements inside of you, Suguru allows you to catch your breath.
Still the heavy pad of his finger is weighing down on you with enough force you still need to suck in your breaths, barely able to squeak out words.
“W-Wh-What is th-that S-Suguuu?!”
Suguru tells you not to worry about the actual name. It’s not very sexy, so you won’t remember it and it’s important that you do, so eventually he tells you to just call it the g-spot. 
You groan at the loss of pressure on your g-spot when Suguru removes himself from you entirely in order to bring the finger that had been inside you to his lips. Watching him savoring the essence of your sweet cunt on his tongue, you couldn’t take any longer, finding your voice. 
“Su-Surugu, N-Need–N-need more. P—please!”
Suguru obliges, slapping the fat of your ass teetering off the desk and lifts you as his knee slides under your hip. Leaning into you further, Suguru throws one of your shapely legs over his shoulder. 
“Oh, you found your voice Bunny? Then tell me what my patient wants. Where does Doctor Geto need to touch you?”
“M-my pussy– fuck– p-please Sugu, wanna feel good there. She’ll be so good for you!”
Suguru’s pleased smile is your only warning before two of his large fingers plunge-in and bottom out inside your cunt, knocking against your cervix. Your jaw completely slacks as you groan at the sudden intrusion, allowing Suguru the perfect invitation to your mouth. 
Wasting no time, Suguru crashes his lips into yours. The kiss is sloppy, hot and needy as any cries that attempted to leave you were drowned out in the wet cavern of Suguru’s mouth. 
Fuck, you’re greedy as hell. 
The kiss makes Suguru’s head spin and he loses himself in your sinful hunger as you wrap your arms around his neck and begin to dominate the kiss, sucking on his tongue. Soon Suguru finds himself groaning against your lips and slowly rocking his cock into the back of your thigh. Fuck, your body was too responsive, too eager for him to slut you out on his fingers. 
Suguru couldn’t lose sight of the goal though, you needed to squirt so he needed to take back control.
Catching you off guard, he bullies a third finger– his ring finger, into your cunt as well. Breathless you break the kiss, your eyes sinking back into your head as you meet the thrusts of his fingers with the roll of your hips.  
You aren’t able to control the way your body convulses as you writhe against Suguru. His massive body weighed over you as his hair fell in front of his face, hiding his crazed expression from you. 
Suguru is also panting as he vigorously pumps the appendages into you. In and out, swirling them Suguru’s fingers take special care to zigzag sweet torment over your g-spot. 
You’ve only felt the slight ghostings of this feeling before, nothing so pointed and focused on attacking this spot, while stretching your pussy so well in the process. You want– no need, to feel Suguru’s cock inside you next. 
You could tell he must be huge. Heat was radiating off his girthy bulge as it twitched up against your ass cheek even through Suguru’s joggers. The thought causes the hot iron coil in your stomach to tense to its breaking point, begging for release.
Suguru notices.
“A-Are you gonna squirt for me, Y/N?”
For the first time his own voice is ragged, set on keeping his promise to you.
“S-Sugu, I-I– I want to but I–” 
Your words catch in your throat as tears that are salty to the taste freely flow past your lips down your chin. You are unsure of what exactly to beg Suguru for even if you could do more than unintelligible babbles at the moment. 
It’s coming– you panic— this feeling!
“W-w-ait! Nooo, S–Su–Sugu… I’m g-gonna pee. S-stop, p-puhleaseee!
Your hands slip against Suguru’s shoulders as you try in vain to push him away. So fearful that Suguru was wrong and you may actually piss all over him and his desk. 
Suguru isn’t having it though, backhanding your clit with a harsh smack, his knuckle bullying into your bud. 
The slap was followed by two more in quick succession, his other hand never slowing inside of you. Disregarding your pleas Suguru ventures even deeper into your guts while pressing down on your lower belly.
“I told you it’s not pee, Bunny. You don’t listen very well, do you?”
Suguru hiss at you, the stress of holding himself back as you fall apart on his fingers was nearly too much, he needed you to lay back, be good for him and take it.
“I-I’m s-sowy, Dr. Geto but– I– wanna–.”
You sniffle back more tears, which has Suguru calming himself in order to soothe you again.
“Shh Bunny, it’s okay– now ask your doctor nicely for what you need. Go on.” 
At this point cuming, squirting, whatever Suguru you requires of you in order to release the feral sensations building within you is an essential need to live as much as taking your next breath.
“Doctor Geto, please let me cum! Sugu please! G-gonna s-squirt, gonna squirt s-so g-good for you!!”
“That’s right baby you will… Now squirt on me Bunny, make a pretty mess all over my fucking fingers.”
Timing a particularly hard jolt to your g-spot with simultaneous pressure from over your belly, has you tipping over the edge. Back arching you feel the gratifying release as you squirt hard, fluids spurting all over Suguru’s fingers and spilling down his forearms. The saccharine pleasure of it all is buzzing throughout every cell in your body as your eyes flutter back into your skull. 
Your entire body feels like an extension of your pussy, pulsing in tune with your cunt and you don’t realize you are even screaming until Suguru’s mouth is on top of yours once again. 
Suguru is tongue fucking your wails all the way back into the depths of your throat until they are mere raspy gurgles.
Riding out your orgasm you protest with choked cries as Suguru's hand abruptly leaves your cunt. Yet before you can process what’s happening you’re mewling loudly again once you feel his lips attacking your cunt. Sucking your clit between his lips, his own groans vibrate into your core making you all the more sensitive. 
Your hands fly to him again, tangling up in his long raven locks and trying to push his head away. 
Too much! You were far too sensitive right now for him to be lapping at your over stimmed cunt like a mad man.
“Stawwp–”
Your slurs fall on deaf ears as Suguru continues, only pulling back briefly to shush you.
“Haven’t got it all out. This pretty pussy is so fucking nasty she can give a little more, can’t you baby? I know she can.”
Suguru is speaking to you but he sounds a million miles away, focused only on your cunt as he returns to suckling on your clit, his teeth scraping lightly. He knows your pussy will give him the answer he is looking for soon enough. 
The iron grip his arms have around your thighs holds you down allowing Suguru unimpeded access to dribble globs of his spit into your folds. His tongue flattens over your clit and his eyes smolder into yours before diving back into your pussy. 
So close to cumming yet again your thick thighs clench around him as you unintentionally smother his face deeper into your core. Suguru ignores any need to take breaths, your cunt being the only sustenance needed as he rams his tongue further into your convulsing hole. 
Shaking his head around sloppily, Suguru is goading your cunt into giving him more and more. His tongue is a mere worshiper in the temple between your thighs, begging your leaking pussy to give him the last morsels of your squirt. 
Not having the willpower to deny him, your pussy gushes out more onto his tongue and shamelessly he swallows all of it as you cum all over again.
By the time Suguru detaches himself from your cunt he looks almost as wrecked as you: hair is matting to the sides of his face, his glasses are clouded with slick and your juices are dripping down his chin. 
Although, now that Suguru has had a taste of you he is left craving more. Not letting a single drop of your juices go to waste Suguru is ferally slurping the drippings off your thighs and lowering his head to even zamboni the overflow of your essence off the desk beneath you. Ravenous with thirst for you Suguru is even using his mouth to squeeze out any droplets he could retrieve from your soaked cheer panties. 
You on the other hand could only heave as you gasped for breath. Your legs are still twitching in the after shock of your intense orgasm and squirt session. Dizzy and dazed you feel yourself fading out, unsure of how much time has passed or what Suguru was still doing between your legs until the familiar ring of your phone slowly guides you back into the present. 
Wiping his face with the back of his hand Suguru stands up and pulls your phone out of his pocket.
The phone is still ringing as he looks down at it and snickers. 
“It’s Toru, Y/N. Answer it.”
You give Suguru a frowny pout. You were barely conscious right now, you couldn't handle a drunkenly energetic Satoru. 
Seeing you making no attempts to move, Suguru answers it for you and Satoru’s voice overflows through the speakerphone.
“Y/N! Y/N! Where are ya at!? We need the beer pong queen to make her appearance, I need a partner! Nanamin is too good to beat without you!”
Suguru held the phone out to you but you could respond in labored puffs.
“Y/N is taking a study break, a bit tired after her lesson.”
“–Oh it's you Suguru!”
You end up tuning Satoru out as he’s begging Suguru to come to the party with you which you already knew wasn’t going to happen even if he didn’t just make you squirt all over him. 
Willing yourself to sit up, your body is  immediately revitalized when your eye is drawn to how bricked Suguru currently is in his dark gray sweats. 
Suguru arches his brow in amusement as you pull him forward by the band of his joggers. You hurriedly fumble to untie them, pushing them and his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. 
The sight of it nearly has you squeeing.
You practically have hearts in your eyes as you gawk at Suguru’s cock, it’s the prettiest you’ve ever seen. The way his girth swayed in front of you as pre marbles on the tip has you openly salivating. To say his length and thickness is above average, was a massive understatement. 
You can’t estimate a size but you know he is huge as you eye the a large vein on the underside of his cock that seemed to weigh him down even though fully erect. You squirmed at the thought of that vein scraping inside your pussy as Suguru pounded you.
You need to feel it. Now.
Nevertheless, it isn’t until Suguru snaps his fingers in front of your face did you realize Gojo was now addressing you again through the phone.
“Y/N! You there?! I failed with Sugu! He’s lame! But you’ll be here soon right???”
A sharp contrast to just 30 mins earlier but partying was the last thing on your mind now. You needed to get Satoru off the phone and Suguru’s cock inside you expeditiously. 
“Mhm-nh, Toru sorry, I–I really need to get a good grade. I need Sugu to tutor me a bit more. C-Can’t afford to flunk out!”
Although you had teased Suguru earlier about popping his cherry, you didn’t care if he was a virgin now. He had more than proved himself despite his lack of hands-on sexual experience. 
You weren’t really paying attention to Satoru any longer as Suguru motions for you to lay back again. Readily, you get in position returning your legs to a stirrup pose. 
Suguru rewards your obedience with his cock slapping against your clit.
“Mmmm…FUHH-CK-AH!”
You don’t care that Satoru is still on the line as Suguru is slipping his cock under your cheer panties, rubbing his fat tip along your folds. His cock sandwiched between your messy cunt and the soaked fabric has Suguru groaning at the crazy sensation, he could bust like this for sure.
“Huh? Oh.. OHHHHHH! Haha, I see, I see! Suguru’s lessons are the best, aren’t they Y/N?”
You’re openly moaning now. Barely registering Toru’s words as Suguru grunts, increasing the pace he’s bullying his cockhead across your clit.
“Y-yeah, the besssst-ahhh!” 
Satoru, feeling more than a bit left out, starts pouting over the phone.
“Hey, no fair playing with Bunny without me Sugu! Let me join ne–” 
Suguru abruptly cuts Satoru’s complaints short, hanging up on him while still rutting his tip over your pussy. His pre leaking out in globs and mixing with your own cum still dripping from you.
He wanted you all to himself, for now at least.
Satoru could fuck off.
“Gawwd Sugu–just fuck m–”
You abruptly stop as your face falls in realization when you feel his warm cum pour over your mound and into your cheer panties. 
Suguru is spilling so much of his thick load into you it's even coming out the sides of your cheer panties and running down into the crack of your ass. A few more jerks of his cock through your folds and he is quickly pulling back to tuck his softening length back into his sweats.
“N-no,no no no S-Sugu! Suguru! I-t’s okay you came fast but please— fuck me. I’ll even let you raw me and cum inside puhleaseeee Sugu– need to squirt again all over your cock!”
You don’t know the kind of willpower it takes Suguru to refuse you. 
Probably one of the hardest things he’s done in his life, especially as fresh tears trickle from your eyes and he knows you’d be crying just as adorably on his cock. You were too sexy, too perfect and he wanted to fuck you just as badly as he knew you wanted him to.
BUT– more importantly he wanted to enjoy you more than for a quick fuck and if he indulged you now, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t be relentlessly tearing up your sweet slutty pussy all night. 
If you didn’t start studying for real you were definitely going to get kicked out of school and he can’t have that, especially not now after this. 
Masking his own lust with a stern instructor voice Suguru chastises you as he ties his hair back onto a bun and begins to give his glasses a proper cleaning before adjusting the books and papers on his desks around you back into their correct piles.
“Absolutely out of the question. Now be a good girl and pull up your panties, Y/N. We have a lot of ground to cover tonight.”
Sticky with Suguru’s cum, frustrated and still horny you groaned loudly but obeyed. You knew Suguru meant business. 
You hoped if you listened to him well enough you’d get what you wanted by the end of the night. It would suck for you to suffer through studying but it was the best motivation you had in literal years. 
Unfortunately for you, Suguru, focused on the bigger picture, had a larger goal in mind.
“Only smart sluts get dick, Bunny. You’d better get an A on that exam Monday if you really want this cock.”
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© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ.
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a/n: I would be willing to write a part 2 (some time in the future) of y/n popping Sugu cherry or even y/n getting double teamed by 'The Boom Bros' as a 'thank you' for taking the fall for them if there was interest. I'm kind of fond of this little college AU.
Reblog for an anatomy lesson from Nerd!Geto but likes and comments are also appreciated as always!
NEXT is back to my own ficcys! Upcoming: The Nursery - Yakuza!Toji x Y/N - teaser/taglist: ╰┈➤here. Delays cause I've been without my adhd meds and getting the first part of the fic beta'd for once but I FINALLY got them today and was able to finish this fic so hopefully I can get back on track! send me good vibes y'all!
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vulcanhello · 2 years
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OKOKOK i’m halfway thru discovery i think i’ve just finished episode 7 and i really really like it
the plot that is. the red angel and visions and time shit and family stuff are the kinds of things i’m really interested in as far as stories go
HOWEVER. i will say i think michael is getting a little lost in the shuffle. i love her friendships with saru and tilly and whatever is going on with georgiou is really interesting but as far as her own character development goes, it’s basically a dire case of eldest daughter syndrome. i think i’m okay with that as long as it sticks to this season but i want to see a lot more from her, especially since martin-green is so so talented and i love her
we’re also getting a lot of captain pike when we maybe should be focusing on culber (who just came back from the DEAD) and stamets and tilly. i don’t really care about the shitty rivalry he seems to have with ash and it honestly makes me lose interest in any scene when they start that up
anyways. halfway thru i love it because it’s playing on my very specific interests in stories but if i have to continue to divide my attention over michael and pike for the rest of the season…
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novastarrs · 1 month
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hiii!! could you do jock!clarisse x nerd!aphroditie!reader pls :))) and like clarisse bullies her but at the end they somehow become friends or like in love idk but if you can’t that’s okay! tyyy xxx!
YOU’RE MINE|| CLARISSE LA RUE
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Warning: Horribly written make-out at the end (I apologize in advance), Cussing
Summary: You have to tutor your enemy and overtime she get’s jealous when you tutor someone else.
DNI IF YOURE OVER 19 DIOR IS A MINOR PEOPLE!!!
Nova Speaks: I don’t know how to feel about this but I hope you like it! The ending is kind of rushed and request are still open!
——
You didn’t consider yourself to be a nerd if you were being honest. You just didn’t want to fail all your classes and not get anywhere in life so you sucked it up and got your work done even if you really didn’t want too and because of that perfect attitude your teacher was making you tutor your mortal enemy.
Clarisse La Rue. Star quarterback with a big ego and even bigger muscles. The whole school loved her except for you. At first you had no hard feelings for the girl but when she tripped you in the hallway in front of everyone it was embarrassing as hell especially because she just laughed with her dumb crew and told you to watch where you were going.
Ever since that day you just stayed clear of the girl, it’s not like you guys were friends so there was no point in crossing paths with her.
But here you are sitting in your room waiting for the demon who haunted your thoughts everyday to come to your house so you could help her to her essay. If she didn’t get at least a C+ on it she was going to be forced to sit out of the game this weekend and even though you hated to admit it your school needed her.
You strictly told her to be at your house at 5:30 and not to be late but to no surprise she was. You were even considerate because football practice ends at 4:20 and you did the nice thing and let her go home and shower before showing up and she had the audacity to be late. You could’ve been binge watching your favorite show and making up dumb scenarios in your head.
Sighing heavily, you walked downstairs towards the kitchen to grab a snack out of the pantry. Your eyes moved back and forth as you browed through the delicious snacks that you had, trying to decide on what you wanted to eat.
The sound of the doorbell got your attention and you fought the urge to roll your eyes when you glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was almost six’o’clock and now she decides to show up. Walking over to the door slowly you opened it to reveal the one and only Clarisse La Rue in a pair of gray sweats and a blue crop top that hugged her arms just right, showing off all the muscle she had while her long bouncy curly hair was bulled back into a ponytail.
“Are you going to let me in or keep gawking at me?” She asked in a husky voice with a smirk on her face.
Your cheeks immediately went warm at her calling you out as you hurriedly stepped to the side to let her in. Closing the door behind her you made sure to lock the door before turning around, watching her look around your home.
“Nice place.” She nodded looking at you over her shoulder and you gave her a tight lipped smile.
“Thanks.” You nodded awkwardly not really knowing what to say, clearing your throat you asked. “Do you want a snack or something?”
Clarisse turned her body around to look at you and she not so secretly looked you up and down with a big cocky smirk forming on her face making you blush even harder than before.
“Yeah, I do actually.” She winked causing all the air to leave your lungs making you choke on air as she laughed loudly at your reaction.
“You’re disgusting.” You finally managed to choke out trying to act unaffected but you both knew you were making her smirk even wider.
“You’re the one that offered.”
“I meant food!”
“Sure you did, princess.”
——
“Writing an essay isn’t that hard if you have a good topic.” You began to explain as you sat beside her on the couch in your living room, scrolling through your laptop as she did the same on her own.
“But all these topics are boring.” Clarisse groaned lowly, throwing her head back with a huff. You leaned closer to her and looked at the list of prompts that your teacher gave your class to pick through and she wasn’t wrong the prompts were boring so you just did yours based off of your favorite hobby and why it wouldn’t be beneficial to teach at school.
“How about you do one about football?” You offered your assistance and Clarisse glanced at you.
“But it isn’t on the list.” She stated the obvious and you let out a light laugh making her confused.
“As long as you did the essay she shouldn’t be complaining. Most kids didn’t even do it.” You shrugged carelessly.
As long as the work is done and submitted your teacher shouldn’t have any complaints and if she did she can write the essay for Clarisse.
The quarterback looked at you with a look of disbelief on her face. She thought you did everything by the rules and didn’t take the easy way out of things but she could see she was indeed wrong about you.
“And here I thought you were a goody to shoes.” She cooed and you rolled your eyes but smiled at her.
“Just write something football related down as your prompt.” You nudged her jokingly and she did what she was told without putting up a fight.
Eventually she decided on why football was a great sport for high schoolers and to your surprise she had a lot of great ideas to support her argument. That’s when you realized Clarisse wasn’t dumb like you thought at first (not that you would ever tell her that) but that if it didn’t interest her, she couldn’t bring herself to do it if it was boring. So you made a mental reminder to speak to her teachers about adding football into their subjects because that’s what seemed to be what Clarisse was most passionate about.
If Clarisse was being honest she was pretty grateful for you. She’s been given tutors before and they all left her after the first session due to her not being interested in what they were saying but with you it was different. You actually listened and explained things in a way she could actually understand it without making her feel like she was stupid so that’s how you and Clarisse found yourselves meeting up every Friday afternoon at your place to work on school work together and if you were being honest sometimes you guys didn’t even do work, you talked and got to know each other better.
You learned her dad was a prick who left her and her mother when she was just a baby and because of his abandonment she had really bad anger issues which is why she joined the football team so she could get out all that pent up anger.
She learned that your mother was also a single mother who worked a lot of night shifts because she was a doctor so it was mostly you around the house and you tired to spend time with your mom as much as you could with her busy schedule.
You honestly thought helping her would’ve been a pain in the ass and that she wouldn’t do anything to entire time but it was the other way around. You were so focused on hating her for that one incident you didn’t realize how fun she was as a person and a great friend. Clarisse would be the one focused on getting her work done while you spoke about anything that came to mind and instead of judging you she just listened and added in her own comments here and there.
Due to your study sessions she stopped taunting you at school and to your surprise she actually comes up and talk to you in front of everyone. You just figured she would keep your friendship a secret from everyone so you wouldn’t ruin her reputation but you were wrong.
Her fan club that she gained over the year immediately despised you because they spent all their time trying to get her attention and you somehow managed to get it right away but the two of you didn’t care as long as you had each other to go to whenever you had a problem.
A friendship blossomed and everything was going great until you were asked to tutor another student. A girl named Amira who recently moved to town and she was a little behind and when your teacher saw how Clarisse’s D turned into A+ she immediately assigned you as Amira’s tutor and Clarisse hated it.
You were her tutor first so she doesn’t know why this random girl was trying to take all your attention away from her. At first she was fine with it as you found still hung out every friday but apparently Amira needed so much help that you had to cancel your usual friday hangouts to help Amira some more and that’s what sent Clarisse over the edge. She always looked forward to the end of the week because you were all her’s, all of your attention was on her and now it was gone and on someone else so she began playing her heart out on field and during practice, imagining all of the guys she tackled was Amira and her annoyingly high pitched voice.
Clarisse swore up and down that Amira begged you to tutor her on Friday nights just to get under her skin because when she asked you once and you agreed she looked at Clarisse and had the audacity to smirk and if Clarisse was being honest she was offended, who the hell does this girl think she is taking her girl like that.
You were quick to notice the change in Clarisse’s behavior when she started to become bitter and rude to you and if you were being honest it hurt.
Overtime you caught yourself getting feelings for the girl and you were honestly thinking she felt the same with how close the two of you became and how she would call you sweetheart or baby or when she simply just flirted with you but now you weren’t so sure. So you decided to ask your mom for advice Saturday night.
“-Now she’s being all snappy and mean.” You finished explaining everything to your mother as she got ready for her shift.
“Maybe she likes you.” Your mom said and you couldn’t help but scoff. Clarisse has never taken an interest in anyone and you were a fool to think she would like you.
“Trust me, she doesn’t.” You sighed sadly, bummed out about the situation. Clarisse was your best friend and it was killing you she was being a bitch.
Your mom walked over to you and sat a hand on your shoulder and gently made you look up at her. She smiled sweetly at you and leaned down to kiss your forehead with a dramatic kissing noise making you laugh.
“If you really want to know, you’re going to have to ask her, Sweetie. She’s the only one that has the answers you’re looking for.”
You silently let her words sink into your brain and nodded firmly. She was right, the only one who could give you an answer was Clarisse and you were determined to get one.
“You’re right, mama, thank you.” You hugged her tightly before kissing her goodbye as she grabbed her keys and left. Pulling your phone out of your pocket you sent Clarisse a very dramatic message saying that it was an emergency and that you were hurt.
You knew it was wrong to lie like that but it was the only way you could think of to get her to show up and to get here quickly and you were right because literally five minutes later you heard the familiar sound of her car pulling into your drive way and heavy knocks pounding on your front door. You opened the door and Clarisse immediately rushed past you, ranting and asking if you were ok.
“Are you hurt? Do I need to call your mom? The cops? Wait…do I have to call CPS-” Clarisse rambled and you looked at her like she just turned into a child.
“Clarisse,” You said sternly immediately getting her to shut up. “I’m fine.”
Clarisse paused and her concerned look immediately changed into a look of anger. “Princess, you don’t send a fucking message like that.”
Normally the nickname would’ve made you blush and act like a lovesick fool but instead you scoffed and crossed your arms, leaning your back against the door. “Well I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t ignoring me.”
You noticed her expression soften a little bit before it was immediately covered by her normal scowl that she gave everyone that wasn’t you, your mother and her’s.
“You don’t need me remember? You have Amira.” Clarisse said her name with a bitter tone and you looked at her confused.
“What the hell does Amira have to do with you ignoring me?” You huffed, puffing your lips out and Clarisse eyes immediately locked on them before they snapped back to your face.
“She’s your new best friend isn’t she?” Clarisse snapped and you looked at her in confusion before it suddenly clicked.
She was jealous, jealous of you and Amira spending so much time together that there wasn’t any left for her. It all made so much sense now, whenever you and Clarisse were talking at school and Amira came up to you guys you would always feel Clarisse stiffen up or the way she would mock Amira under her breath.
“You’re jealous.” You laughed with a smile forming on your face and once those words escaped your mouth Clarisse looked at you like you just smacked her across the face.
She was the Clarisse La Rue, she didn’t get jealous especially when it came to dumb blonde’s who tried her hardest to get you to hangout with her. She had guys and girls dropping at her feet everyday there was no reason for her to be jealous of any girl that tried to get close to you but she couldn’t stop the weird feeling in her stomach whenever she thought of you and Amira being in the library by yourselves or the thought of kissing you like she found herself wanting to do ever since she tripped you in the hallway.
The more she thought about you and Amira doing the things she wanted to do with you made her mad but you were too busy to notice because you were still laughing. Marching over to you Clarisse pinned you against the door with a glare on her face immediately making your laughing fit come to a stop and she smiled.
“What’s wrong, Princess? Cat got your tongue?” She taunted, smirking at the stunned look on your face. Her eyes scanned yours before she nervously licked her lips as she brought her face closer to yours to the point you could feel her breath on your face.
“Clari-”
She cut you off by smashing her lips onto yours in a hungry kiss. Her hands trailing down to squeeze your hips tightly, pulling you closer to her. Your hands slowly made their way into her thick curls and pulled causing her to groan into your mouth.
Clarisse was the first one to pull away but not for long as she began trailing kisses down your neck, sucking at a certain spot causing a small moan to escape your mouth. She bit down harshly on your neck, sucking on the same spot, leaving a dark and very noticeable hickey on the side of your neck. You threw your head back as small groans left your mouth as she continued to leave hickeys.
Clarisse smirked to herself as she imagined Amira’s reaction but it only made her leave more hickeys on your neck. After a while she pulled away and placed a soft kiss on your lips and immediately you kissed back only pulling away when you needed air.
“You’re mine.” Clarisse mumbled looking into your eyes before kissing you again and without hesitation you kissed her back.
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nichuuu · 3 months
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Lemon.
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Word count: 13k+
You decide that you don’t quite like Balls (get your head out of the gutter).
Music: odd. Yes, it’s a fancy mansion—5 floors, the works… But you don’t know how to feel about the sole pianist in the centre of the foyer, the one that’s playing some classical piece that has the people around you murmuring about his technique and sound (whatever the hell either of those meant).
People: you don’t know a good half of them. Scratch that—it’s a sea of strangers
Drinks: strong, way too fucking strong for your liking. The drinks are free of charge, and the bartender clearly didn’t shake this Pina Colada well, but you have to drink it if you want to even try and get into the mood of the party. Around you, men in posh suits and women in flamboyant dresses skirt each other, talk to each other with placid smiles—hoodwinking each other with their highfalutin laughs and smiles to establish connections that probably won’t matter in a couple of days. The only person you’ve talked to tonight is the bartender, and that was just to order your drink. 
This whole place stinks of capitalism, and you feel out of place in your cheaper suit and dress shoes. On your right, some guy is talking about how bitcoin and blockchain will make a grand return, some lady is gossiping about the latest Gucci handbag on your left. In front of you, a man and a woman are clearly flirting with each other, bashful grins on their faces as they hold their fancy drinks in their hands and talk about god knows what. You’re wondering if you should ask for a straw from the bartender just to dip your toes in social interaction.
Wonder why Cinderella was so hot on attending a Ball, thing seems pretty bland to me, you’re thinking, watching the tip of the ice that was shaped like an iceberg melt away and sink beneath the surface of your margarita. Some guy in a tux comes by, orders two glasses of Prosecco—one for him, one for the woman next to him. He’s talking loudly, disrupting your peace and quiet. Your solution: move seats.
From a distance—two chairs away from your original seat—you watch as he takes the two glasses from the hands of the bartender, hands one to the woman, then clinks his glass with hers. He’s preternaturally genteel, and you’d know because you recognised him as the guy that got slapped at the start of this whole thing because he grabbed the ass of someone’s wife. Impropriety, but it’s the behaviour of the newfangled rich. 
Now he’s bragging about his car. Nissan GTR fitted with this engine, this ventilation, blah, blah… Whatever it is he’s saying, the woman’s having none of it. You’re no psychologist, but you can tell that she wants to get out of a conversation; her smile is awfully sweet, but you can see that she’s silently importuring him to shut his trap—her eyes give it all away. You pity her, silently sending her your best wishes as the man grabs her by the arm and leads her back into the sea of people. Personally, you’d be screaming if you were in her shoes.
(Off to your left, just at the edge of your vision, you see your boss talking to a woman. She’s getting touchy, really touchy and really flirty; her hand’s on his thigh, fuck me eyes out to play and on full display—A trite tactic used by these types of women to get lucky with a rich man at these type of events. Luckily for her, your boss is quick to bite on to such bait. God bless them both.)
For the record: you’ve never really enjoyed Balls or anything of the ilk, because quite frankly speaking, you’d much rather burrow up in your bed at home and binge Kimini ni Todoke till you were giggling and squealing like a little schoolgirl. Maybe I’m still young, I’ll learn to like these types of events later on, you tell yourself, I’ll need connections at some point, maybe I should start—
A sickly sweet fragrance crawls up your nostrils, truncating all thought. Perfume, you’re quick to identify, and then you’re aware of the presence of someone on your right. Your grip on your glass grows tighter in the slightest; you’re praying—Please just be ordering a drink, please be ordering a drink.
Frankly, you don’t know why you’d ever think anyone would talk to you, an unimportant cog that just tagged along with his boss because he had nothing better to do. Irrational fears are really a funny thing.
Sharp, clear, resonant—three words that came to mind when you heard the voice of the person next to you, the voice that delivered the simplest of orders: Yamazaki. I want it neat. 
Your first thought is, Damn… Neat Whisky? Someone’s having a horrible night, as you turn your face away from her (if you couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be able to see you, right?). And just as you’re wondering if she’s gonna take her drink and leave, your question is answered by the soft creak and even softer rustle of shifting fabric from your right. You bristle.
The glass makes a sound against the wood as it’s gently placed down on the table.
(Now would be an excellent time for a subtitle to come in, one that states in square brackets: Awkward silence.)
You can hear her swirling the liquid around in her glass. Fuck, now this is awkward… You’re thinking, and then you’re wondering if you should just get up and leave, absquatulate, skedaddle—any word that can convey the act of disappearing in an instant—right out of there. But as you start to slide your butt off the chair, that voice rings out once more.
“Not much of a talker, are you?”
She doesn’t know how her simple sentence has caged you in the most challenging position (to you at least). Now you’re sliding your ass back into the bar stool and you turn and face her—
(Now that you’re looking at her, your second thought about her comes in: God, she’s beautiful. Dark brown hair that falls just past her shoulders like velvet curtains, soft yet somehow piercing eyes, a smile that makes you feel fuzzy all over—probably one of the most attractive women you’ll ever meet. She’s the woman from earlier, the woman that you saw smiling and nodding placidly to that guy who got her the Prosecco. She must’ve found a way to slip away, and she has your full respect for that.)
—and you find that you’re drumming your nails against the base of your glass.
“Shy, huh?” she’s throwing out a guess, watching as the Whisky in her glass slowly swirls to a stop inside the chilled glass. “It’s been a while since I met a shy man. You’re a breath of fresh air.”
You shift in the stool, and your first instinct is to ask her if you two had met before. It’s only after that last syllable leaves your mouth that you realise how stupid of a question it is. You don’t know her, and judging by the fact that she hasn’t called you by your name: she doesn’t know you either. You let her decide whether to oust you as a fool as she scans you up and down.
(Update on your boss and that woman: She’s kissing him now, full on making out. It’s an unsettling sight to behold, and you attribute your queasiness to the fact that they’ve somehow found they’re way behind the woman you're talking to. Your boss doesn't see you; you choose not to see him. God bless them both.)
“Well… Considering that you don’t look the least bit familiar,” she sets the glass down, “and that you haven’t been introduced to me like some product by a crusty, old man… I think it’s safe to say that we’re.”
Now her eyes are on your drink. What are you drinking this fine night? She’s asking, using her chin to gesture towards your Pina Colada. You tell her exactly what it is, and she cringes slightly. They say Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, I say it doesn’t belong fucking anywhere. Oust it as a fruit! she’s telling you, making sure to add a little more emphasis on the word “oust” as she couches her firm belief, something you find rather hilarious considering that it’s your first meeting with her. She sips the Whisky, grimaces a bit, then sets the glass back down to say, we skipped past a lot of formalities, didn’t we?
And here comes the part of talking to strangers that you’re the most comfortable with—Introductions. You think that it is safe to assume that just about anyone would find saying hello and telling someone your occupation much easier than holding up a conversation, what more with a beautiful woman like her. You give her your name, tell her what you do for a living, the usual stuff. She listens, the gleam in her eyes that comes when you’re done talking ever so enigmatic and cryptic. 
“Lawyer huh?” She’s playing with her glass again, “considering were we are right now, I really shouldn’t be this surprised… Yet I am. Little shy for a guy dealing clients on the daily, no?”
Somehow, by the grace of some supernatural force (you call it alcohol), you crack your first joke of the night—I know. The most I ever talked is in court—and you’re relieved that she’s kind enough to humour you (or maybe she really does find it funny. You’ll never know), and gives you an elegant chortle, one that makes your hair stand at their ends as your third thought about her goes through your mind: even her laugh is attractive. Is there anything wrong with this woman? 
And when she tells you her name, you realise why she seems to be exuding this inexplicable aura; Minatozaki Sana, pleasure to meet you, she introduces herself with a generous amount of pizzaz. You’re scanning her up and down at this point, and only now do you take in the expensive dress that dons her slender frame, the same dress that’s accompanied by a glimmering necklace and earrings, 3 rings on her middle, index and ring finger respectively.
“You’re…” you begin.
“The host’s daughter? Yes.”
Now you’re at a loss for words. Well uh… It’s an honour to meet you, is what you plan on saying, but it comes out as a simple, more blunt manner: Oh damn. Sana’s giggling to herself, swirling her Whisky as she watches you struggle to find things to say to her.
“I take it that you don’t come around here often?” she asks. When you raise an eyebrow, she explains how her father hosts a Ball like this every other month to try and find her a “suitor”. Apparently, 27 years old is “too old”  to still be single, so my Dad just gets a bunch of men together and parades me around, she’s carping. The glimmering chandeliers, the array of drinks and food, the vanity of all these people; the dazzling marble floor, the glass sculptures, the embroidered tablecloths; this event, in all its glory and prestige, is all about her. 
Christ, you’re thinking to yourself, money really gets you to places, huh? 
Now she’s explaining how some of the people here are frequent visitors. Mothers and their sons, fathers and their sons, young business men, old business men, middle aged businessman; whoever can afford to come to this lavish Ball—all of them frequent this mansion like moths to a flame, all looking for a chance to ingratiate with the Minatozakis so that maybe, just maybe, they get a chance to get Sana’s hand in marriage. It’s a glorified yet obsolete form of Tinder really.
(Your boss is nowhere in sight now, and you’re pretty sure that the two of them have gone off somewhere to get it on. Maybe this event isn’t just about Sana, it’s about finding a rich person that can spoil you for the rest of your life too. God bless everyone here.)
“So what brings a man like yourself here this fine night?” She seems oddly interested in you (and also very hot on using this fine night as well apparently). You give her the truth that carries your watered down emotions in your tone—My boss asked me to tag along. Apparently all attendees were to bring a male plus one.
Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.
“So Dad’s reverted to these tactics huh?” you hear her whisper before taking an alarming large gulp of Whisky. She swallows, then sighs, “wonder what he’ll do next… Maybe an arranged marriage?”
Past the frustration and utter disappointment, there’s amusement in her voice. It tells you: if I could, I’d kill my Dad. It’s more of an inference from your end than a message that you’re sure that she’s trying to imply. You always had a bad habit of reading between the lines—probably picked it up from your job.
Sana downs the rest of the Whisky in a flash, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. She scratches her nose, then turns to you and asks, “say, you don’t look like you want to be here, and neither do I.”
Behind you, you can hear the voice of a man approaching. He’s talking to someone—my daughter should like you very much, you seem like a man that suits her taste—and Sana bristles. Her father, you deduce, noting the way that the woman before you is searching around for an exit. Then you blink, and in that split second, she grabs your hand.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Just like that, you’re running through a crowd of people, spewing a million-and-one apologies as you jostle your way through the crowd, in tow behind a woman you've known for a grand total of 5 minutes. 
A very unlikely start to a romance really.
*
Now the gears in your head are whirring, your stomach’s churning—there’s no other way to describe how you feel when Sana’s looking at you like that from across the table: small smile, a slight gleam behind those eyes, hand under her chin and fingers tapping against her cheek… She’s got you in perdition just with a look. You’re a guy of relatively taciturn nature, and the last time you went on a date was in university. That date went horribly, and now you’re wondering if this one was gonna go up in flames as well. Your brain urges you to say something to her, but your mouth seems to be sewn shut. 
On the other hand, Sana’s poised as ever. “What’s wrong?” she’s cocking her head and pouting slightly, “nervous?”
You're not ashamed to admit that you indeed are, and that you’ve never really gone out on dates in a long time. Sana seems tickled by this—It’s been a while since I’ve seen a shy man. I like it, she tells you—and assures you that she won’t bite. In fact, she’s glad that you’re quiet and not rambling off about some business venture. She tells you, I don’t recall the last time I’ve been with a guy like you, though I’d appreciate it if you assist me in starting some conversation, and you’re slightly ashamed of your reticence. 
There’s a gleam in her eyes when you start asking her some questions on her personal life, and she finds it congenial to gesticulate in a moderate manner as she answers your questions. Her outgoing nature leaves you flummoxed, and there’s barely enough space in your brain to remember everything she tells you about herself. Born in Osaka, likes yoghurt smoothies, likes to take walks in the park, likes this, likes that… You vaguely remember her telling you this on the night that the two of you escaped that event.
(To jog your own memory: She took you to the garden, where the two of you spent the rest of the night strolling amongst shrubs and other greenery that thrived in Spring. The Pina Colada in your system allowed you to hold a conversation, one that lasted long enough for her to take a liking to you. At the end of it all, she gets your number, you get her’s, and a date’s been settled in some french restaurant she patronises.)
“Now, I don’t expect you to remember all of this,” she’s watching the wine leave streaks against the glass, “but if you do, I believe you're entitled to some extra points.” 
“Points?” you’re keen on inquiring, “we’re keeping a scoreboard?”
Sana simply smiles. For asking that question, minus 2 from you, is her answer—not a very good one if you were to be blunt. You can’t suppress a chuckle as you take a sip from your own wine.
Unwittingly, Sana has eased you into her presence. It suddenly feels like you’ve known her forever (if forever meant 2 weeks that is).
A smooth start to a relationship if you do say so yourself.
*
“Sana, there’s people out there.”
“I know.”
“They might hear us.”
“I know.”
“We could get caught.”
“We won’t.”
It’s the confidence in her voice that irks you really. The lack of hesitance combined with the sheer lack of shame towards the fact that anyone outside the changing room in this damn Prada store could easily raise a phone over the door and start recording. It’s not that she’s not cognizant of this, but more of the fact that she doesn’t give two shits if someone captures a video of her blowing you in this dressing room. Shameless, aplomb, obstinate, are the three words that come to mind when dealing with Sana at the given moment, but there’s no energy in you to convey this to her, not when she wraps her lips around your cock. The outfits that she chose remain untouched behind her, fabrics still in light while the person that chose them remains active on her knees. 
(Almost a year. Almost a year the two of you have been dating. You thought you’d learned all there is to know about her, yet she’s hitting you with new facts and surprises every day, left, right, and centre. There are probably many more things that you have yet to figure out, but they’ll all come to light in due time.)
Really, it’s on you for not exercising due diligence upon entering the store; you should’ve known better from the moment you saw that look in her eyes while she was looking at a dress. But there’s nothing you can do about it now, not when she’s already enraptured you with that damn gaze—the one that exudes want and lust, the one that’s the leaven to your morality in her eyes. She knows that she’s got you wrapped around her finger when your hand rests itself atop of her head as she slowly bobs her head over your crotch. She’s taking her time despite the situation that she’s placed the both of you in. 
“This has always been on my bucket list,” she’s letting her hand run along your shaft, spreading her saliva with each stroke of her palm. Her nails, freshly done just over 2 hours ago, glisten under the light—partially because of her spit and partly because of the gloss. “Everything about this is just so… Eroctic, isn’t it?”
Christ, she’s really into this thrill-seeking thing, you note as you choke out a reply: Not particularly, but whatever floats your boat Sana (obviously, it doesn’t come out as smooth as it should. No one would be able to get out a full sentence with phonics properly strung together if they too were getting blown in a changing room). She’s got a glint in her eye, but it’s covered by your shaft as she slides her tongue down your cock, nose brushing against the base of your cock, just behind her tongue. She knows what she’s doing, she’s given you head before; she’s building up the suspense and waiting for you to beg for more. You really don’t want to indulge her, you really don’t, but there’s not much you can do when she starts placing kisses on your shaft—base to tip in a fervently slow fashion. How far is she gonna go with this, you can’t help but wonder, but you quickly have your question answered in the next second or so.
“Unenthusiastic?” she quips, “minus four”.
She wraps her lips around you and pushes her head forward, and you almost let the people in the store know that something’s going down in here.
You figure that the feeling of her lips wrapped around your shaft will never get old, not when it sends electricity up your spine and makes your hand ball into a fist in her hair. Her eyes seem to glint as you let out a sharp gasp. Yes, you could be caught by an employee at any second. Yes, you could very well be caught on camera by a customer at any second. There were a lot of things to consider when assessing the dangers of the circumstances that Sana has put the both of you in. Yet, none of them take anything away from the pleasure she’s bringing you, not as she starts to bob her head in beat to the metronome in her head. There’s no point in trying to figure out her pace. 
“Jesus… Fuck… Sana I…” Your voice is—somehow—hushed as you struggle to convey how weak she’s making you, but it’s not like you need to anyway—she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s loving every second of the havoc she’s wreacking upon your senses. The slight tug in the corner of her lips is the suggestion of a smirk, and the muffled noise that rises from her throat is the implication of a giggle. 
There's a knock on the door and you bristle; Sana slows down, but she doesn’t stop. Past the door, the voice of the staff that led you to this very room asks if everything is alright in there, and you’re praying that her eyes aren’t set on the floor. Sana locks eyes with you, then darts her eyes to the door to tell you—Answer it goddamnit. Of course, she doesn’t make it easy for you as you open your mouth, applying light suction to your tip as you find the strength to say: Yep, just give us a few more minutes please, making you choke on that last word and sending alarms blaring in your head. Thankfully, the store assistant is kind enough to leave you with a take your time sir, and the shadow of her feet disappear from the gap beneath the door. It’s then that Sana pops your glistening cock out of her mouth.
“A few more minutes, huh?” She’s got drool on the corner of her lips as she rises to her feet. “Better make this quick then. You gotta keep your word as a lawyer, don’t you?”
Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.
(There are customers outside now, you can hear them talking to the store assistant. They sound vaguely familiar… Maybe you heard them at the restaurant? Or maybe they’re colleagues… No, that can’t be it, at least you hope so).
Now for the record: you’ve seen Sana naked on multiple occasions, be it voluntarily or not. The shower, the bedroom, even a public shower at the pool… You could name a lot more places where she’d shamelessly flaunted her nude body before you off the top of your head. “A body to die for” is a fitting expression for Sana; you’ve always wondered if you’d find her on the top of the Google image search if you were to look up “dream bodies”, and you figure that you can probably get her there if you could somehow take pictures with your eyes as she undresses before you. She’s more methodical than anything, straying away from her usual teasing nature for the sake of being quick (that’s what you infer from her behaviour, but really, she could just be extremely horny and desperate. There’s never a solid answer to Sana’s behaviour). Mini skirt, then top, then bra; she’s going through the motions that she’d usually drag out just to get a reaction out of you preternaturally quickly.
Why is she getting naked in a changing room? You have no clue. Your best guess: she’s doing it for the thrill of it. The thought of getting caught completely nude with her boyfriend speared inside of her must be sending lethal doses of adrenaline through her veins. A pretty solid guess if you do say so yourself. No time for anymore guesses anyway—she’s already brought your hand up to her right breast, and she’s closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of your fingers closing around the semi-firm flesh. Her top lip’s furling behind her front teeth, she’s letting her other hand rest on your arm. She’s telling you where she wants it—did you cum in my ass yesterday? Or was it the day before? Ah, whatever… Give me a fucking creampie—in this soft, low voice that sends a velvet chill down your spine. Then she's kissing you softly, sweetly, nibbling on your top lip as usual, all while pushing you to the corner of the room where your feet aren't visible to those outside, flushing your back against the wall. It’s an uncomfortable fit, but that quickly changes when she grips the middle of your shaft and lines you tip up with her slit. The hand on her tit is guided to that slim waist, your other hand quickly finding its place on that symmetrical, slim figure. 
“I don’t care if I cum or not,” she drawls, trailing a finger down your chest, “I just want your load inside me, right here, right now. Just focus on that, nothing else.”
(Half request, half demand—give her an award for being so damn ambiguous. Subtitles that could translate what she truly means would be really, really handy right now. Alas, such a system doesn’t exist.)
Describing how Sana’s pussy felt would be doing her injustice. The feeling was ineffable. From entering her to hilting yourself inside of her, there was never a second of that process where you had an easy time breathing or thinking. You’ve never been so reliant on your senses to keep you grounded in reality, nor have you ever been so glad that Sana’s nails are digging into your shoulder. This position—facing each other, standing and fucking against the wall of (all places) a changing room—is a stranger to the both of you, but the sheer tightness of her cunt working hand in hand with the intimacy of it all has you welcoming it with open arms.
Your hips are moving on their own, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you start thrusting into Sana. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into Sana in a mindless, slow fashion, relishing the  feel of her skin in your palms, the look on her face, the soft moans that are slowly slipping from her ever so slightly opened lips. Then your ability to think slowly returns, and you’re thinking like a damn neanderthal—tight, wet, hot, so fucking good—as your grip on her waist tightens. Your shaft glistens in the light of the changing room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her slick, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weak. Sana cups your cheek, lifts your head, and it’s now that you see how her eyes have been completely glazed over with lust and want. Her face, her figure down to the sounds she’s making; everything about her, about this, is the phantasmagoria of a wet dream.
If you were being completely true to yourself right now: You couldn’t care less if you got caught. 
And as if on cue, the voices approach as soon as you finish that train of thought. 
“Do you provide altercation services?” It’s the voice of a man, closely followed by that of the store assistant: Of course sir. After you try on the suit, you can note how you’d like it to be altered to your liking. 
A shadow of feet appears at the base of the door. Sana cups a hand over her mouth as the door rattles—the customer trying to open it. You stop your movements, breath caught in your throat as the store assistant tells him to use the other fitting room. Sana’s breath is loud in your ears as a second set of footsteps approach, followed by a female voice that asks, “Is my husband in there?” 
Yes ma’am, is the assistant’s reply. Of course, this is hardly the end of it.
Now, as the woman engages the store assistant in conversation right outside your door, Sana lets the hand on her mouth drop. She flushes herself against you as the store assistant answers, and she whispers, “Keep going”.
Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.
The logical part of you warns you against doing as she says. Sadly, there’s not much room for logic in your head in the given circumstances, not when your balls-deep inside your girlfriend in a changing room. There’s barely enough room for dilemma to occur; Sana’s the sole occupant of your mind, rent-free, free-hold, and really: she’s the only thing that matters right now. 
She almost, just almost, lets out a cry when you spear yourself back inside her. You didn't expect to start so soon, and neither did she. However, catching her by surprise is a novelty to you, and you relish in that brief rush of smugness before you restart your movements. Her mouth is frozen in a silent scream, but her eyes say all that she wants to: smug asshole, I’ll kill you later. You reply by letting your index and forefinger slip into her still-open mouth. 
“Personally, I enjoy the Italian selection more…” The store assistant’s voice is barely audible to you over Sana’s small, muffled moans that manage to skirt your fingers and Sana’s closed lips, and as the lady starts talking about trench coats, Sana coats your fingers with a fresh layer of saliva, turning your fingers slick and slimy with her tongue as she looks you dead in the eye, as if challenging you: Is this the best you can do? Is this the riskiest you can be?
Every question from her deserves an answer, and your’s is to remove your saliva-slicked fingers out of her mouth, draw a circle with her spit just above her collarbone, then whisper right into her ear: I’m gonna mark you right there. The involuntary gasp that she lets out tugs the corner of your lips up into a perverse smile. Slowly your lips drift down to the glistening spot, and you wait just a moment to build up that sweet-sweet suspense. It’s a split second, but it’s a second too much for her to bear—the way her body tenses when you finally make contact is the clearest indication you will ever receive. And when you start sucking, God does she almost drive you over the edge: she tightens, she gasps, she starts twitching; she loves it, every second your lips stay locked around that sweet spot of skin is bliss to her.
You can hear the door to the other fitting room unlock, and you hear the man’s heavy footsteps as he walks out, no doubt in that suit he had earlier. The compulsory question comes: how do I look?
There’s a brief moment of silence, and you’re almost fearful of the fact that maybe, just maybe, their ears are picking up on the ragged breathing and slightly audible squelching coming from the other fitting room. All consternation dissipates when the woman starts to comment on how she looks, but Sana seems to have an answer to his question as well: So good. So fucking good. Harder, let me feel all of you, fuck me harder. Oh fuck, you’re so fucking deep. 
You look dashing honey. The pitch of the woman’s reply harmonises with Sana’s soft whine as your lips leave her skin, the same patch where you’ve left your purple artwork on. I think we can afford to alter the pants—
Sana crushes your lips against hers, hot breath filling your mouth as you feel her lift her leg. You hold the back of her knee (like the gentleman you are), bring it to your side, hold it there. She bites your lower lip, hard enough for her to pull and tug it as you start losing yourself in her: her scent, her breath, her skin—all of it’s so deliciously addicting. You can’t get enough.
Then she’s going straight to moaning into your mouth, letting those muffled cries permeate in the small space and hopefully not outside the fitting room. She’s wet, she’s tight, she’s everything you need right now. You want, so badly, to pull her apart, ruin her till you can’t put her back together, get her begging at the top of her lungs for you to fuck her harder and harder. 
And you’re almost on the verge of calling her a slut. There’s no need for that though, she knows what she’s made of herself.
—so that they’re a little shorter. I think we could also try—
Sana’s figured out the best way to moan: straight into your ear. She’s not letting up with them, and she’s giving you one hell of an array of sounds. There’s the common ah, the not so common, oh, and the very common shit, fuck, fuck me and so good. Her phonics are so loosely strung together that they’re just a jumbled mess, and you're perfectly ensconced with that; you love hearing those lazy, sloppy cries, and they only seem even more melodic at this volume, at this moment. Fuck, record them and play them as white noise as you sleep.
—changing the colours of the buttons? Ooh! Maybe we could even change the stitching around—
She tilts her head back, and you’re peppering her neck with kisses. She loves it, you know she loves it; all this attention, all this adrenaline, all this carnality she’s invoking—all of it for her. Each time you grunt, she knows that she’s the damn reason for it. Every time your fingers dig into her thigh a little more, she knows it’s because of her. Every kiss on her neck, every inch of her pussy you fill with your rock-hard meat, all of it’s for her. She isn’t vain, nor is she a pick me girl, but she sure as hell knows how to make you treat her like she’s the only girl in the fucking world, and you’re more than happy to give her what she wants.
Because it’s always like this with Sana: if she wants it badly enough, she’ll formulate a stratagem to get it, nip her cravings in the bud before they turn into desires that she can’t control. Mind you, she’s not dissolute; she’s just “riding the highs of life” as she calls it. Pretty bullshit and circumlocutory, but you always let her off the hook.
—the pocket area? That’s my two cents. What do you think darling?
Another moment of silence follows, and Sana seizes the opportunity to nibble on your earlobe. Her leg’s sweaty, slowly slipping from your grasp and trembling from the pleasure that’s giving her voice this lilt when she says: Carry me. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Pleasure, coursing through your veins, makes you comply in an almost servile manner. It’s precipitous, even fatuous to pull such a stunt in a fitting room of all places, but when your hands are supporting her by her ass and her legs lock around your waist, there’s no turning back.
And as the man starts going off on his own preferences, Sana’s wrapping her arms around your neck, letting you get a look at those bouncing breasts as you reach new depths inside of those slick, warm walls. If she could cry out, she would, but those damn customers outside are placing her in a box here, and it’s clearly frustrating her. If you were at your place, her hands gripping your sheets and her juices messing up your quilt, she could moan, mewl, cry and cuss however loud she wanted. In a way, it was funny to watch her hold back, but at the same time: you so badly want to make her scream, undo her right here and now and make her a mess in your arms, but you’ll settle for what you have right now. What the two of you have created is controlled chaos, and should it be released past that damn changing room door, God knows what will happen.
Now it’s the store assistant’s turn to speak, and she’s giving them a rundown of the pricings. Outside, they’re talking about the possibility of a discount; inside, Sana’s talking about how deep you feel inside of. Outside, the man’s trying to guilt-trip the store assistant by saying how exorbitant the price is; inside, Sana’s exclaiming and pleading in a hushed voice—Own me. For the love of God, fucking o-own me!—as each thrust you make into her pussy sends her further and further down this rabbit hole of pleasure. It takes guts to fuck in a fitting room, but it takes the guts of Minatozaki Sana to be this needy while fucking in a fitting room. The risks of being caught are high, the risk of being heard even higher, but neither of those affect her ardour. At a controlled volume, she’s pleading for you to fuck her harder, faster, unravel every single bit of her being while she tries to keep herself together. It’s one hell of a show, and it’s one hell of an experience too. 
(The sight of her perfect body flushed against yours as she’s fucked in the air, the smell of her sickly sweet perfume, the feeling of that divinely tight pussy wrapped snugly around your shaft like a damned glove, the way those sonorously soft moans filter into your ears. Add these together with the fact that the people outside could hear you at any second, and you’ve got one hell of a recipe for a voyeurist’s wet dream. You’re no voyeurist, but everything about this moment is making you feel like one.
Right now, this is everything to Sana. Having you this close to her, feeling that cool Prada air conditioning against her bare body, listening to you grunt and sigh as you piston yourself in and out of that slick, wet slit… All her needs are being fulfilled, all of her senses heightened and primed, aware of every movement you make inside of her pussy. Sometimes, you feel so good and oh fuck, or maybe even oh god isn’t enough to convey how she feels, so she just opts to let out this strained, strangled gasps that tells you everything you need to know—a maelstrom of emotions and expressions compressed and compacted into one simple “hngh” is enough for you to know that you’re doing something right.)
“You like this Sana?” you find yourself whispering. “You like being fucked like a damn slut with people just outside, don’t you? You like everything about this, don’t you?”
Right now, she doesn’t have that capacity to reply. Of course, you know this, which makes you feel all the more smug as you watch, watching as she slips into a state of complete, utter bliss: her mouth hangs open, her eyes are unfocused, she’s barely holding on to you. The purple mark that your lips have left on her neck sears itself into your sight, and it’s joined by the breathtaking view of her breasts loosely bouncing each time you drive yourself into her. Loose strands of hair are flying, neither of you have any hands free to fix them. Her legs are quaking around your waist, neither of you want to stop just so that she can be back down on the floor. Her eyes are closing, you can feel her heartbeat in her pussy, she’s begging, pleading, fucking imploring you to keep going. 
Christ. You want her to moan as loud as she can for you.
It’s hard not to get turned on by the sight of it, and it’s even harder to keep yourself controlled under the rapidly tightening grip of her cunt. Her breaths are shallow, her head is almost completely limp. She may not seem to be aware of it, but you sure as hell are more than cognizant of the fact that the both of you are about to hit that peak that you’ve been chasing for the past God-knows-how-many minutes.
“Sana.” Uttering her name is all that’s needed to bring her back to the real world. When you have her attention, you give her the sentence that she’s been waiting to hear for so damn long: I’m gonna fucking fill you, and It’s like the air gets heavier when she softly whispers, pleads for you to fulfill her new desire; cum with me. I need it so bad. 
Controlled orgasm would take strength to pull off, and you silently pray that you have that strength as you send one final thrust between her shaking legs. Your cock twitches, spasms and the first rope of your warm seed that’s sent into her waiting walls is enough to send her over the edge. She bites down on your shoulder, quick enough to muffle the cry that escapes her throat. The tightening of her walls seem to coordinate with each spasm of your cock, and they sync up, working together to get every last drop of cum out of you and into her. She lets a soft moan escape her lips with each spurt, as though welcoming it, as though each one were something she long wanted and needed. You let out a single, soft grunt, as though thanking her, as though every twitch of her walls that sends a shock down your cock is a treasure to be relished.
So the scarf that she brought in to try is no longer just an ornament like the rest of the outfits. Even after adjusting her outfit, the fabric still can't seem to cover that hickey you left on her collarbone. The simple solution: Sana waits there, you buy the scarf, hand it to her, she puts it on and the both of you walk out of the store like nothing happened, like the both of you really were in there to try on some clothes, then leave. 
It’s unsuspecting, it’s smooth. The store assistant wishes you a good day, and Sana smiles and waves to her, looking exactly like she did when she entered, plus a scarf. The only difference in Sana’s entrance and exit from the Prada store is the load between her legs.
But that’s a secret for the two of you.
*
“Hey. Could I talk to you about something?”
In your two years of dating Sana, never have you heard her this nervous in your life. The fact that your client isn’t responding to you a day before his trial plagues you no more, and your laptop is shut before she can close the door. 
Your posture—arms crossed atop the desk and back straight—is all she needs. The message is implicit: I’m here, all ears, and she smiles softly as she walks over to the bed. The frame creaks a little as she settles down.
“My uh… My Dad is organising another one of those damned Balls again.” The way she intonates her words tells you that the Ball is the least of her concerns at the moment. “It’s gonna be at the usual time.. Usual place… Not like we can move it anyway.”
You offer her a chuckle to assuage her, diffuse the tension a little. She manages a half-forced giggle at her own joke. Is this a transitional opening? Or is this legitimately the subject of her conversation? you’re thinking, and as you sip from your cup, that subtle shift in her posture is shifting the atmosphere of the room. 
She’s scared, but of what?
“I was wondering,” she drums her nails against her knees, “could I… Introduce you to him tomorrow? M-My Dad I mean.”
And now you suddenly understand why she’s on edge. She’s not scared for herself; she’s scared for you. The head of the Minatozaki clan, Sana’s father—you heard much about him, partly because of the stories that Sana tells you and partly from the things you heard through the grapevine at work. In your firm, there’s a whole box dedicated to storing suits that have been opened by him on the intern’s table (it’s a hilariously off-putting thing to say out loud), and from what you’ve heard: there’s another two in the storage room. Personally, you’ve assisted a colleague in one of his lawsuits, and the emails you billed weren’t pretty. You’d be throwing out a fib if you ever couched that you never once thought: It’s a pretty bad first impression of the man, could he maybe… You know… Stop suing people? Please? but you’re not going to let a mere few boxes and one night of reading through emails determine your perception of Sana’s father. 
And hopefully, he won’t judge a book by its cover too.
“I have a trial tomorrow Sha,” you remind her, but it’s not like you actually expected her to remember this; you whispered it to her while cuddling on the couch a solid week ago. “I don’t know when I’ll end. It might be a little tight for me.”
It's undeniable that she sighs in relief. The blush that follows the breath is a clear indication. She’s glad, too glad. You can't help but ask: What’s up? Think I’ll flub everything when I meet him?
Sana does that thing where she wants to answer, but doesn’t know how to: her mouth opens, closes, opens again—longer this time, then closes again. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about; what your father will think of your partner is never not a touchy matter. All touchy matters should be discussed in comfort (Sana knows that you strongly believe in this, that’s why she’s situated herself on the bed), and you join her on the mattress. 
“WIll he feel that I’m not enough for you?” You’re prodding, all while you gently reach for her hand and grasp it in your own. It’s cold, really cold. You’ll warm it up with your palms, keep them there while she replies, “it’s not that… I know that you’re more than enough for me, that’s what matters to him… At least I think so.”
She’s staring down at her hand, the one that’s slowly heating up via the warmth of your hand. Then what’s making you so worried? you’re asking. She folds her bottom in, past her front teeth. You rub her knuckle with your thumb.
“Yea I… I don’t know what’s making me so worried either,” she finally muses. “Guess I’m just… New to this practice. Never had to do it before...”
Because all the men that have tried to win you over have never lasted for more than a week, you complete in your head, smiling as she lays her other hand over yours. It’s cold too—that won’t do.
And as you set another hand atop hers, she’s asking you for a kiss. Luckily for her, obliging her wants is your specialty, and your lips are quickly travelling that small gap between the two of you. Connection is made, and you physically feel her relax. You know. You know that she belides a truth that she’s not ready to divulge. It’s in her kiss, it’s in her hands, and that’s fine with you. You can infer that it’s not something that’s going to be detrimental to your relationship, and whenever she’s ready to speak about it, you’ll always be available.
Now the kiss is done, she’s asking for fried chicken. You counter-ask if the kiss was to soften you up so that she could ask for her Famichiki. Of course, you get a classic Sana reply: a “maybe”, followed by that mischievous grin. You rise from the bed to grab your coat. 
You're glad that the Konbini is just next to your apartment. Sana’s glad that she gets to be close to you as you walk through the snowy street.
“You know,” she’s whispering, “I really won’t mind if you propose to me one of these days.”
You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead. 
In your head: you note to start looking for a nice ring.
*
Money can get you to places, but it can also get you a private soundproof karaoke room in a club. Three and a half years of dating—that’s all you need to know: you can bet your left kidney that Sana is taking full advantage of that room.
The bottle of Whisky that she opened to get the room is hardly the main event; Sana, slowly slipping out of that tight black dress she’s wearing, foreground to the default music that’s on the TV, has your unwavering attention. The smile on her face could've been mistaken for a sweet one if it weren’t for the fact that she’s getting naked, and the lack of a bra really doesn’t help with her case either.
“There isn’t a time limit to the use of this room, right?” You know the answer to that is no, the lady at the counter told you so. The question is more of a gauge, an instrument that’s helping you assess her plans for the night.
“If you’re trying to know how long we’ll be here for,” she slings her dress onto the couch next to you, and in her stockings and panties, saunters over with a sultry sway in her hips, “my answer is a secret.”
“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”
“Too bad. Call in sick.”
She picks up the glass of Whisky, raises it to her lips. When she drinks, she lets some of that amber liquid trickle out past her lips, down past her chin and onto her tits. In the light, her wet skin glistens and shimmers, and you once again find yourself in absolute awe with the woman before you. And as she straddles you, glass in hand, the way she uses her fingers to tilt your face up to the light tells you that she’s in control. She takes a sip of the amber liquid, swallows it, then brings it to your lips.
“Be a good boy,” she’s tipping the glass as she speaks, a strong way to convey that there’s no room for disobedience, “say ‘ahh’ for me baby.” 
The glass is cold against your lips, the liquor even colder on your tongue as it flows into your mouth at a manageable rate. When she stops pouring, you take the cue, and you swallow all of it in one gulp. The burn in your throat is oddly rewarding, probably because Sana’s smiling down at you, stroking your hair and telling you how obedient you are as you swallow. Then she makes you open your mouth again, pours another portion down the hatch. 
How does it taste, she’s asking, cupping your right cheek as she swirls the glass. You give her a short honest review of it: It’s good. The answer pleases her, and she sets down the glass in her hand to pick up the bottle from the table next to you. 
“Yamazaki, 12 year old single Malt.” She’s letting you see the bottle under the light, though you have to admit that her tits right next to the bottle are a horrible distraction. “My personal favourite.”
She unscrews the cap and takes a swig straight from the bottle, swallows it without even flinching. She’s always been able to hold her alcohol well, and you know for a fact that she can probably outdrink 5 of your colleagues and maybe, just maybe, your boss too. But you’ll never have a fair gauge on how well she can drink in comparison to your peers; she only drinks around you. 
Your face is back in her hand, and she’s got some more things to say—Drink it neat, on the rocks, add it to another drink, it tastes great no matter what—as she starts to lightly grind herself over your throbbing shaft in your pants. But you know what the best way to drink it is, she asks you. She’s not looking for an answer from you, just finding a way to transition from the Whisky to whatever it is she has in mind—you can tell because she leans down to capture lips right after she throws out the inquiry, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. The smell of Whisky is so damn strong on her breath, and the only thing hotter than the burning sensation in your throat is the fact that she’s using one hand to play with herself, the bottle of Whisky in the other. You can hear it slosh next to your ear as she raises it. 
And as she breaks the kiss, the thin strand of saliva connecting the two of you doesn’t stop her from providing the answer to her question—it tastes the best when you drink it right off my body—as she straightens herself. The next second, still playing with herself, she’s bringing the bottle to her lips, tipping it just before it touches those red-tinted lips to let the golden liquid flow down her chest and breasts. There's no time to admire; you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. Her skin glistens with the Whisky on it. It looks like gold in the snow. She smells like lavender and lust.
Your tongue, saturated with Whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Sana gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples—roughly, hungrily. You could say that she’s wasted some perfectly good Whisky, but you say that she’s added complex flavours to an already exquisite meal. The blend of alcohol and Sana’s skin is not something you never knew you needed, but now you do. The novelty of it, the sheer lust she’s emanating, all of it makes her tits taste better than ever, and you find yourself leaving marks on her cleavage, the right side of her left breast, the left side of her right breast; every centimetre of skin that can be reached is marked and tasted—your attempt at dipping your toes in a little control in this karaoke room that is Sana’s domain.
Maybe you’re a little over-indulgent in her, maybe you’re just unaware, but you certainly can’t feel her slipping your tie off your neck. By the time you’re aware of the sudden feeling of freedom at your throat, she’s already wrapping your wrists, securing them together with an intricate knot. You know damn well that even the boy scouts couldn’t untie this one, even if they sent their best member. The theory is only enforced when Sana asks you to try pulling your wrists apart, and it feels like they’ve been superglued together. Satisfied, she feeds you some more Whisky off her body, then it’s time for her fun.
Palm flat against your chest, eyes flaring, wicked smile; Sana pushed you back against the couch with graceful authority—something that only she is capable of. Then it’s onto your shirt, and he’s unbuttoning it with practised dexterity: unfastening, pulling—motions so fast that she has your reverence for mastering the art. She takes a moment, parts the fabric covering your chest and runs a fingernail down the centre of your torso. The nail—painted black with little Sakura flowers adorning it—stops at your belt. It isn’t hesitance that keeps her finger there; it’s the innate cheekiness that makes her linger there a little longer, that makes her smile softly as the other hand joins in and starts undoing the clasp of your belt. Not a word is uttered as she pulls apart your belt, then goes straight for the buckle of your belt. 
Then it’s back to kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing as she runs her fingers through your hair. The Whisky on both of your breaths mingle. Admittedly, you’re feeling a little floaty, engendering a pleasant tingle on your skin as she starts placing kisses on your cheek, then on your jaw. Next thing you know, she’s sucking hard at the nape of your neck, marking you with those lovely lips, as if she’s placing a wax seal on you, declaring: you are mine and mine alone. And when she successfully sears the shape of her lips onto your skin, she traces the slick outline with a finger, whispers softly, You have no idea how much I want to own you right now. 
The excitement is palpable, the tension even more so. She’s whispering all sorts of things to you—most of them entailing what she’s about to do with your cock—all while she starts to slip your briefs off of your legs. Your cock springs out of your pants, slaps against her ass and twitches on the rotund flesh. The smile grows wider, devilish dimples appear. And for the record: no, she’s not gonna blow you. She’s gonna make herself cum before anything else happens, and she’s going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. 
She slides off you, gets back up on her feet. With her back turned to you, she bends forward at the waist, shaking her ass while she uses her thumbs to hook onto the waistband of her panties. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. Her pussy glistens in the light, flushed pink and folds tantalising as ever puffy and swollen with excitement.
She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.
She wiggles her ass at you, looking back at you over her shoulder.
“Bet you wished,” she gets on her back, spreads her legs to get the spotlight on her slit, “that you could absolutely own me like this right now, don’t you?”
She’s so cocksure. It’s driving you crazy. You swallow, your voice barely audible as you utter her name. She crawls to you, sits up, her face in front of yours, so close, so hot. Her hand touches the back of your head, her voice barely a whisper as she grips the base of your cock—but you can’t, and it’s so damn frustrating, isn’t it?—and rubs your tip between her dripping folds, lathering her juices all over your head and smiling all the way through. 
And when you least expect it, she turns and sinks down on your cock.
You throw your head back, groan, the sound of her wetness as she takes your cock into her pussy loud and clear over the music. Your head falls forward again, watching her sink further and further, taking more and more of your cock inside her with every passing moment as she lets a long, drawn-out moan float through the air. When her crotch meets yours and you are fully embedded inside her, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure that leaves open lips. You meet it with a sigh of your own, somehow tearing open your own shut eyes to watch the expression on her beautiful face as you fill her. 
Christ, fuck and god—just some of the words that you want to cry out as she starts to slowly grind herself against you. The ride she’s about to take is one that’s of perverse nature; it’s not going to be a slow, pleasant ride. Naturally, her habit of jumping straight into things leaves her unprepared for what she’s about to experience, so now she has to slowly slowly adjust to your size, like striking the flint over and over next to the fireplace as you hope to get a flame going. Usually, this would be a time where you’d caress that beautiful body, run your hands over that unblemished white skin and pepper kisses all over the places that she loves to be kissed. But she’s not in the mood for that, not when she has this room and you at her disposal. 
Then the fire ignites, and it is merciless, a force of nature—untameable, unrelenting. In your bonds you are unable to resist. You never would’ve in the first place. She begins to move, her pussy tight and slick around your cock. She rides you like she was made to do this, like a pro. She rides you fiercely, roughly, taking you in and out of her tight wet heat, caring little for your comfort or much of anything aside from stuffing herself over and over with thick, hard meat. Throughout it all she is digging into your thigh, crying out like her life depends on it as she goes up, down, up, down—a lewd seat on a merry go round.
Yes, yes, yes—she throws her head back, auburn hair flying like streamers in the wind as she has her way with you—o-oh fuck I need this! I need this so fucking bad! The rhythmic, repetitive motion, her unbridled desire to be filled, it sends you reeling. The pressure on your leg is forgotten, the slight discomfort in your arms pushed out of the way. You can do nothing but watch her ride you. You can do nothing but marvel at how good you feel inside her, how the tightness of her pussy massages your shaft, how the way she takes you so completely into her folds, how you stretch her and make her quiver and quake.
A part of you wishes the mirror were visible from your current position, so that you could watch as Sana impales herself over and over on your cock. You want to watch the expression of pleasure wrangle her cute features, want to watch her full, round breasts bounce up and down, want to watch every muscle of her long, perfectly shaped legs work to throw her body again and again against your cock. But you’ll have to content yourself with the almost equally alluring view of her sweaty back (not that it was a particularly difficult position to enjoy. How could you call it “bad” with the view of her round, full ass as she slams it down against your crotch?). It’s not like you can change anything about this anyway. No—the only thing you can do is sit back, watch, and savour how her ass jiggles as it crashes against your crotch.
Oh fuck, oh yes! I’m so fucking full! I’m so stuffed with this cock!
You lose yourself to the sound of her voice, the feeling of her pussy as it swallows up your cock, the sight of her back arching and her hands shaking. As much as you try, you find yourself unable to move, as though your own pleasure has been drained out of your body, and you are just an observer. You watch as she pushes herself down further on your cock, impaling herself with every thrust of her hips, her voice growing louder and louder as she gets into that dangerous rhythm, the rhythm that makes you think she’s on Acid. Well-formed breasts bounce, you see them past her slender figure. Her shapely, luscious ass ripples. Long legs work overtime, cooperating with the stamina of the girl who is using them to drive herself over the edge like it’s her be-all and end-all. It’s exhilarating. It’s thrilling. 
It’s so fucking hot. 
Oh god. You’re stretching me out so good. This cock feels so damn good!
Two things are getting you at the moment: (1) The sweat glistening that’s building up on her back. (2) The fact that she’s pushing your thighs apart to get more of you inside her. The former sight is a breathtaking process really: beady moisture on that well built back, pooling at all the best places and making her skin glow as some of it slowly trickles down her spine. The latter’s no grain of sand either mind you, maybe even hotter than Sana’s sweaty back if you dare say. Freshly done nails sit just outside the insides of your thighs, the palms that they’re connected to pushing down against the flesh beneath them. They’re indenting the muscles of your thighs, it’s uncomfortable, but only for a second at a time. 
I don’t wanna stop. I don’t wanna fucking stop!
In your restraints, your hands grasp at the flesh that’s so close yet so far, the skin that’s rippling and slapping against yours. Her ass taunts you, tempts you, teases you. It’s so frustrating yet so erotic; you aren’t sure if you should welcome this mix of emotions or reject it before it folds its wings and nestles itself in your chest. The mix of desire and vexation, exasperation and ecstasy—any two emotions that shouldn’t go together are mixing, blending, forming these bubbles in your chest that you can’t explain. 
One woman; innumerable sensations.
You need more. More of everything. More of her.
You wish you could touch her.
You wish you could fuck her.
But all you can do is watch, watch as she starts going down harder, crying out even louder. 
Her body, so flawlessly feminine, is in deadly motion, working you over from the inside like you’ve never experienced. The air is filled with the wet, lewd sounds of her pussy sucking you in your hips slapping against her ass, her moans and groans, her curses that seem to go on perennially, blending in perfectly with that shitty synth in the background.
And you’re just along for the ride.
You have no idea… How good this is.. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And she wants you to see it, she wants you to watch her—it is exactly that kind of attention that she is basking in. So you watch. You watch her, the way she looks back at you, the way her eyes flare as she takes you in, the way her hands claw at your leg. The way she's moaning with that lilt back in her voice. Everything about this spectacle seems like it’s been scripted for some porno, and her body is certainly making you feel like you’re in one. The only grasp on reality that this situation offers is… Well, nothing. And it’s not that there really isn’t anything for you to root yourself in this real world, rather you’re choosing not to make that mental effort to do so; every little corner of your mind is being bled with whatever colour the image of Sana bouncing on your cock is. There’s no room for reality, and it's addicting, enthralling.
Fuck. You can't get enough of her, and you probably never will.
So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!
Your breath is ragged, and it takes every bit of control you have left in you to not cum right then and there. It takes every ounce of focus not to simply give in to her, not to simply melt into the couch, not to lose your mind to the sensation of her tight, wet slick as it swallows you in, pushes you out; fucking itself over and over and over again on your rock hard shaft. You don't know how much longer you can hold out for, and as if she can tell, Sana starts to move faster, her movements getting even more aggressive. The slaps of her ass against your crotch are louder now, and the wet smacking sound of her pussy's getting faster and faster. Her fingers are digging into your leg, her moans more frequent and more desperate. You can feel her tightening around you, the way her walls clamp down, the way her legs are trembling, the way her voice is going up in pitch. 
(It’s the moments of privacy that really get her going; the moments where she can scream and cuss and moan like there’s no tomorrow are everything to her. 
Yes, she likes fucking in public spaces for the thrill of it, but she likes it better when she can hold you freely as you fill her, not having to care for the fact that the way her body’s positioned engenders any discomfort or risk of being heard.
Yes, she likes it when there’s the chance that someone can walk in on the two of you, but the prospect of being able to own your cock, uninterrupted and unheard, thrills her like nothing else in the damn world.
Yes, she likes to see if she can hold in her cries while you’re rearranging her insides in a bathroom stall, but she prefers it much more when she can slam herself down on your cock—be loud and be proud of the fact that she loves every inch of meat that fills her till she can barely breathe. 
Bottom line: she likes chasing that thrill of being caught, but she loves those moments where she’s alone with you in private even more. Now is one of those times, and God… She’s barely herself anymore.
She is a storm of pure, unfiltered lust. And you must say: it’s fucking sublime.)
Then the game changing sentence comes from her, and it's beautiful. 
"I'm fucking cumming!"
The words ring out, clear and loud. And she doesn't stop; she keeps riding you, taking you into her wet hole and milking your cock, using you to bring herself off. It's not until the final second that she slows down, her back arching as she lets out the most satisfying scream that you have ever heard in your entire life. It is all that you can do to watch as she slumps forward, breaths ragged and body twitching as you hold yourself back. It takes everything—every fibre, every cell and every last bit of will—to not cum in her right there and then. And when the final spasm has passed and the shuddering has subsided, when Sana has collapsed against you, your cock still buried inside her, she turns to you.
There are no words spoken, just a mutual understanding of what comes next. She slips off the couch, takes your slick shaft in her hands. A few pumps are delivered, and they’re considerate and slow; she’s good at building tension.
“You’ve already marked my tits. Might as well cum on them.” She’s still got some cheekiness left in her, and that smile is really doing everything for you. 
“Fuck, Sana, I—” “Do it. Paint me.”
You feel the semen gather in your balls before coursing up your shaft and erupting from its tip, landing in thick, wet, warm ropes upon Sana’s creamy skin. Your tip is directed between her cleavage, and the first spurt of cum shoots itself between those wonderful mounds. It’s quickly followed by a second rope, and the third lands on her upper chest. With grace, she manages to direct your spurting cock by the base so the fourth and fifth ropes cover the front of her tits, then the rest don’t matter anymore.
The last ropes of thick, warm semen land upon her face, staining her soft, blushing features with creamy white cum. Some of it lands on her cheeks, on her forehead and onto her open mouth and the thirsty tongue within it. When you finally open eyes you hadn’t known had closed, the picture of Minatozaki Sana, face and chest painted with your warm, thick cum, is one you never want to forget. And as she scoops up your seed with her fingers, she’s got a thing or two to say.
“Excellent load,” she whispers, watching as the cum slithers down her palm. “Plus two to you.”
Just two? Is your reply of false bewilderment. Sana chortles. 
Maybe if you can give me a load up my ass, I’ll consider adding another three points.
*
Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket. 
Sana’s father seems more imposing than he should for a man his size, and looking at the Yamazaki bottle on the desk, you can tell that Sana gets her liking for Whisky from him. 
“I’ve never met you in my life,” he begins, “and now you come here like a friend, asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Sana’s head is bowed. In the corner of the office she sits, hands clasped over one another as she listens in silently. No amount of trials or oral submissions could ever prepare you for this tension.
“Mr Minatozaki… I understand that all of this is sudden,” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a raised hand.
“You know boy… You sure do talk like you know everything about the situation.” His voice is nowhere near threatening as he speaks, and it’s absolutely terrifying. “For a lawyer, you sure do sound quite the fool. Guess I shouldn’t have been expecting much considering your background.”
And it’s that very statement that has you on tenterhooks. You’ve never met him, never even seen his face, yet he knows your occupation which you never even touched on, and from the sound of it, knows what went down in your family. Sana’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she watches her father produce a file from under his desk. 
“It’s not the suddenness,” the air quotations he uses hold more weight than they really should, “that doesn’t sit well with me dear boy. No, no… It’s more than that.”
The broad leather chair in his office grows constricting. As he rises from his seat, the foam that holds your butt up seems to depress. And as he begins—if you sauntered in here as just a lawyer, I would’ve let you take my daughter in a heartbeat!—his explanation of what’s grinding his gears, you start feeling uneasy. For context on the severity of this feeling: the last time you felt like this was when you first met his daughter.
But you’re not just a lawyer—he’s opening the file in his hands, flipping through its contents—you’re a disgrace to this very world. You shouldn’t even be in this damn house right now. 
Into the file his hand reaches, and out from it: two mugshots. You bristle; Sana gasps (and it’s not that she didn’t know, rather because she was shocked that her father knew.)
So it’s the next sentence that seals your fate. Frankly, you kind of expected it, but it still doesn’t take away from the sheer bedlam that goes down in your head when Mr Minatozaki waves the mugshots of your parents before your face and shrieks at the top of his lungs. 
This isn’t the way you pictured this going. 
Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.
 “Do you seriously think for a second that I’d let the son of two druggies—two disgraceful, repugnant, filthy, druggies—marry my daughter?”
*
It’s hard to forget what she told you over the phone after your talk with her father (if you can even call it that): we’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out. 
Money can get you a nice fancy Ball, some nice Whisky and a private Karaoke room. Naturally, it can grant you a means to keep the son of two convicted drug abusers that hung themselves in their cells away from your daughter. 
So not even 12 hours after that fate-sealing conversation did you get a phone call from your boss. Next thing you know, you’re uprooted from your workplace in Osaka, transferred to the branch in Nagoya; Sana’s number mysteriously changes itself, none of your letters ever reach her. 
It’s over the payphone, months after all of this, that Sana finally reaches you, and she’s ugly crying over the phone. 
We can fix this, we’ll figure something out. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out. 
In a way, she ended up being right. 
And in your suit, you smile as you watch her walk down the aisle. She’s beautiful as ever, and you feel like that white veil over her face is doing her the biggest disservice ever. The little boy carrying the wedding rings seems a little confused, but it only adds to his adorable aura as he stumbles behind Sana. The flower petals are being scattered, the crowd’s on their feet. They’re clapping; you’re crying. Have you mentioned that she looks beautiful?
Oh? You have? Odd…
But just in case it slips your mind, you tell her how beautiful she is in your head, all while she walks right past you and continues to the stage. It feels like the ring boy’s acting stupid to taunt you for being the fool here. 
In a way, she ended up being right. If “We” referred to Sana’s father and that man on the stage, “We” did indeed end up figuring things out. The invite broke you, and this wedding is breaking you even more. You know that this invite wasn’t sent by Sana—she isn’t cruel. This has the fingerprints of her father all over it: the seat close to the aisle, your wristband to authorise your access to the venue holding the same serial code as your father’s prisoner ID… All of it is him. 
But there’s not much you can do about it is there? You chose to come, you chose this for yourself. There was the option to not come, to tear the invite up and go cry in your apartment in Nagoya, but you bought the Shinkansen ticket here, didn’t you? You walked through the doors of this damn place and took your seat, didn’t you?
And the Yamazaki doesn’t taste as good as it should, and the Spring air is sharper than it should be at the afterparty. They’re over there, congratulating the newly weds and wishing them all the best; you’re over here, sipping on your neat Whisky behind a bush as the music roars on.
It really shouldn’t be a question on how she finds you; she knows you too well to know where you’d go at a place like this. And in her wedding gown, she stands where she is, this look of a god-knows-what mix of emotions simmering on her face. You rub your nose with a thumb, sip on the bitter Whisky as your remedy. No words are spoken, not even a “hey” or “how have you been”—both of you know that there’s no use in starting a conversation here. It’ll go sob, fast, and this isn’t the place for it.
There will never be a place for it.
So why not substitute words with actions? 
So in her bare feet, she hikes up her gown, runs over to you, lunges to close those years of separation between you two to hug you like she used to. The Whisky is knocked out of your hands; you’re knocked off your feet. And in the grass, she buries her head into your shoulder and weeps. 
You always thought that only death would make you cry, but now as you hold her for what may very well be the last time, you realise: you're not as tough as you think.
Like a Lemon, the realisation that comes is bitter, and it has you bawling.
Cause maybe in a world that wasn’t so cruel, you could’ve been the one on that stage.
(Then the two of you could be in love, happier than ever.)
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circeyoru · 24 days
Text
Unwanted Soul _ Part 3 = Requested
[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]
The Request
Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 (here) — Part 4 — Part 5
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At first you allowed it because you understood Alastor was worried about you, as absurd as it was. Now it was plain annoying. Him requesting, no, that’s not the right word, forcing himself to be in the same bed as you. At first there was the excuse of you recovering and him not wanting you to roll over on you stomach to apply pressure to the wound. Then it was him not used to his new room. Now? He just flops onto the bed and hugs you no matter what you’re doing
“Do I look like a pillow to you???? Or a soft toy??????” “Darling, you are the best cloud ever.”
He doesn’t even mind you slapping the back of his head and snuggles closer to you. You gave up trying to escape his hold and continue with your reading or watching
It went as bad as to you needing a bigger bed since Alastor was always here with you. Alastor got you covered and gave you the best bed you could ever think of. You really just treated Alastor like one of your giant soft toys and slept, you’ll admit, listening to his heartbeat was more lulling than any other sounds. Your warmth and presence had the same effect to him
Oh, right. Alastor filled you in that you were in the hotel and you were occupying a room Alastor took for himself near his bedroom and radio tower. He connected your room with his, evident with the difference in style
You never seen his old room, but he did say he had half of the room as a bayou where he ate his meals. Yeah, he didn’t do that with you, never has he eaten a whole raw meat in front of you. This time though, it was just two different room styles on either way while the wall separating the two was gone. There was an extra door that replaced the window as a dimension to his feeding ground, you just never enter it
It happened out of the blue. When the room door opened and you thinking it was Alastor greeted him without looking. You noticed the lack of static or the obnoxiously loud announcement of his arrival, that’s when you looked up to see who you believe to be Husk from Alastor’s stories and reports
Before Husk knew what hit him, his neon green chains appeared and dragged him into the large room, the door closing and locking behind him. Husk landing on the ground looked up to see Alastor looming over him
You had to wack your memory to recall their relationship. Right, Husk was a former overlord of gambling and he lost his soul to Alastor in a bet to regain power. Poor choice of decision really. Why would you make deals with other Overlords that would want to knock you down? You looked away, thinking that it was none of your business how Alastor treated his souls, as long as he wasn’t like that to you
But your voice snapped Alastor out of whatever he was planning to the former Overlord, “Alastor, I’m craving some steak for tonight. Can you go to Rosie’s and get some nice ones?”
Of course Alastor knew you were giving Husk a save. Yet he can’t deny your request to have his cooking again. (you were binge eating snacks and cup noodles after your wound healed and didn’t want to eat his cooking) So he left into his shadows
Turning back to your laptop, you typed away for another new episode while Husk composed himself. You heard that sigh of relief, you knew Alastor was a cruel demon. You knew because he’d paint the streets red and black whenever sinners and demons alike would glance at you the wrong way, even worse when they said the wrong or vile things to you
“I’m curious, does anyone know I’m here?” “I know now.” “Mhm… You best leave before Alastor’s back and please don’t say anything. Else I’m positive you’d be wishing otherwise.” “Why are you here?” “I wonder too. Because of Alastor?”
You shouldn’t have phased it that way because Husk thought you were an innocent soul that Alastor took as well. That can’t be farther from the truth, but you let him believe as he please. Neither you nor Alastor wanted to disclose your hold over Alastor’s soul to anyone apart from the two of you. Perhaps you could play it like Alastor has your soul, that would make more sense. Maybe
Over dinner, you told Alastor that you’ll be making your appearance as his assistant in the hotel. That way it was reasonable to take the room next to his (that you are currently in) and you’d be always seen around Alastor (more like Alastor could always be near you). Alastor agreed without a second thought
He did added a little detail to your plan. That you two were romantically involved with each other. You shot that idea down immediately. Changing the subject, you told him how Husk thought you were the one that Alastor took the soul of. That gave him a good laugh and you a chuckle. Both of you calmed down, you with your small smirk and Alastor with his wide grin as you two met eye contact, thinking the same: That was such a ridiculous assumption
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet My Dearest Darling.” Alastor’s hand patted your shoulder “Nice to meet you all, Alastor’s told me all about you guys.” You had bowed your head a bit with a smile, appearing as humble as you could. The introductions went without hiccup, was what you would wish for “Pager! My good fellow!” Lucifer came over and wrapped you in a tight hug. “How have you been!?” You missed how Alastor was glaring daggers at Lucifer and the King of Hell was grinning like crazy. “Sire, just fine. Thank you for asking?”
Now it was everyone else’s turn to be shocked and confused. Questions came at you left and right. You didn’t even need to answer because Lucifer had told them you used to work for him. Your room would have been assigned next to Lucifer’s if not for Alastor’s intervention that you were to be ‘put to work’ under him
Well, now that there was something of an intermission for the hotel to bounce back to its former glory (if it had any), things were pretty chill around the hotel. Everyone did their things like usual. Though it was odd that things were unchanged, since you were supposed to be a new staff member. Yet they hardly saw you, nor did Alastor tell you to work on anything
All they knew was you were always in your room, doing whatever behind closed doors. Charlie and Vaggie had asked about you, from Alastor since you were barely out when they were active and the only other contact was through Alastor who was never bothered that you were slacking
Alastor reassured that you were writing scripts for his broadcast and doing your own research on something else, so you wouldn’t be leaving the room for the majority of the time
Everyone would catch Alastor using the kitchen at the oddest time of the day to cook or bake things, then bring it up to his radio tower to eat. When he was confronted on his odd mealtimes, he informs that it was yours. As for why he was the one making, he said it was because he sent you to work overtime and so he compromised
“The poor darling was feeling peckish so I, as the employer in charge, should do my duty, yes?” “Oh ho! No need to fret over my dear Pager upstairs, merely took a longer nap than usual and needed to delay dinner!” “My doe won’t be joining us for breakfast, still sleeping from all that work, you see. I’ll make some food later on.”
All lies. Each and every one of them. All this time, you were eating up on the internet provided by the hotel and doing what you do best. Laze around and chill. There was no work assigned, no script to be written, and certainly no research underway. You were doing what you would back home, now it was just a change in location. Then there’s Alastor joyfully serving you like always without change
But none was the wiser when any of them hardly knew you. Save for Lucifer. He’d pop into your room without Alastor’s notice and give you new books or comics or shows or whatever you please. All while saying they were gifts to you for all you’ve done for him. He was quickly chased out of the room when Alastor sensed another being with you
Now when it came to your break periods, your room wasn’t enough and you wandered around the hotel to stretch and give yourself a change of scenery
This was when everyone else got to talk to you and not through Alastor
Charlie got you to join in her exercises, wanting some feedback from you. You lazily joined, matching Angel’s attitude to it all. You two shared a knowing glance and smirk from time to time. Vaggie groaned and scolded Angel since he was the one that wants to be redeemed, but then turned to you to be more supportive and put heart into it since you were a staff
Alastor immediately poofed out of nowhere, hands on your shoulders while you had a bored look on your face at Vaggie. At the growing static, you sighed, “Please don’t.”
Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel raised a brow at your words. Vaggie wanting to pull you away from Alastor since from their point of view, Alastor was having a scary face again. Husk watched silently from the bar, wondering if you’d be ‘punished’ later behind closed doors for ordering the Radio Demon
But to everyone’s surprise, Alastor reverted back to normal and hummed, offering you his hand to escort you away from the group, “Shall we take a stroll outside the hotel, darling?”
That day, a whole street was painted red. You and Alastor returned late and just went to your room to rest. No one dared to question. They did wonder what would have happened if you said nothing when Alastor appeared behind you. Perhaps Vaggie was lucky she got off with a glare
You wandering the hotel became obvious to the others that you were ‘resting’ from your heavy workload given by Alastor which was rare, they noticed that there was no routine nor a fixed time you’d appear
They held off attacking Alastor about your workload since everytime they see you you weren’t complaining or drained in any way. So they continued as normal, sometimes asking Alastor if he was giving you enough breaks between work or if you were eating. Alastor kept up with appearances and assured them you were well and dandy. You had a good laugh at their concerns
Yeah, neither of you were going to correct it since there was no need
You’ll admit that Alastor was doing a good job at keeping people away from you, just as you like it. Though it could be because of his possessiveness you can tell. Still, it aligns with your wishes, so you leave it be
Once when you were on break and with Charlie and the others for a broad game day, another activity for bonding and the like. Suddenly left mid-game and went to the kitchen to cook, everyone thought Alastor was preparing for everyone’s lunch so no one questioned it. Soon enough you got up
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, everyone turned to you “Hungry.” It was like you were on autopilot when you turned to walk into the kitchen Everyone else shared a glance, thinking it was time for food anyways. “Let’s eat.”
They weren’t prepared to see you leaning against Alastor with your arms crossed over your chest meanwhile Alastor was having no trouble plating whatever dish was cooked. Another point, you were just causally touching Alastor and he didn’t do anything! He didn’t even make a peep and let you stay there while he worked
No one could touch Alastor unless he does it first. No one touches Alastor especially when he’s in the kitchen cooking!
“Have a seat, darling, food’s ready.” Alastor cooed “Mhm~ Looks nice.” You remarked with contentment as you pushed yourself off of Alastor and sat on one of the high chairs on the island Angel noticed how only you had food and no one else, complaining, “Hey, what about us?” Alastor turned over, shamelessly commenting, “Oh, I finished using the kitchen, you can make your own food now. Sorry for taking so long.” The condescension was gone when he turned his attention back to you, “How’s the food, dear?” “Good as always.” You praised, glancing up at him to know he was overjoyed at your words even with the lack of expression. His eyes narrowing while his grin widened was the hint. “Could use some mini cupcakes when we play the board games later.” “Say no more!” Alastor snapped his fingers, making a bunch of ingredients appear. He turned to the crew, “Apologies, but I’ll be using the kitchen since you’re all merely standing at the entrance!”
Yeah. Everyone came to the conclusion that Alastor was extra weird after you came to the hotel. They’d ask Alastor about it but he would dodge the question all together or he’d just shift the attention elsewhere. They’d love to ask you, since you were somewhat more approachable? But you were just rarely around. When you are around, Alastor was not far from you
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Note: Yup. Part 3. Amazing right? I blame the ask and you can thank the ask. The writing mood just hit me like a truck, so here's the result
Guys I'm very tempted to change all the stories in ask to a post format so I can keep track of them! Not sure about this yet, but if I do do it, the stories in ask will be replaced with a link instead and the stories will be readable as a post (maybe with a picture of the ask?). Do I reboot all of them or just start with the next new request?
Circe Y.
Other Works: MASTERLIST
Taglist:
@aconfusedwonderland
@crowleysthings
@donustellaron
@nevermore-ramblings
@justboredforreal
@youroneandonlysimp
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neil-gaiman · 7 months
Note
Hi, Neil! Thank you for helping a writer in distress with your craft. Here is what I mean:
To be honest with you, I started watching Good Omens on a lazy Wednesday night. And prior to that, I didn’t know anything specific about it — except that it was a really good, entertaining TV Show. My friend wouldn’t stop screaming about the finale of S2, but I’m sure you understand.
And so I binge-watched it in the span of a week. With every episode, I fell a little bit more in love with your beautiful world and characters. By the time I also finished it, something was forever changed in me. (No exaggeration).
You see, I have been struggling to write for a year or so now. Words used to flow to me easily, ideas as well, but I woke up one day and I couldn’t find them anymore. No matter how hard I tried. And I love to write fanfiction, I grew up reading it — all the love poured into things we already cherish very deeply. After S2, I had this urge to give it one more try with Aziraphale and Crowley (I hope that’s fine with you!), and I wrote for a whole day. Just a minor take on them, yet it made all the difference. I haven’t stopped writing ever since.
So. . . Thank you again, for reigniting whatever it is that dimmed inside my head. I will never forget it.
I'm proud of you!
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mockerycrow · 4 months
Note
Congrats on the milestone! It has been an absolute dream reading your works (and binge-reading them on my designated MH days) Your ability to write is just- chefs kiss. You deserve all this, keep it up!
For my request:
Reboot Ghost reacts to GN Reader wearing a compression shirt/ tight clothes because Reader has worn baggy clothes ever since they met?
Again, congratulations on the milestone!
-1θ
MY EYES ARE UP HERE (Ghost x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBATION
lolol i’m gonna cry?? thank you, anon!! 💗
YOU AND GHOST have been gym partners for a while now. It wasn’t meant to be a thing, but it just ended up being a thing anyway. At first it was coincidental; meeting at the gym on accident fairly late in the afternoon, the whole nine yards. You’ve always worn baggy sweatpants and sweatshirts to the gym—even your uniforms were always a bit big on you. Ghost definitely noticed, but he didn’t ask or bother you about it. Your uniforms weren’t too big to be out of regulations, and what you wore during your conjoined workouts didn’t seem to bother you too much.
You’re running a bit late, maybe by five or six minutes. Ghost checks his watch, his foot tapping against the ground. He decides if you don’t show after a few more minutes, he’ll just go ahead and work out on his own. Just then, the door to the gym swings open. Ghost hears you let out a harsh breath before he sees you, but he freezes in place when he does. You’re wearing a black, tight long-sleeve compression shirt that hugs your body, tucked into your black pair of shorts—where you’re wearing black, skin tight compression leggings underneath. Ghost’s brain empties of everything he was thinking.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” You breathe out, walking over to him and setting down your gym bag. “It seems I haven’t done laundry, so I threw on what I could find.” You look at Ghost who doesn’t respond—his brown eyes are peering down at you, but not.. you. More like your body. When you realize this, you laugh despite the hot feeling rising from your neck to your face. “Ghost?” You chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest. Ghost blinks and his eyes flicker up to your face, looking like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, I— uh..” He sputters, his fingers tightening into fists.
You grin at the sight of Ghost, of all people—being flustered. Maybe you should bust out the compression shirt more often, you think, seeing the way his eyes keep flickering to your body.
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froggibus · 9 months
Text
The Second Choice - Leon S Kennedy
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Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x gn! reader
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 2k
Summary: after losing Ada, Leon can’t get her off of his mind—and can’t stop comparing you to her
CW: angst, feelings of inadequacy, second guessing, unhealthy relationship, feelings of loss, allusion to death/loss, Leon comparing you to Ada, alcohol abuse, hurt comfort, groveling (but pretty weak cause I can never stay mad at this man), arguing, insecurities, allusion to panic attacks
honestly have been feeling super angsty the past few days and needed to write a lil angst as a treat to myself lol. definitely not my best work but whatever
————
It’s no secret that after he lost Ada, your boyfriend was never quite the same. Aside from having nightmares for months, he also never quite got over her.
You’d be lying if you said a part of you wasn’t relieved the day he told you the news. She was always a point of contention in your relationship and you felt as though Leon would never be able to fully give himself to you as long as she was in the picture. You thought this would be a new leaf for you guys, a step in the right direction to further progress your relationship.
You’ve never been more wrong.
The first few months of the aftermath were rough. Leon drank more and came home less, and the times he came home made you wish he never did. You tried to take a deep breath and turn the other cheek to his drinking. He’s in pain, you’d remind yourself. He needs time.
It all came to a head one night after he hadn’t been home in almost a week—too busy out on a binge. You had been texting and calling him the whole week, desperately clinging onto him when you knew he didn’t belong to you. He never did.
Leon got home with the worst hangover of his life, hoping to just crash in bed and forget for a while. It had been so long since he slept—the nightmares that plagued him chasing away any hope of rest. But today he felt tired enough and the comfort of having you at home was more than enough to have the man dreaming of sleeping the whole way home.
The last thing he wanted to see was his bed covered in your clothes, a suitcase thrown open on your side of the bed and you desperately rummaging through the closet. “Honey?” He spoke softly, voice raspy from the constant burn of alcohol.
Your head snapped up, red rimmed eyes meeting his. “You’re back.”
“What’s going on? What’s—what’s all this?”
You almost felt bad for him. “I need some time away, Leon. I-I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” He wrinkled his nose in confusion.
“This. The long nights and the drinking and you never coming home anymore. It’s killing me, Leon. And I,” your voice broke and you took a deep breath, “I deserve better.”
Leon felt his heart drop into his stomach, a weight forcing him onto his knees, He looked up at you with glistening eyes, “y/n, please don’t do this. Please. I-I love you, I don’t know who I am without you.”
You sighed, trying to swallow back the lump in your throat. It’s not fair, it’s never been fair. But it’s Leon, and you’ve always loved him, and no matter how angry you were in the moment, you knew he needed you.
“Alright,” you said quietly, placing the suitcase back in the closet.
Hope filled Leon’s eyes once more, like azure sparkling in sunlight. He wasted no time in striding over to you and wrapping his arms around you. He held you so tightly it hurt.
He whispered, “I promise things will get better from here. I promise, y/n.”
Leon doesn’t drink as much after that. He comes home at a normal time but even then it feels like your boyfriend is vacant. Gone. The closer he is to you, the further away he seems. 
She’s always on his mind—and he makes that obvious to you. 
Leon’s eyes practically glaze over the day he sees you wearing red. The garment clings to your body in such a perfect way, the scarlet complimenting all of your features perfectly. 
You almost smile at the way his jaw drops. He’s never been a very reactive person so seeing him like this is enough to make you giggle. Of course, that’s before he speaks. 
“Ada had a dress that was almost the exact same colour.”
Your heart sinks at the mention of her name. He’s grieving, you try to remind yourself. It's only natural she’s on his mind. 
“Red was her favourite colour, she wore it all the time.”
You sigh, trying not to let your tensed muscles show. He misses her. It’s okay. But it’s not okay, and your stomach hurts and now you don’t want to go out at all. 
“It’s kinda itchy,” you say quietly. “I’m gonna change.”
And you find yourself tossing the cloth into the bottom of your hamper, never to be worn again. In fact, you don’t feel like wearing red ever again. 
The comparisons don’t stop after that day. Ada never seems to leave his mind, and any time he looks at you, there’s a look in his eyes that says he’s not really seeing you. 
It feels like anything you do, anything you wear, any interest you have—she had it too. 
You’re watching a movie on the couch, cuddled into his side. You have your arms wrapped around one of his, feeling the muscle beneath his skin. 
You giggle and point at the tv, “I love him. He was my favorite character as a kid.”
You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth and Leon turns to look at you. His blue eyes are clouded over with nostalgia. 
“Ada always loved him, too. Only guy that ever made her flustered,” he shakes his head, smiling at the thought of her. 
You can’t help but pull away from him and withdraw to your side of the couch. Leon looks at you in concern, head tilted to the side. 
“Can—can you stop comparing me? I hate that,” your voice comes out exasperated and desperate. 
Leon doesn’t say anything but a confused look takes over his face. His silence is almost worse than his comparisons—almost. 
He’s at a loss for words. He doesn’t know what to say. That’s just how his mind works; he makes connections between things like that. A force of habit he gained from his strenuous line of work. He thought you understood that. 
“Just,” you sigh, pushing yourself off of the couch, “nevermind.”
You trudge your way to the bedroom and throw yourself on the bed, closing your eyes and forcing the tears away. He promised things would get better. He promised. 
Leon notices you withdrawing from him after that. Never in his life had he heard you sound so defeated and so angry. You’ve never been good at voicing your feelings, especially not to him, so he knew something was wrong the minute you spoke up. 
“Honey?” He shuffles over to his side of the bed, the mattress dipping down under his weight. 
You don’t answer, drawing your arms and knees closer to your chest. Leon sighs—he’s really messed up. 
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize I was making you so upset.” He takes a deep breath, “I just miss her so much, and you know how my brain works and—”
You whimper, “it’s not fair, Leon. You’re not being fair to me here.”
“I-I know! But you knew how things were getting into this so maybe you shouldn’t have—”
“Shouldn’t have what, Leon?” You snap. 
The blond stays awfully silent, staring at his clenched fists in his lap. He doesn’t know how to talk his way out of this—he doesn’t know how to keep you with him. 
“I think I need some time away.” 
Leon stares at you slack jawed. As soon as you stand up, he’s jumping to his feet too. He practically dives into your way, blocking your path. 
You stare at him expectantly and try to avoid the burning in your eyes. 
He looks at you dead seriously. “For every thing you have in common with her, there’s another thing that you don’t.” 
His words are enough to get you to sit back down on the bed. The beating in his chest settles down as you do. You’re not leaving. 
“She was really athletic for one thing, and a serial flirt. I mean, she was just so beautiful she could have any man wrapped around her finger. And she loved to fight and she loved gory movies and—why are you standing up?”
Leon stares at you in confusion. Did he say something wrong? He doesn’t understand. 
Your mind races a million miles a second. It’s clear from the way he talks about her that he loved her in a way he could never love you. Even from the way he talked about her compared to you. Beautiful, athletic, charismatic. Everything you wished you were, everything he wishes you are. 
“I need to get out of here, I-I feel like I can’t breathe.” You clutch your chest, shoving past him and grabbing your keys and your coat. 
Leon watches you walk out the door, hopeless to do anything to stop you. 
Leon waits for you to come home, sitting in a chair by the door for hours. The more time that passes, the more worried he gets that you’ll never come home. He taps his foot in anticipation—a habit he’d never had until now. 
He can’t believe how caught up he got. He was so focused on the ghosts of his past that he forgot about his future. And sitting in this old chair, his ass hurting from sitting so long, he wishes he could go back in time and shut his own stupid mouth. 
It’s nearly 1am when he hears your key in the door. Leon shoots to his feet, standing only a foot away from the opening door. 
The minute you see him, you feel like crying again. You were hoping he would be asleep and you wouldn’t have to have this conversation now. 
You close the door behind you and lock it, not even sparing a look at Leon as you make your way down the hall and to the bathroom. You only get halfway before Leon grabs your wrist and tugs you to face him. 
He drops to both knees in front of you, looking up at you with desperate eyes. “Y/n.”
You shake your head and try to tug your hand away but Leon keeps a firm grip. 
“I am so fucking sorry, y/n. I-I got so caught up in things that I didn’t even realize how I was treating you. I want to make it up to you.”
“You promised things would get better, Leon.” Your voice is shaking dangerously, “but all you’ve done is make me feel like her replacement. Like I’m the next best thing. And it has me second guessing everything. How do I know you even love me for me? How do I know you love me at all?”
Leon’s heart aches at your words. He knew he messed up but he didn’t realize the extent to how unloved he was making you feel. 
“No, no, no. Y/n, no. Look at me.” His eyes are wet, and he looks so vulnerable sitting in front of you on his knees. “I love you. I love you. You and only you. You’re not her, and I know that. I never loved her in the same way I love you.”
Tears fall down your cheeks, splashing on the floor in front of you and Leon. 
He keeps going. “You’re not a replacement. You’ve never been a replacement. You’re the best thing I could have asked for, and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately.”
Leon slowly rises to his feet, slipping his hands into yours. “Let me make it up to you. Please, let me make it up to you.”
You sigh, biting your lip and trying to force the tears away. “Leon…”
“Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much I love you, y/n. I will do anything to make you feel happy and safe again.”
And looking into his eyes, you know he means that. 
“Alright, alright, just—” you wipe your eyes and offer a weak smile, “let’s sleep on it, okay?”
Leon nods and lets you tug him to the bedroom. He still has a lot of work to do, but that can wait until the morning. For now, he’s just glad he has you back.
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