#Six Figure Success: Time To Think Big - You Can Do It | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capslocked · 2 years ago

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SEVEN

male reader x sana minatozaki

10k words

Sana Minatozaki can go fuck herself.

That’s your measured opinion. You don’t care where she is. Dead, six feet under, beyond the veil, wherever—so long as someone gives her a proper kick to the rear.

Eyes are up from their desks, turning onto you, horrified maybe. Then again, your fists are clenched and your elbows locked as you maintain a pace that begs to break into a run. If there’s a scowl on your face, you doubt its efficacy all at the rainwater in your shoes squeaking on the end of every step.

A promotion was how it had all been pitched to you: fated, bound, hands tied to this incorrigible bag of hot air. If the ship’s going down, set to fail, you’ll be right there with her, and you can feel the water pooling at your feet, figuratively speaking.

"So?" Sana commits to the question once you’ve got yourself halfway through the door to your office, dripping wet. It’s unconvincingly casual. "You wanted to see me?"

A tragedy; in fact, you want nothing less, but it’s in the job description, a necessary evil. The baker bakes. The cobbler cobbles. And the manager manages, supposedly—you’ve mostly just been tearing your hair out.

"Honest to god," you say, and you’ve never meant it more in your life, "I think I’m starting to understand it now. This whole revolving door of staff and management these past couple months."

Sana tilts her head onto this inquisitive angle, and a bundle of copper hair falls across her cheek before getting dragged back behind her ear. "Oh? And what all did you figure out?"

"That you’re a royal pain in the ass," you answer, untangling your arms from the soaked sleeves of your coat. "And a lot more trouble than you’re worth."

"Well." The word is accompanied by a ridiculous sigh and the sound of her tongue clicking against her teeth. "You don’t suppose that’s on you? No one promised you it’d be easy."

There’s a quiet pause, Sana slants her lips into a smirk, and that’s more or less how it always starts between you.

"No one promised anything," you grumble.

Of course, the writing was on the wall, probably in big, bold letters too, you don’t know—you weren’t too interested in reading it—there were more important things on your mind. Fame; wealth; success; bragging rights; you’ll only let yourself call it hubris once you’ve really stepped in it, finally found something you couldn’t talk your way out of, come up with reason to believe there would be no digging yourself out. But until then—

"By the way…" Sana’s voice trails as she leans into the arm of the sofa, cheek resting on her hand, and then she furrows a manicured brow. "Why are you, like, totally soaked?"

You’re lenient or something, so it’s a question of your own you’ll trade with her, undoubtedly a better deal than she deserved. "Okay, sure then—let’s get into it. What’s your guess? Why is it do you think I had to chase down some jagoff in the middle of a damn rainstorm?" You toss Sana’s phone from the soaked pocket of your pants onto the table, and she watches it bounce and flip until it rests screen-side down. "It’s unlocked I guess. So, why don’t you do me a favor and just help me get out in front of it all; what the fuck did you have on there?"

"Oh." Her voice fills with worry, head cocked anxiously. She seems completely taken aback, but like with most things, it’s all just a front, you’ve learned—and here, you couldn’t be more on the nose. She holds back a laugh, adding, "photos, videos—I mean, I don’t know, it could be anything. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t check yourself."

"Sana," you groan. It’d be foolish not to believe her; it really could be anything, but that’s beside the point. You find the edge of your desk with your thighs, lean back, and you’re shaking your head. "The next time some shameless opportunist stumbles upon your phone and that meticulous archive of bad decisions, maybe I ought to just let you deal with it."

She raises her eyebrows at you, mulling it over for a second like she was ever once invested in being useful. "That’s like, what the publicists are for aren’t they?"

Sana’s young, you remind yourself. It’s good practice. But she’s old enough to know better, what all she’s doing, how dangerous she can be. It’s not like her praises are hard to come by around the office: the beautiful Sana Minatozaki, an angel among us, she’s perfect! If you can hear them in passing through the glass windows of your office, so can she; they’re right on the money, mostly, but you’re also not so easily fooled—or rather, you aren’t anymore. See, you get in front of a girl like her, and she’s got these big, bright, beautiful eyes, a face that never fails to be the most charming in the room without boasting about itself, a body like that, legs like those—

"Look." You blink several times.

Caught yourself staring.

"I mean, sure—but I can’t imagine that’s going to be an easy one to spin."

She cocks an eyebrow in something like curiosity. "What’s not going to be?"

"The video Sana—the one where you’ve got your lips around some cock like it’s a cheap homemade porno."

"So then, you did take a look," she says, rising onto the pointed tips of a pair of black heels. It’s a sign, an omen, a premonition—the renewed smirk on her lips that speaks louder than that soft, measured voice of hers might ever dare. "Hard opportunity to pass up, huh?"

"For god’s sake—" Going with your gut, you cross your arms. And your voice searches frantic for a commanding tone. "If it isn’t my job to know how you’ve fucked up."

"And I so very much appreciate all your wonderful effort," she over-enunciates through each syllable of your name. That same exact pleasantry she’d wish to the staff and crew at the end of a photo shoot, a recording, some nonsense event or another—only now, it’s derisive, laced with this sarcastic edge that is anything but subtle.

"It isn’t funny, Sana."

"Do you see me laughing?"

You don’t. Though there’s still a lot to see admittedly, a lot to take in, most of it beyond damning. A long leg of hers ruffles and furls the bottom of her dress until she’s a step closer, two steps now actually. You can take your pick—start at the bottom up or from the top down, and the result is just about the same by the time you’ve gotten to her tiny waist: she’s gorgeous.

For a lot of reasons however, you’re not about to leer.

Her shoulders square to yours and you remind yourself she’s not very tall; even in those ridiculous heels, she comes up just shy of your nose. Between you and absolutely nobody else, you have considered it, let it fill an evening of fantasy or two—how she might bend and fold, how her small, tight body might be best put to use, the faces she’d make cumming on your cock, the sound of her straining voice when you really—

No, you’re absolutely not leering.

"I’m serious," you hear yourself say, and it’s shaky, struggling to come across resolute, hardly anything convincing. "Just keep on fucking around—I promise you; you’re on your own."

"Oh, is that so?" She smiles again, and you note how it deepens a dimple in each cheek. "And when it all comes crashing down—how should I ask that the director refer to you in their letter to the board: idiot or incompetent?"

Eyes glowing, she seems wholly uninterested in the stark departure from how she normally needles you—all that subtext and words unsaid. You simply raise an eyebrow. There’s a pause, and she raises one back.

"Ahem," you try to recover.

Sana leans into you, one hand on either side of your waist, palms flat on your desk. And there’s that thought running a muck in your head again: all those musings about power dynamics, authority, subordination, governance, whatever it is this mess is you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s comical. You’d never once had a problem with any of your previous assignments. Dahyun? Delightful. Tzuyu—a total saint. Nayeon might as well have managed herself. It’s unclear when or how, but the woman in front of you had puzzled out that she was capable of anything—destruction, demolition, devastation. You knew it; she knew it too; Sana could ruin you.

"Hmm?" she adds, smug and indignant.

"I’ve given it some thought," you start, letting a heavy sigh roll through your chest like that’s ever been some herald of a rousing speech. But there is a plan, or at least what you’d learned about in those binders and seminars on this kind of stuff. "Look, to be honest, you’re going to hate me for it—but we’re going to be moving to some sort of curfew; until all this gets sorted out."

"A curfew?" Her eyebrows twist, disappointed.

"Among other things," you say, and now you’re digging a heel into the dirt of this forsaken partnership. "No more clubs."

"No more clubs?"

"No boys, no bars, and for god’s sake Sana—no fucking filming yourself having sex."

"No boys?" she gawks like it’s the most egregious of what you’d asked, mouth dropping agape in this faux outrage.

"Just until we hit a groove; figure out what works; find our rhythm."

"Find our rhythm?"

"You can stop repeating me."

"You can stop repea—" She takes a beat to swallow down the rare slip-up, eyes looking for even a momentary weakness in yours. But you’re a professional; she comes up empty. Her brows relax and she tilts her head. "Reprimanding me."

Your voice, finally solidifying in its fitful composure, opens into a complaint, "it’s honestly a shock to me you know—how you’ve lasted this long. In this industry, like this."

You lean back, chest tightening, acutely aware that her eyes refuse to leave yours.

"They always say that." And she’s grinning, ear to ear, again. This time, you’re gazing—the shape of her lips, the pretty things swelling and curving into that fine little point beneath her nose. A finger lands on your chest and she’s determined to cross a boundary or two.

You swallow again at the dryness in your throat. "Really."

"You know what else they always say?"

"If you think I’m about to guess, you’d be—"

"Curfew," she mocks, voice hitting at an unrealistically low register. It’s rather heartless the way she rolls her eyes, deceiving the roundness in her cheeks, the ever-so-perfect waves in her hair, the intoxicating charm that is her image. "No boys, no bars, no—"

"So, you’re telling me," you interrupt, more than satisfied with the imitation, "that in six months, six different managers, six different calamities, I’m not the first person to suggest some structure? Color me shocked Sana."

"No. You’re not. But this is the part where you tell me: Sana, I’m a professional. And you’ve got your hands out like you don’t want it and you’re backing up into the desk, bumbling and stuttering like you’re not losing control." One more step into you, and it’s evil, wicked, sinful the way you’re noticing it all: the pretty little details in her eyes, her cheeks, her smile. "I always say the same thing; I’m a professional too ya know. And I just so happen to be in the business of making people want me."

The motion is inelegant given what you’re sure she’s capable of, the way her hand cups your crotch. It sounds silly when you say it like that, but that’s just kind of how it happens.

"Sana—"

"Wow. You’re like, so fucking wet down here." She laughs to herself, having now found some comedy in it all. "That’s usually what they say too."

There’s a smug glimmer in her eyes when she finds you, the semi-hardened jut at the rise of your pants, fingers happily mapping out your shape beneath all the damp fabric. It’s more than just a boundary, and this searing heat starts to lick at your jaw. You’d grab her wrists, wrestle her away, but you’re not confident how it might all go if you start touching her; pin one behind her back, bend her against the desk; hell, she’s probably not wearing anything under that—okay, now you’re leering.

You swallow hard at the absolute casualness about her light fingers, undoing the belt and button at the waist of your pants. "So now what?" you ask, as though you were incapable of putting two and two together, as if you hadn’t been privy to these kind of rumors for months. "You’re going to bargain your way out?"

"Bargain?" She scoffs, and even that’s a pretty noise—the sound of it running through your head where it twists into moans, squeals and whimpers. Her eyes light up, and you’re hopeless, coming undone. "Isn’t that charitable. Like you haven’t been dying to stick your cock in me for weeks."

"Sana." Your last chance at professionalism, at propriety; so, abysmally it’s just her name that falls out of your mouth. But that’s how it comes together—or perhaps it falls apart—your cautionary tale, The Story of Manager Number Seven you’ll call it. It’s ruinous, it’s disastrous, worst of all—it’s instinct.

"Don’t waste the effort." Her chin cocks up and you’re left staring down the barrel. "Besides, I’m just saying the quiet part out loud, aren’t I?"

You doubt you’ll be around to meet manager number eight, and you’re certain one will come to be—maybe they’ll even read your memoirs; you wish them luck. Because the truth is, and you hate to say it, she’s got you all figured out.

Right from the jump, Sana confirms all your suspicions: she’s incredibly selfish. Pulling, gnawing, grabbing at your lower lip until it starts to swell, she hops up onto your desk. Something critical snaps, a cable cut, and you’re following right along with her. Each and every sinful step surely on a path to damnation.

"Well?" she asks, expectant and landing kisses on your cheek.

A whole assortment of paperweights, papers, pens, things that have been little use to you, crash onto to the floor. "Anything I want?" you ask, repeating yourself, unable to tire of its answer. "What if I’m - well, for lack of a better word, a total freak? Deal still on the table?"

"Hah." Sana smirks again—it’s kind of her thing, you’ve come to realize, but now you feel it on your skin. Her fingers are working down the front of your damp shirt, and she answers with a bluntness that leaves you feeling if anything, a little insulted, "You’re not."

"And what then, I suppose you know everything there is to know about me?" You’ve got your hands on her waist when you realize she’s not wrong. You’re not. But the shape of her body, under your fingertips, from just above where her hips narrow, it is everything you imagined it might be: wholly divine and capable of anything. You’ll ruin it—it just might ruin you too.

"Trust me, there’s a type," she laughs, "you come in here every day…" The sleeves of your shirt fall around your shoulders, and her gaze makes this journey about you, a momentary glance, and her eyebrow lifts as if to say not bad or this will do. "Same suit, same shoes, same coffee, same frustrated look on your face—just trust me."

She’s got it pretty dead on, not that you really care; you’re just not that kind of guy. But the way she says it, with such confidence, that’s a challenge. Oh, it’s probably to your detriment; you’ve always been competitive—you’ll surprise her. "I guess we’ll see."

You bury a hand into her hair before she has the chance to get on with the next snarky thought or another, and her head is tilted back, lips parting for you. Your tongues meet, first in your mouth, then in hers. Humming gently, Sana’s voice fills your throat, and all that hangs in the balance is rushing through your thoughts again—go ahead, mark your calendar; today’s the day you’ve thrown your career away. Because when you push her legs apart, her dress finally all hiked up around her tiny waist, and you’ve got your finger against the lace fabric across her entrance—

"Fuck," she gasps into your mouth, at least you think she does. It’s a good guess considering those nails, manicured and polished into sharp points, sinking into your shoulders. Her hips push themselves into you, pressing more of that fabric into your touch. You follow it down, trace it with your finger, dragging the loose-fitting lace along the way, and her folds nearly wrap around you, begging.

Your lips smack, spit trailing off them when you pull yourself back. You’re both catching your breath and it’s your turn to be smug, "I think this is the part where I say, wow Sana, you’re so fucking wet down here."

"Just stick to the script, and I promise I’ll go easy on you," she says, voice cold and calculated, as if her lip doesn’t wince every time you swirl the pads of your fingers over her mound.

Day by day, brick by brick, Sana’s broken you down to this. And now the smell of her hair in your nose, the taste of her lips filling your mouth, the feeling of that tender skin spreading between your fingers—you’re beyond fucked, she’s necessity.

You’ve sunk to your knees, and apparently the feeling is mutual; her hands pushing down on your shoulders as you go, impatient, greedy even. You start from her calf, down the length of a thigh, considering how it might bruise and mar, the taut pale skin a fresh canvas for your work. It’s a mistake, or you’re moving too slow, some transgression or another—isn’t it always? There’s a stifled groan off her lips, and she’s got her legs wrapping over your shoulders, heels clacking when she digs them into your back, pulling you into her. But you’ve earned it—you’re usually the one making demands, and it’s your turn to ignore them.

"What’s all this, hmm?" Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you away from the kisses, licks and nibbles you find all over the curve of her thigh, the places you’ve only buried and turned over in your thoughts for weeks. "You think you’re going to, like, make me fall in love with you or something? Get me so hot and bothered, I scream out, please, anything! I need you!" She gets her hand firm on your jaw, eyes smoldering something into yours like they’re stamping out a cigarette. "It’s actually kinda cute."

"Maybe. Then again, I’m not the one gushing through my underwear at the thought of getting fucked." Your fingers are hooking into her panties when you thoroughly catch the look on her face one last time—it’ll be worth remembering. You let yourself laugh through your words, "so I mean, I guess that’s up to you."

"Careful what you wish for." If she’s wagging a finger, you can’t see it, buried between Sana’s thighs. "Or I swear I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you."

"I’m kinda counting on it."

You’re talking about it like it’s casual, like this dereliction of duty has any other outcome than your ass on the curb or her name into scandalous obscurity. You catch it briefly, the eyebrow jumping and the haughty laugh out her nose; she really is pretty, even when she abandons that whole front, the delicate projection of sweet innocence and mild mischief. Who knows—maybe you prefer it now, all the more that the expression on her face is yours to pull apart.

Tightening her thighs on you, holding you firm, Sana cooperates only in so far as to help a pair of underwear roll down a leg and onto her ankle, and her pussy’s there, shimmering and glistening at you, an open invitation for your tongue—you’ll get around to it, but not until you’ve had your fill of everything else that’s been driving you nuts for weeks on end.

She swallows hard and snaps, "Why the hell are you teasing me?"

You’ve said it before, you’ll say it again, "boy Sana, you’re real mouthy today." A finger on her lips, brushing the surface of her aching entrance again, and she pulls a short tight breath past her teeth. "Aren’t you?"

"Then maybe you can stop fucking around and just get to—"

It doesn’t matter what she was going to say. It gets all caught and stuck in her throat on the way up so bad that you know it wasn’t important. The more pressing matter, your tongue against her clit, is about how the muscles in her stomach jerk and spasm about. That touch, it’s like it electrifies her. The lilting groan however—the one she fails to choke back—that’s from your finger you reckon, pushing its way inside her. You add another one for good measure. She can take it. She’ll take more.

"Shit," Sana mumbles, sucking on her lip, and then before a tiny punched-out breath punctuates the thought, she releases it, letting her mouth hang open when you find her swollen nub in yours, sucking and teasing without too much consideration. The shoe’s on the other foot: each brush of your fingers against her, where you’ve found her, and she shakes, hips jolting around you. Given that you’ve been laboring without any useful results to lead, direct, govern this girl for weeks, you’re chuckling out your nose that it’s now, like this, that she finally becomes anything close to compliant.

Whatever clutter’s still left on your desk rattles. Sana’s leaning back into it now, elbows propping up her small torso, and she steadies herself, failing against your tongue, your lips, especially your fingers. Her cheeks flood with this brilliant shade of pink, and she’s inching off the desk trying to force as much of herself into your mouth where you find her so wet you can feel her dripping down her chin. Even though you’ve never been the type, you can’t help yourself—licking around her quivering lips, around where she clearly needs you, you find yourself teasing, "What do you know Sana? I think I’ve lost my place in the script—you always cum this fast or…"

She shoots you a glare despite the blush staining her cheeks, but when her mouth opens to voice a complaint, you’ve got her mewling again—a cruel pace set into your fingers, creating this absolute mess between her thighs. Her palms slap the table, and she’s breathing in fits and starts, something akin to anticipation. She’s close and she knows it. In fact, you know it too, considering she’s so soaked her taste lingers long in your mouth when you stand yourself up, fingers still buried in her cunt.

"Ohhh… that’s it, right there, fucking hell," she whines, and the ends of her words are soaked in these rasping moans. "I can’t—fuck!"

"Sana," you start, and she’s dodging your eyes, ashamed at the twist on her face, the way her brows knit all at that squelching pleasure between her legs. It seems her pride may still have its limits.

"I’m gonna—" Her expression freezes, and that’s when you think you have her, but she keeps going. For a while. There’s only that loud, messy noise on your fingers in the shallow heat of her pussy until she decides she’s going to collapse into it all. Her eyes shut, and you watch as Sana realizes the bound of her voice to be no more than a hushed whisper, each utterance filling with these needy gasping breaths that rack her whole body, "I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna—"

Her hips buck and jump, dragging herself along the shape of your fingers and she swallows down a husked moan. And then another. Until finally, she’s crying out.

"Fu—ah! I’m cumming!" Sana manages, and only now you’re believing her, the words on the verge of tears. "I’m cumming - I’m cumming—"

Mouth agape, some silent curse or another, she locks up. It’s a whole look—you tuck it away somewhere, the score still horrifically in her favor, but at least you’re finally on the board. "There you go," you whisper, knowing your assurances make it all the more embarrassing, "That’s a good girl Sana; just keep cumming for me."

It’s the smoldering heat quivering on your fingers, the first words of praise out of your mouth in god knows how long, those office supplies still falling to the floor as you suspend her in anguished pleasure—it undoes her. You’ve never seen her like this. Your fingers gliding through the mess of her aching cunt, you have to see more.

"Fuck—" she huffs.

You can nearly see the bright red flush on her cheeks peek out through the hands she’d thrown up to cover her face.

"—you," she finishes, and it’s a little more on brand.

When you reach down to pull her hands away, to kiss her, there’s no resistance—she’s putty, malleable, whatever you need her to be. She squirms when you pull your fingers out from inside her, sloppy and messy with her own cum, but you’re more shocked at how easily she lets you put them in her mouth. That’s a development. And you’re not going to be shy to say it. It’s fucking hot.

"Sana…" your voice trails as she hums on your fingers, her tongue gently finding the space between them. Her cheeks still burning, the way she sucks and licks her taste off you has you stuck daydreaming how it will look, how it will feel when it’s your cock between her perfect lips.

A light knock lands on the door to your office. Twice. And when that second knock does arrive, it has your stomach jumping into your chest. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll have to keep imagining.

"One second!" you shout out, realizing now you’ve never once had the blinds drawn or the door locked. It’s not a great look; hopefully you’re overthinking it. You pull your shirt off the floor and prance toward the door.

Sana sits herself up, brings her dress back down around her thighs and plops herself right back down on the sofa where you found her. Steadying her breath and watching you quietly spread apart the blinds with your fingers, she wipes a lash from her eye, asking, "Who is it?"

"Dahyun." You rise on the toes of your shoes to get a better look. The black hair pulled back into a ponytail and those wide lenses sitting across the bridge of her nose more than clue you in. "I think."

"What does she want?"

"Hell if I know."

"Well, let her in."

The last button on your shirt comes together and you’re opening the door—slowly. "Yeah?"

"Hey. Sana here?" Dahyun asks as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary. She sticks her head into the opening further until she’s half in your office, half out. Innocently unaware of the scene she’d just interrupted, her lips snap to this toothy grin and it becomes a pitiful reminder of the countless days you toiled to get where you are—responsible, respected, time specifically not spent fucking Sana with your fingers.

"Oh hey hello," Sana nearly sings, and her voice is no where near rasped like it just was. It’s a little incredible honestly how she springs back, elastic. Still preening her hair back into something close enough to perfection, she asks, "What can I do for ya?"

Dahyun scans you head to toe, taking a full confident step into your office as you open the door further. She lifts a disapproving eyebrow. "Wow. You look awful by the way."

You let out this heavy, labored sigh. "Yeah, well, the rain, and the—"

"He’s had a rough go at today," says Sana, filling in the rest with only what’s prudent.

Dahyun looks at Sana, then back to you and smiles with half her mouth. "Well, maybe you need it too—Nayeon’s got a tab open at the place on the corner opposite the station. The one with the weird windows. Told me to tell you."

"Sounds fun." The words come out of both Sana’s mouth and yours in this strange tandem. It sounds suspicious because it is; you’ve never once been in accord on anything.

"Yeah. Well. See you there or something, I guess." The door closes behind Dahyun and it takes a moment for the sound of your heartbeat to leave your ears.

"You mind handing me those?" Sana points to your desk, and your stomach drops when you see them: her wadded underwear sitting right in the middle of it all. "I kinda need ‘em."

You’re blocking it all out in your head, assessing the damage before you find yourself willfully distracted. It’s a spectacle even in reverse, Sana’s legs stretching out as she rolls the black lace back up her thighs.

"Thanks," she says, standing up and tossing those long copper locks of hair behind her shoulders. It could be a few things that earned you that gratitude, so you’re answering for all of them, "Yeah, no problem."

You’ve got your jacket back on, pulling your office back together into something orderly when you decide you’re going to try and repair more than just the room. "Look. Sana."

Her head tilts and a curtain of hair spills over her shoulder. She’s waiting on your words.

"I don’t care what you do—just do me a favor. Try to behave yourself. For your sake. All of that just now," you say, and your tongue clicks while you stew in discomfort. "Look. That was a mistake—"

"Oh?" Her voice pitches, and you’re left staring. It’s not long before she realizes you haven’t much of anything else to add, amused at the half words and sounds forming on your lips.

"I’ll tell you what we’re going to do." Sana wedges herself between you and the door, hands tucked behind her back, and her chin cocks up again. "You’re going to go home. You’re going to shower, get some decent clothes, and you’ll be at that bar."

Your lips tighten and your eyes narrow, a glance at the small wet stain lingering on your office’s sofa. "For what Sana?"

She laughs, really just a lovely sound—you shouldn’t be dwelling on it. You shouldn’t have already dwelled on it, but you abandoned prudence some time ago. Holding your eyes with hers, she lets her lip go from between her teeth and in a few simple words, she reminds you that you’ve really stepped in it.

"Cause - we’re - not - done." Another smile, and the dusty browns and grays in her eyes are as deep as ever. "I better see you at seven."

So, you’re sitting, sipping on something strong because it’s more than what you need when you notice there’s this line dividing the table, staff on one side, the usual suspects on the other. And you’re in the booth as well, disappointed there wasn’t some sort of larger crowd—something you might slip away into.

There are a few changes in seating when someone gets up to get more drinks or use the restroom or something like that. And it’s at the bottom of a rum and coke when Sana’s found the spot next to you, ever so slightly hanging on your shoulder—just absent enough that she might blame the alcohol, lean into it, play it up; present enough that it’s all you can think about.

"Hey," she says, once softly into your ear, and it’s overflowing with more suggestion than might ever fit into a single syllable. It registers; something clicks; you’ll play. Your gaze shifts around the table and back to where the neckline of her dress dips before it finds her.

"Hey." You’ve got it casual. At that, she smiles.

You’ll say something, and it’s got her laughing. Sana’s eyes are bright, cheery, and even though the lights are dimmed, you swear you’ve seen nothing prettier. Her head is on your shoulder and she tucks the corner of her lip between her teeth when you make her laugh again. She listens well. She speaks even better—clever, sharp-tongued, sharp-witted—making it look effortless. It’s magnetic. Hell, you don’t even notice her reeling you in, capturing you, cursing you. Perhaps it’s like this, outside of all that about rules and protocol—where she’s poised, presentable and balancing herself on the razor’s edge of this perfect image everyone’s come to expect from her—who couldn’t fall for her if just a little?

"I bet you’re still thinking about it," she whispers when she’s sure no one else is listening. "How your cock will stretch me. How you’ll use me."

Catching yourself, it is just a little you fall; god knows you’ve fallen further. There’s plenty of reason to take a pause, a breather, resume your worry—but you’re fixed on the lines of her face, serene and perfectly uncomplicated in the dim light, her expression full of simple joy. Though you trust her as far as that smile stretches across her lips, you’re watching closely as they part again.

"Let me tell you what I think…" Her hands land in your lap, asking questions whose answers might only be found where your cock struggles beneath the fabric of your pants. You’re sure someone’s bound to notice how close she is, hanging, clinging, wrapping herself around you. It’s like she wants to be caught—but fate isn’t so kind; a disaster it is that no one does. The stroke of fortune only ignites the hushed breath landing in your ear, "why don’t we, like, go find somewhere quiet?"

She’s duplicitous, destructive, deadly—spins lies for the sheer thrill of it, you’ve decided—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But you’re leaning into it too, you’re allowing it, you’re letting her—you’ll be damned if you aren’t just one of the herd.

It started when Sana dragged you by the wrist across the length of the bar and leaned into your ear. She first asked about someplace more private, then she suggested the ladies’ room, then you scoffed about what a terrible idea it was and then she said I promise I won’t be too loud and you felt your entire body shift.

It’s rare for you to make mistakes, to slip up like this—especially like this—but then there Sana is, her back against the door of one of the stalls, chin up, the swell of her lip caught cruelly between her teeth, and eyes shut tight as you push your fingers deeper inside her. It’s not like you, you repeat for the last time in your head, airing out the loose thought somewhere to dry when you notice the dull burn of something like adrenaline, the throbbing pulse in your tongue, your throat, the tips of your fingers—both those holding Sana tight at her waist, and the ones that keep coaxing these little whimpering hums out of her chest every time you curl them inside her. Your voice is coarse, and your tongue sticks to the rough of your mouth when you mutter her name; a betrayal apparently—those half-lidded eyes catch yours, and her lips slant like they know it just as well as you: you had plenty more mistakes to make.

"It’s kinda fucked up, you know that?" Sana sputters as though you need the reminder. "Like we went weeks, and what, your biggest fear that I’d end up somewhere like this? getting fucked?"

"I mean, if you’d rather I’d leave," you suggest, pushing her hard enough into the stall that the whole assembly shakes and rattles, "maybe you could help me remember all that a little more—"

"Don’t." It comes out more severe than you’d expect from this girl creaming the lining of her underwear at your fingers gliding between her aching lips. You catch the look in her eye and it’s so badly betrayed by the shortness in her breath, the blush searing against her cheeks—you do the math; find it all adds up to need and lust and whatever else could’ve dragged you both into this stall.

"Yeah?" you ask, reveling once in these few opportunities you get to be the one looking smug and smirking at her. "And why not?"

Sana releases her fingers from around your cock, her hand sliding up from inside your pants and snapping at the front of your shirt. "Because you owe me."

Before you can say anything, she pulls you into her, lips hard against yours. It hadn’t been long since she’d kissed you in your office—those few hours now feeling like ages ago. And even though you noticed it, beyond the way she licks your lips, bites them, pulls you into her and sends these tiny quiet moans into your mouth, you couldn’t quite put it into words then.

See, you’ve kissed your fair share of girls who’d done nothing less than a good job, but never before had they given it their whole attention, their whole being. There was always something on their mind, some idle thought or distraction: what time the last train left the platform, what day of their cycle it was, doubting their own technique, too much tongue, not enough tongue, if it’s too forward to grab that hand on their breast by the wrist and shove it between their thighs—Sana is none of that. Even while the fingers you shove up her cunt are drawing out all these gasps and hiccups, and ignoring the fact that between her legs is precisely where she needs you, she’s on you with this intensity that never once seems to let you out of its focus.

But no, to be clear, she’s not perfect—the wide pad of your thumb on her clit more than reminds you both of that. Her lips smack as she pulls herself off you, those cute brows knit like she’s about to sneeze.

"Oh, fuck!" She throws her head back and it sends all this silky hair flying.

With a fistful of her dress, her ass, you pull her against you. Her cheeks are so red and her pussy so unbelievably wet that you’re blinking in awe, in admiration—Sana’s features twisting into this masterpiece, this look of pure delight. Her voice gets strangled into something more hoarse, something debauched, and she’s punching out these tiny nods as you fuck her with your fingers, circling your thumb around her clit.

"That feels so fucking good. I—please sir," says Sana, and she’s leaning in like she knows you. Maybe she really does. "Make me fucking cum on your fingers, please, sir. I need it."

You hear it; something short of understanding it. Tuck it away like it’s a clerical error or some trifling hiccup—fuck if that’s the Sana you know—but the way she’s got it repeating in your ear makes it click. It’s familiar, and fucked up, that musing again, except now it’s all turned on its head, about authority, about subordination: she needs your hand stern like she needs your cock hard—she gets off on it, you figure. It’s ridiculous and it’s so out of line and it’s so like nothing you’ve ever done and you can’t believe it’s in this restroom of all places and it’s so fucking hot and you’re living on borrowed time, leaning into it—

"Go ahead, beg for it Sana"—like, really leaning into it—"I need to hear you say it."

"I can’t - fucking believe - just don’t stop, okay? Please sir, right there - right there - right there…" Sana is whimpering and mewling through it all as you match and mirror that grind she makes against your fingers. Frustrated, fucked, she’s giving up on your pants, which to her credit, there was a bit more complication to a button and a zipper than simply hiking up her dress around her hips, but still, it’s fascinating to watch her come apart. Her arms fall limp and she’s finding a place to rest them over your shoulders, mumbling, murmuring, repeating, "Please sir, I’m so close…"

"Sana." You’ve got your lips against her ear and it all but kills her; she whimpers and whines as she sinks her weight onto you, the heat of her own name on your breath, the way you say it, pushing her so far onto that edge.

"Put it in - please, please, please, I need it," Sana’s bleating only compounds when you pull your fingers from her cunt, looking at you like you’ve committed something heinous—which isn’t entirely off. Her voice squeals and trails again when you drag your palm across her clit, up across her stomach, "I’ll do anything, just give me your cock, and I’ll do anything, anything, please sir, I promise - I promise."

Sana can’t even keep her own voice down, those needy moans splashing over all that tile around you and probably leaking out the door and into the hall. She’s in no position to bargain or plea, but as you pull her together enough in your hands, wrap the swell of her thigh around you and press your body against hers, she’s not the only one making promises she doesn’t intend to keep. "Don’t worry Sana. I’ll take good care of you." Your voice is drier than expected, but it’s more than up to the task. "I’ll put this cock in you - and I’ll be nice and gentle; I’ll let you cum, now just be good for me, and I promise I’ll fuck you right."

The sound of your zipper makes this echo—loud, uncompromising, unholy as if it were somehow the most debauched thing pouring out from where you and Sana had committed to turning the restroom into this whole menagerie of lustful noises. You pull her soaked panties to the side and her voice floods with desperation. "Please—"

Sana whines, shuddering when the tip of your cock parts the swelling lips around her wet, needy entrance. Search for it, find it, and you’re groaning too—there’s no more hesitation the moment you slip your cock inside her.

"I can’t - you’re so fucking - fuck!" Sana swallows down these flailing gasps of air like she’d been held underwater, struggling spectacularly to bite back this broken moan. The lithe frame in your arms is teetering on the single heel still on the ground, relying on you, your chest, and your hips to keep her pinned to the stall. You’re holding her fragile world together; draw your hips back; drive into her again; you’ll tear it all apart.

Your teeth are gritting and your jaw clenched because she is so unbelievably tight, even all creamed and wet for you—but still, your focus is honed on her voice, keen to her movements, tuned to the way she writhes in your arms. Beyond the small tears filling out in her deep brown eyes, the lines of her face wincing and quivering, her eyelashes fluttering as your hips slam up into hers again, you’re acutely aware of the machinery in her head, of something deep inside her thoughts hitching, changing tracks, going with it; because this wasn’t what she’d expected: this was so much more than she’d expected.

"That’s it," you say, jamming it into that moist breath you push out of your chest, "just feel how you’re stretching around me, Sana, you fucking need this. I promise - you’re going to cum on this cock - and I promise - you’ll do it again."

"F-fuck," Sana rasps through it, her new favorite word. Your fingers dig into her ass and she’s biting down hard on its harsh final consonants, hiccuping, stuttering in the spaces your hips force between her mewls and cries. She swallows down at her indecency, scrambling for composure. "It’s so - I need you please - please, I need you to fuck me! - just use me."

And so there you are, raising the stakes. Each thrust into the smoldering heat deep in her pussy finds you harsher, stronger, the pauses between your thrusts approaching nothing; far more than Sana can hope to recover. You gasp, shocked at how she manages to fit you, her tightness working against you just shy of allowing you to ruin her. "Sana," you start, and her own name becomes music to her ears, how it sounds deep and gravelly on your panting breath, "fuck yes, Sana, that’s a good girl - your pussy feels incredible."

It’s your voice, it’s the small affirmations, it’s the way your cock swells and stiffens when she swings her leg open, the angle, the depth, the pressure making her incoherent and cry out like the fucked mess she is—for weeks now she’d been your foil, the thorn pricking sharp into your side, and here you are, driving your cock deep into her aching cunt, nothing less than her salvation.

"I can’t," she whispers, face falling into your shoulder and her teeth biting into your neck, leaving marks like you both don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. "I can’t keep - you feel so good, you’re going to make me cum - you’re gonna make me fucking cum."

She’s slipping, falling apart in your arms, breaking at the seams. The delicate application of mascara around her eyes is ever-so-slightly starting to run, and you feel her leg begin to wobble and buckle under her weight as it sits helplessly on the sharp point of that single heel. You struggle to scoop her up, finding the soft curves of her thighs over your forearms.

"Do it Sana," you sputter from between gritted teeth, and your hips crash again into Sana’s body, held pitifully between you and the stall’s indifferent wooden frame. "Cum all over this cock - cum for me."

Sana’s so close to the edge, so wet, so needy, that even craning her neck and seizing your lips is some exaggerated and laborious effort. But it’s the only way she can channel all that raw pleasure, that emotion searing its way from her cunt and shooting up the length of her spine, so she gets there, even if you have to meet her halfway. Her voice hums and cracks inside yours, and you can count the last thoughts of her waning composure in her tongue, in those tears gently wetting your cheeks, at the heart beating wild in her chest, all in those legs wrapping desperately behind you, pulling you deeper into her, yearning to find how much of that lust dripping between her legs you can fill.

"I’m cumming, I’m so close to cumming," she moans into your mouth, and there’s no question that she is—the quivers her cunt makes around your cock every time you bury yourself inside her heat—the way she clenches onto the emptiness that torments her when you drag your hips away from her again.

A final inhibition, that what if, the final shred of concern that someone could walk into this impromptu love nest and undo her career—entirely obliterate yours—in so little as the flash of a camera—it vanishes, like a candle snuffed out, first in her head, and then in yours. You smash your hips into the backs of her reddening thighs again, thrusting deep between them and you’re left only thinking of Sana, of her husked voice in your ears, of her ass spilling out between your fingers, of the torrid heat of her cunt—how she invites you, pulls you in, how she begs to be ruined.

"Oh my god." You can hear the wet breath that she draws fast into her chest scrape against her upper teeth. "Oh. God."

When Sana cums, she holds nothing back. And she cums hard—muscles tense, her chest holds onto one final breath, and she digs her fingernails into the backs of your shoulders without even a shred of consideration for the poor skin beneath them. Those short staccato breaths that filled your mouth become long, gasping wails that sit just aside your ear as Sana holds tight around your body, hips shaking and bucking between you and the wood behind her.

"Fucking hell, Sana." And your head is cocked, gaze pointing into the ceiling. "You’re so wet and tight - you’re cumming like you’ve never been touched once - I can’t fucking believe it."

"Y-you-you-you," she stutters, and you’re listening to the bolts and screws holding the stall door together start to grumble and complain. They’re not built for this kind of treatment, not meant to be pounded and punished beyond their breakpoints. Sana on the other hand—she falters, threads coming loose and cracking and falling apart—it only makes her more subdued, more fuckable, more perfect.

"I’m—" You toss your hands beneath her, readjusting your grip, and your lips are resting on her ear. "I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to fucking use you."

She’s nodding into your shoulder, and it’s got her babbling and whimpering like she needs it even more than you. "Do it," she whispers, the first coherent thing out her mouth that wasn’t god, fuck or you in quite some time. "Do it, fill me up, please sir, cum inside my pussy—"

Knees locking and muscles burning, your fingers squeeze into her soft ass. They pull her to you, burying your cock deep into Sana’s cunt. "Fuck - Sana."

In that warmth, in the slopped mess of that fucked, used hole, you cum.

Sana coos when she feels that first rope of cum fill and pool inside her. She’s got her mouth gaping at the second and the third, and she keeps pleading like at this point you’ve got any choice in the matter, "Please sir - fuck all that cum into me - I need it - please."

Your eyes are shut tight, and your orgasm has you counting the stars in your eyelids, all of that tinnitus of blood rushing between your ears. Call it impropriety, unprofessional—you’re not arguing with any of that; it’s beyond logic; you’re just like the girl in your arms: ruined, fucked.

There’s all this mess between your hips, stains at the hem of Sana’s dress, and you’re still thrusting, slowed and deliberate now, and you’re reeling as you unload everything inside Sana. Your lips part, though nothing really comes out, just a long groan, and soon you’re laughing, returning back into reality—which at this point, it’s just the restroom, and it smells so badly of sex, beyond the harsh odor of cleaning agents. It’s bad, it’s that obvious.

One final shared groan—your voices trembling in unison on two wildly different sounds—fills the restroom when your cock slips out from between Sana’s wet, swollen lips.

"Jesus." Sana slides from your grip, lands on her feet, and barely finds her balance on her heels, knees bowed and wobbling as she straightens herself out. She wipes a few stray tears from her eyes and pulls her dress back down her thighs to somewhere slightly more modest, always a familiar challenge. "That was something."

You sink backward into the stall’s firm embrace, clearing your voice a few times. "Yeah," you start, and you realize you need more time to pant and huff your way back to anything presentable. "Okay. Five minutes. Walk out of here no sooner than five minutes after me."

"What?" Sana asks, and she crosses her legs, leaning back and sliding down the stall wall a few inches. "Are you that afraid someone’s gonna find out you just had your dick in me?"

"I mean, sure, it’s one fear." It’s all the dominos you have lined up after that, how they might fall. "Believe me, the last thing I need is Nayeon and Dahyun getting suspicious and—"

"They can kick rocks," says Sana, raking her fingers through her hair until it sits on her shoulders more or less how it was before you’d gotten your hands in it, all tossed and ruffled. "Besides they’d just be jealous they’ve never been fucked like that in their short, sorry lives."

You lean forward, smirking. "Oh? Fucked like what?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." She says it like it insults her, but the breathy laugh she holds back gives her away. "You’re the one who’s always saying, it’s unbecoming to gloat."

"Well, it isn’t my job to be becoming now is it?"

"Hey," she says, uninterested in the banter, taking a step through all the back and forth, and she leans into you, close enough to where you can see all those small, dangerous details again.

A few of the hints now inches in front of you become pretty recognizable: those few strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her brow, the smudges of mascara around her eyes, the way her knees buckle just a little when she shifts her weight—if anything, the rosy flush in her cheeks could be explained away with whatever she was sipping on minutes ago. But the mess leaking down her thighs? That was going need to some extra attention, and maybe a few tissues.

"This is the ladies’ room." Her head tilts, and you watch her hair fall on her cheek again. "You should totally, like, get out of here."

"Yeah. That’s what I was saying."

"Seriously." Her eyes light up and her teeth worry the corner of her lip. "I might just start touching you again if you don’t."

You figure all that guilt and anxiety was going to be there waiting for you in the morning. So for now, there’s this strange calm you find in the sound of tires hitting wet pavement and the smell of fresh rain on the wind. Though the evening crowd had started to thin, a few people are still out—couples mostly, holding hands, sharing umbrellas to satisfy some romantic hankering or another; you’re pretty sure it had stopped raining a while ago.

"You called two cars?" Sana asks, finger on her chin, "What’s the fun in that?"

"None, probably."

"Well that’s…" her voice trails off and her eyes narrow alongside this mild grin, "How are you supposed to walk me to my front door, you know, stand there with your hands behind your back, wait for a kiss, and then hang around missing all these queues that you should leave—until I finally decide to let you up for coffee even though it’s late and it’s a little too soon to be letting you stay the night and we’ve got work in the morning and—

"I’m sure you’ll manage." You snuff out the thought before it can brew any further in your mind—the power of restraint coming to you now apparently. Timely.

"Well it’s not like you live that far from me," says Sana, running her thumb over her lips and looking at how that fresh application of lipstick bleeds onto it. To her credit, she’d spent some time touching up after you pulled yourself off her tight, well-fucked body and before you watched her appear on the sidewalk outside the bar. Her lips pull back into a smile, and she clicks her tongue against her teeth. "It’s, like, eco-friendly or something."

"Uh-huh."

"It’s good for the Earth. You gotta be pro-Earth. I mean, everyone’s pro-Earth."

A train arrives in the station, metal brakes screeching on the tracks, and you ball up both hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Since when do you know where I live?"

"Well, to be honest," she starts like she’s about to set some record straight and wipes a strand of loose hair out of her face, "I don’t. But Dahyun walked home from your place one time. And I doubt you’d ever make her walk far. Let’s not mince words here—you really spoiled her."

"For starters, I never had to delete homemade porn off her phone." Your eyes are pointed to the sky while you try to remember if that checks out. And it does. "If I was lenient,"—which you were—"I dunno, maybe she earned it."

"Huh." Her eyes glisten, staring straight into yours. "I had no idea you guys were sleeping together—"

"Sana," you say, catching her eyes again. "We weren’t." It’s not a lie or anything, but the words are choking you on the way up like it were. "We aren’t." You clear your throat again. "We haven’t."

"Man—you really need to relax." Sana lets herself enjoy this quiet laugh that you barely hear over the sound of passengers arriving and boarding."Like I dunno, hear me out: maybe we both get in the first car that shows up, and we take it to your place, and you throw me on the bed, maybe over the back of the sofa, I don’t care; wherever you think—"

"I’m going home in one car," you say, turning a cigarette lighter over in your hand. "And you in the other."

"We could have at least made out in the back of the cab."

With this disappointed look on her face, Sana folds her arms and finds a spot against the station’s bricks to lean into, a knee pushed forward and one foot against the wall. Her skirt rises and ruffles just enough for you to get yet another glimpse of the gentle curves of her thighs—not that you’re trying to look.

She lets her cheek fall into her shoulder, eyes pointed at you, and gets on with this judgmental tone. "You smoke?"

"Rarely." You’ve got your hand cupping the end of the flame as it flickers in the breeze, protecting those embers until they finally catch and glow red. You hide the lighter in your pocket, and your posture straightens out an extra inch or two when you add, "only if I have a good reason."

"Oh? Then tell me; what’s the occasion?" she asks, and she smiles at you like she knows you’re pretending not to notice how pretty she is. "Are we celebrating? That’s kinda cute—"

"Stressed. Anxious." You inhale deeply. Let this sharp plume of smoke out. Then you bend your neck side to side a few times. "That kind of thing."

Sana takes a hint. She places her hands behind her back, leaning and looking into the sky, where rain clouds had rolled and tumbled out to let you peer into this vastly black sky—no stars, no moon, just an unending dark blanket of night. Neither of you say much; it’s pillow talk without all the chatter perhaps, and it’s comforting in a sense, a warm silence that you can wrap yourself up in. When you turn your head toward Sana, she surprises you for the hundredth time, the expression on her face so innocent and soft—it’s hard not to let her fool you.

"This one’s all yours," you say, and you nod toward the cab pulling up on the curb, tapping ash from your cigarette onto the ground.

Sana’s got her hand on the door and one knee in the backseat of the taxi when her eyes find yours one last time. "You sure? Last chance."

"I’ll see you tomorrow," you say, watching Sana shake her head and let out this muted laugh. "Oh and Sana, let’s—how about we try and keep our jobs. Okay?"

She smiles. Even if just a little, you’re smiling too. "You got it sir."

#sana smut #twice smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #twice sana smut #sana minatozaki #twice sana #sana minatozaki smut

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tgmsunmontue · 2 months ago

Text

Season to Taste - 23/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO

HERE BE SMUT - very light D/s, switching, intercrural, great communication + lack of communication, edging, light praise kink, marking. Yeah. I think that's it.

CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

The soft-opening goes really well, better than he could have ever hoped. He’d invited all of the people who’d supported him of course, and the people he’s met over the years who have reached out and either come on as silent partners, or offered business advice or opinions on a whole range of different things. He’s had some of them come in and help refine the menu, knowing that some of these people are the ones who will get the name of his business out there, that will help ensure his success. Or his failure.

“Knew you before you were famous.”

“Yeah. Don’t forget the little people when you’re up upon high, hmm?”

“You think they’d let me get a big head?” Bradley asks with a laugh, looking over his shoulder at Leandro and Silvia, who are arguing over how the serviettes should be folded.

“True, there is a man who knows the value of keeping a level head and remaining humble.”

… … …

The rest of the week goes really well. He takes Leo out dancing, teaches him basic line dancing, which he’s terrible at but still seems to enjoy. Then Leo comes with him to babysit his nieces and nephew so Sandy and Daniel can have their date night. This way Jake can spend time with his nieces and nephew, and Leo offers to cook dinner. He doesn’t quite understand the look that Sandy and Daniel exchange when he turns up with Leo and says they’re going to cook dinner, but they still leave, muttering about better food at home and he supposes Leo could probably make them something just as good as they’ll get in the restaurant.

He still spends hours with his sisters, either helping on the farm, or visiting with his dad and helping him in his vegetable garden, his mom’s vacant look or confused frown not bothering him now that he’s had a good day with her. He calls his dad Chuck when she’s like this, so it doesn’t upset her that there’s a fully grown man walking around calling her husband dad. Leo makes him bring home tomatoes every day. Or rather, Maria foists tomatoes onto him and tells him to deliver them to Leo, that he’s ordered and paid for them and Jake can at least make himself useful. The house smells of nothing but cooking tomatoes, but it’s a smell that’s always reminded him of home and they’re not eating them so he considers that a win.

… … …

Bradley has been thinking about it, and it’s started consuming more and more of his thoughts the closer he gets to Sunday, when his flight home to New York is scheduled. He knows Jake is strong, knows he’s good in bed and generous and careful but… But. He needs to talk to him about some things, and maybe this conversation should have happened earlier, but they’ve been figuring things out as they go, not shy about what works for each of them in bed. However, they haven’t discussed anything more in-depth than basic preferences. Briefly. Sort of. Vaguely. And yet...

“You know what I really want?”

“Breakfast in bed?” Jake asks, eyebrow quirked and Bradley laughs, shakes his head, because he can understand why he might think that, however it is definitely not the case.

“No. It’s not food related at all.”

“Hmm. So must be sex related then… What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll feel it for days.”

“Jesus…”

“Not right now, just want you to think about it. Want you to hold me so tight you leave bruises on me… Sunday morning. Want to leave knowing I can see traces of you on me.”

“Fuck. Yeah. Okay. What else do you want from me baby?”

“You ever edged someone?”

“Ha,” Jake’s bark of laughter is loud. “No. Time’s always been of the essence. Never really gotten to take my time before…”

“Yeah, well… you can take you time with me. I want to have something to remember, that I can jerk off to while we’re apart. That I get hard thinking about it. Think you can make that happen for me?”

“I’ll die trying baby…”

… … …

Now that Leo has put the idea in his head he can’t think of anything else. He ends up pulling up a private browsing window on his phone and searching for tips and ideas, because holy shit does he want to make it good. Leo’s voice, saying those words, Jake wonders what phone calls with him are going to be like, whether Leo will talk to him like that, because he’d never seen the appeal of phone sex before, but now? Yeah, now he definitely sees the appeal. Probably a good thing considering it’ll probably be the only sex he’ll be having while he’s deployed, although it’s still likely going to be better than no sex at all, which he’s also lived through and it’s not bothered him before. These last ten days have spoiled him, and he has no regrets other than the fact he’s going to have to say goodbye too soon.

… … …

They’ve become very comfortable with each other over, and he knows it’s because they’re spending so much time together. Both in bed and out. Since he voiced what he wants he’s found Jake just watching him silently, speculatively; eyes dark with arousal so Bradley feels quietly confident it’s not turned him off at all. Jake’s asked a few questions, which he’s answered freely. There’s always excitement and pleasure getting to learn someone’s body, but if they’re going to do something a bit more, then they need to have very open and honest conversations. And yet there’s still one topic that hasn’t come up.

They’re in bed, early hours of Friday morning and he’s very firmly in denial about the fact that he can now count his departure in hours. Jake’s stubble rasps against the skin of his shoulder and he shifts, turns his head so he can press a soft kiss to the center of Jake’s forehead. A warm feeling uncurls within him, he squeezes Jake to him and Jake hugs back, the movement pulling Bradley a little more on top of him. Bradley’s thigh slides between Jake’s legs and the mood suddenly shifts, want twisting sharply in Bradley’s gut as he feels Jake start to harden against his hip. Underneath him Jake’s body goes from sleepy and relaxed to taut in a heartbeat, muscles of his stomach flexing under Bradley’s palm. Bradley tilts his head up again and all the softness is gone as Jake kisses him again. This kiss is hard and claiming, Jake’s hand winding tight in Bradley’s hair to hold him steady under the onslaught. Bradley gives back as good as he gets. Jake feels all sleep-warm and rumpled, and Bradley wants to ruin him. Jake tries to roll them, but Bradley braces his elbow and shoves him back down.

“Nuh uh,” Bradley says, lips breaking free of Jake’s for just a moment. “This time I’m going to take you apart.”

He can feel the moment of indecision, Jake’s body tense under his hands and then Jake suddenly relaxes, his whole body stretching out loose and pliant beneath him.

“Gorgeous, sweetheart,” Bradley murmurs. “You going to be good for me?” Jake’s breath catches, his eyes going dark and then he’s shifting, legs spreading a little wider. Bradley hums appreciatively, but also they haven’t talked, not about this… Fuck. Maybe he should put a halt to this and have the discussion right now. He doesn’t want Jake to agree to something just because Bradley wants it. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

Jake’s eyes are wide, green irises a thin band around the blown-wide depths of his pupils. He nods, licking his lips.

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Yes,” he adds, like maybe Bradley didn’t hear him the first time, of maybe somehow wouldn’t have taken him at his word.

Usually, Bradley prefers to bottom, when he can be bothered with penetrative sex. He needs a partner he likes and trusts, and one who also won’t disappoint him. Jake is all of that and more, and right now he wants to show his appreciation. However, Jake’s never made any indication of wanting more, wanting Bradley like that. But he’s not saying anything to the contrary right now. He doesn’t smirk, but he does feel a flare of smugness, tugs at the hem of Jake’s t-shirt and Jake shifts, stretches to lift his torso up off the bed just enough to let Bradley strip the shirt from him. The move shows his abs off to full advantage, and Bradley feels his mouth flood with saliva, desperate to taste and Jake’s now looking smug, like he knows what Bradley is thinking. Asshole. He bends to capture Jake’s mouth with his own, lets his cock press down into Jake’s.

“Leo,” Jake gasps, and the press of his hips upward is clear. “Please.”

Okay then. That’s definitely something. Bradley smooths his hands, down Jake’s shoulders, brushing over Jake’s hard nipples, the ridges of his ribs, the defined cut of his lower abdominal muscles. He doesn’t stop until his hands are firmly clasping Jake’s hips, thumbs framing the bulge of his cock where it’s trapped beneath the soft fabric of his underwear.

“Patience sweetheart…” He moves just his thumbs, a firm slide up the base of Jake’s cock through the fabric, just an inch or two up and then back down. “I think it’s my turn.” He meets Jake’s eyes, making sure he has his full attention before continuing. “How does that sound to you?” He sees Jake get it, understand that Bradley will stop in a heartbeat if it’s not what Jake wants. Even though the flush on Jake’s cheeks deepens, he clears his throat and forces the words out.

“Good,” he says. “Fuck, Leo that sounds so good, please.”

Bradley smiles, gives Jake’s cock a firm stroke of his hand, feels his cock jerk through the soft fabric, pressing into his palm as Jake groans.

“I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” His own voice rough with arousal. “Now what do you think I should do?” He goes back to teasing Jake through the soft fabric, cupping and rolling his balls, brushing his thumbs up the shaft, watching idly as Jake’s cock twitches, a damp spot growing where the tip of his cock is leaking steadily; thumbs the head of Jake’s cock where the fabric is damp and clinging. He can feel Jake struggling to stay still beneath him, trying not to buck up into the light touch.

“I could finger you,” Bradley suggests, and he’s really fishing, wants to get a real reaction from Jake. He runs the tip of his index finger down behind Jake’s balls, presses lightly against his hole through the fabric. Jake’s breathing is unsteady, a little hiccupping whine escaping his throat and Bradley presses more firmly. “Or I could blow you?”

“Or maybe I could do all of that,” Bradley muses, running his fingers feather light to trace the outline of Jake’s cock again, rock-hard in sharp contrast to the soft fabric. “And then I could fuck you,” he adds, voice quiet. The words seem to hit him like a lightening strike, entire body jerking upwards, pressing into Bradley’s touch.

“Jesus fuck,” he whines. “Leo, please. Yeah. That.”

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” He edges the waistband downward, little bit at a time, is going to have to actually shift given he’s in between his thighs. He kisses Jake again, quick and hard. “You want my mouth, my fingers, and my cock? Are you hungry for all that sweetheart?” His hand grasping Jake’s bare cock, making him jolt again with a strangled moan.

“Jake… I told you what I wanted. Can you tell me what you want?”

“You. I want you.��

“You got me sweetheart… Jake. Just…” he pauses, something squirming uncomfortably in his gut. “You’ve done this before right?”

“Yeah…” Jake says, but his head is thrown back, arm covering his face and the expression on the part of his face Bradley can see is no longer the happy blissed out one he’d been working on. “Once.”

“Oh.” Shit. They really should have had this conversation earlier, and it’s not like he’d maybe expected that it might be the case, and it’s fine. Some people just don’t like it, it’s never been a deal breaker and won’t be now.

“Yeah. Wasn’t… great.”

“We don’t have to.”

“No. I want to. It’s just… I trust you.”

“Good. I’m glad you do… I trust you too. But –”

“But nothing. Come on, show me a good time…”

Bradley rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but also he knows enough about Jake to know once he’s got an idea stuck in his head he’s not going to let go come hell or high water.

“Yeah. No pressure.”

“You always seem to rise to the challenge…”

For a second he thinks Jake is making a reference to one of his cooking shows, but there’s no other indication and he realizes Jake is probably making some other type of innuendo and he leans down and kisses him, shifts so he can pull Jake’s underwear off, pushes himself off the edge of the bed which makes a mess of the sheets and blankets but he throws the underwear to the side, presses a kiss to each of Jake’s ankles and just lets himself stare up the entire length of his body. He’s got weird tan lines all over the place from days spent in the sun, but he’s got firm muscles that Bradley is already familiar with. Jake has pushed up on his elbows a little to watch, and Bradley just maintains eye contact as he works his way up his legs, switching between one and then the other.

“So gorgeous sweetheart, you going to give me a little more room to work?”

He runs his hands over the exposed skin, enjoys the scrape of Jake’s leg hair against the palm of his hands. Finally he reaches Jake’s inner thighs, leans forward and licks the smear of wetness from the tip. Jake’s legs are trembling underneath his hands as he leans in again, sucking the head of Jake’s cock into his mouth fully. He hears Jake’s shuddering groan, and it makes him smile around Jake’s cock as he sucks it in deeper. It’s definitely not the first blowjob he's given Jake, but it is the first with the clear intention that it’s leading to more. Probably anyway. He takes his time, isn’t intending to tease Jake at all, but he does want him relaxed rather than tense and nervous. Another time he’d get him off and then work him back up again, but it’s not the time or place.

So he takes his time, already knows how much Jake likes the occasional scrape of his teeth, or the lapping of his tongue just under the crown. He’s being deliberately inconsistent, making sure it won’t get Jake off. Jake shudders but doesn’t ask for Bradley to go any faster. Finally Bradley pulls away. He reaches into the bedside drawer, pulling out the lube. He slicks his fingers, aware of Jake’s eyes on him the whole time and he wonders if he needs to check in. He opens his mouth but Jake is nodding, cheeks pink with arousal and maybe a little embarrassment and Bradley nods back.

“Nice and slow okay?”

“Yes, hurry up already…”

He’d make a quip about patience, that nice and slow and hurry up are counter intuitive, however he’s pretty sure Jake is deflecting his nerves by expressing impatience. He sinks one finger to the base, feels how hot and tight Jake is inside and groans. Shifts so he can wrap a hand around the base of his own cock, squeezing tight until he calms down a little. He opens his eyes, surprised to find that he closed them, to see Jake watching him, mouth open and lips trembling. He sucks in a shuddering breath, pumping his finger in and out a few times, feeling Jake’s body twitch around it for a few seconds before relaxing.

“You feel so good Jake,” he breathes, slips a second finger in, watches Jakes face but feels him relax and just give way to the extra width of the second finger.

“Fuck...Leo.” Jake’s hips are moving restlessly, unable to stay still.

“Fuck, but you’re gorgeous,” Bradley says breathlessly. “Another one okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake says before the words are even finished. “C’mon, Leo. More.”

Bradley adds more lube, pushes back in with three fingers, has to close his eyes against the sight, worried he’ll come before he even gets inside at the way Jake looks opening up around his fingers. The angle is different, but he knows he’s got it just right when Jake keens, clenching down tight around his fingers as if to hold him right where he is.

“Jake? Is that good, sweetheart?” Bradley asks anyway, pumping his fingers slowly but making sure that he hits the same spot every time.

“Fuck, you know it is,” Jake breathes. “C’mon, Leo, I’m ready, I’m so ready. Fuck me. Come on…”

“Yeah. Yeah okay…” Bradley breathes. He pulls his fingers out. His hands are shaking a little as he wipes them and reaches for a condom. He’s been hard so long his cock feels sore as he rolls the condom down and slicks it with lube. Then he’s pushing in in in, feeling Jake’s legs tighten around his waist, his back arching and his breath stuttering into gasps. He starts slow, gentle undulations of his hips which Jake presses back into slowly to start with and then, as he slowly increases his pace he’s met with Jake’s enthusiastic response.

Jake feels good, hot and tight, and he knows he’s saying as much, muttering under his breath as he settles into a brutal pace, Jake’s nails scratching across his back and sides. He’s trying to keep his weight off him, but with every thrust forward he feels Jake’s cock sliding hard and wet between them. The scent of Jake surrounds him, clean sweat and the smell of Bradley’s bodywash, a peppermint-rosemary-green-tea blend which he inhales from Jake’s neck, knowing he’s going to forever associate the smell now with this moment.

“Leo… Leo Leo Leo,” Jake is panting, in between punched-out little noises every time Bradley shoves in deep, “Fuck, think I’m close.”

“Yeah.” Bradley can feel his own orgasm gathering, twisting tight, from the base of his spine to where he’s buried inside Jake as deep as he can go. “Touch yourself, sweetheart. Come on Jake… come for me.” He feels him shift as Jake wraps a hand around his own cock, fingers sliding up and down as the tip peeks out of the grasp of his fingers. It’s too hot, too fucking pretty, and Bradley feels his strokes go erratic, desperate, as the pleasure twists tighter and tighter, his balls drawing up, sweat prickling all over. Just when he thinks he can’t hold out any longer Jake moans, his whole body tightening up and then shaking as his cock spurts, spilling over his chest and belly.

“Don’t stop,” Jake pants, and Bradley realizes that his pace has faltered. He drives into Jake again, strong and steady, presses his forehead to Jake’s collarbone and lets go, feeling the pleasure rush up from his toes to his spine, pressing in deeper as the wave crests. Jake is still shuddering in a way that milks Bradley’s cock, drawing out his orgasm until he’s dizzy with it, his own body shaking. The wave rushes over him and he’s left boneless, limbs heavy and languorous as he pants against Jake’s neck.

“Jesus…” Jake breathes and Bradley can’t help feeling smug and also so fucking relieved, because this was a bit of a gamble in and of itself. He captures Jake’s mouth in a kiss, bites his bottom lip a bit harder than probably necessary as he pulls himself out slowly, places softer kisses in apology and then rolls to the side and lets out a long breath. Jake seems a little dazed, one of his hands reaching out to scrabble at him, reaches and holds his hand with a death grip like he needs an anchor. He removes the condom one-handed and drops it to the floor before he snuggles back in, pressing up all over and placing little kisses wherever he can reach with his mouth and feels Jake sag and relax against him.

“Huh.”

“Hmm?” Bradley murmurs, happy to lie there and hold him, although shower and food are going to be needed soon enough.

“Thank you…”

“For what?” Bradley asks, amused.

“Uh. That.”

Bradley huffs in amusement, because that is probably why they haven’t talked about it, Jake’s inability to say it and his very good deflection techniques whenever Bradley tried.

“Rocking your world? Mmm. You’re welcome. It was definitely a huge hardship for me.”

“God you’re a dick…”

“Yep. Sometimes.”

“Hmm. You going to feed me now?”

“Shower first. Come on.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

… … …

Leo comes with him early to help with the market, clearly not wanting to spend more time apart than they have to, now that they’re in their last full day together. He has plans for today; he’s done a lot of reading, Leo has shared links and he’s read up like he’s studying for an exam. He guesses he sort of is, a practical one. Not one he thinks he’s going to struggle with passing. He insists they go out for dinner so there’s no washing up to do, and then they go dancing. Leo is marginally better at line dancing than last week, but he’s still not great. Jake still doesn’t care. He has fun, and Nicola is there to dance with properly. The two of them put on a show while Leo watches appreciatively, lips around the mouth of his beer bottle suggestive and Jake can’t help the thrill of knowing he’s going home with him.

He doesn’t mean to, but it strikes him suddenly as he comes, Leo’s hand wrapped around his cock, lips on his neck and he can’t believe he just got a handjob in his truck like a fucking teenager. But the fact that Leo hadn’t been able to keep his hands off him had been heady, and he’s very glad for over half the lamps being broken, knowing that they haven’t been seen. Probably. Leo is working his own pants open and Jake reaches over, stilling his hands.

“Oh no baby, you don’t get to come…”

“What?” Leo asks, but his hands have stopped and Jake swallows.

“Mmm. Starting now… no orgasms for you.”

“Jake…”

God he loves the sound of his name in Leo’s mouth, breathy and whiney and a little bit pained. He wipes his come covered hand on Leo’s shirt, smirks at the annoyed expression and hopes that maybe he’ll leave his dirty washing with Jake. He wouldn’t mind wearing his clothes.

“You came this afternoon when we had a little afternoon nap. It’s not even going to be twenty-four hours. You’ll be fine…”

The little whimper that Leo makes has his cock throbbing unexpectedly, and he hadn’t thought he’d get this into it, but Leo is rubbing his crotch and groaning, head hitting the headrest of the passenger seat and Jake sucks in a breath.

“Uh uh, no more touching. Just a gentle edge this time hmm? You’re not that turned on. But I think a little delay, maybe a long period of foreplay and preparation tonight means tomorrow morning I can really put all the things I’ve read about to the test…”

“Fuck. You don’t do things half-assed do you?”

“Never. If I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it properly. Do you properly.”

“Oh my god Jake…”

He grins and hums, starts his truck and starts the drive to Leo’s rental.

“You done this before, right?”

“Yeah…”

“How many times baby?”

“Huh?”

“How many times did they take you to the brink of coming before pulling you back?” Jake asks, because Leo had said three before, when they were discussing it, wants to check in and see if that’s the same goal or if he can be a little ambitious.

“I… three maybe?”

“Hmm. Yeah. Should we aim for four?” he asks, even as he’s mentally thinking that he might try for five. He’s always been an overachiever, but he also doesn’t want to fuck this up. Leo groans though, and Jake is pretty sure it’s a groan of anticipation. “Too much?”

“No. No. God no. Just… yeah. I’m all yours.”

Something inside Jake breaks open at the trusting admission and he vows to never break that trust if he can help it. He drives carefully, parks up and then follows Leo into the house, not resisting the urge to palm his ass, because it’s a gorgeous ass and he’s going to try his very best to mark it up. Carefully. They’ve got differing opinion about giving and receiving pain, he stands by his that bruises don’t usually happen without a little pain. But Leo is insistent that it’s not pain, not for him, and Jake finds himself wavering over wanting to inflict pain if it’ll get Leo going that much.

First though, they both need a shower, the dancing and handjob in his truck leaving him feeling sticky and hot. Also he doesn’t need an excuse to want to see Leo naked, hadn’t been at all joking about the drawn out foreplay and preparation starting right now. Because he has plans and he has everything he needs in the bedroom. He strips as he goes, smirks as he hears Leo swearing under his breath, and he knows enough Italian now to know he’s being sworn at, but he also loves hearing Leo speaking any other language, so his smirk just grows. He grabs the little toiletry bag he’d put the items in and walks into the bathroom, tosses a wink over his shoulder.

“Come on baby…” Jake says, and he pulls out the lube and slender plug

“Thought we were just going to shower,” Leo says, his eyes on the lube and plug, Jake raises an eyebrow.

“We are, but I think I might have some fun as well. Aiming for four remember? You counting the time in the truck?”

“Cazzo… I’ve created a monster…”

“That’s not an answer Leo.”

“Yes. Fuck you. Yes.”

He laughs a little, supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Leo is already hard again, because he didn’t get off nearly an hour ago. Jake has never had so many orgasms in such a short period of time, even when he was a teenager there were too many sisters and other people around, and then he was in the Navy, personal space and time hard fought for commodities. The last two weeks have likely ruined him. Tonight may just be the final nail in his coffin. They step into the shower and Jake’s already half-way to hard again, and he fully intends to get off again. He’s not the one getting edged and he’s pretty sure seeing him come is going to help drive Leo to the brink. As he’d said, he’s never intentionally edged someone, but he feels like he could draw Leo to the brink over and over if that’s what he wanted.

They wash themselves, Jake squeezes the bodywash Leo has and rubs it all over, not quite sure why Leo is whimpering when he’s hardly touched him, although their slippery bodies brushing against each other does feel incredibly intimate and he leans in, captures Leo’s mouth in a kiss and grinds against his thigh, runs too-light fingers over Leo’s erection. He’s aware he might push too far, that Leo might just fall over the brink any time and the only thing that may stop him will be his own will power, seeing as Jake doesn’t know his body that well despite the last two weeks.

“You want to put the plug in yourself or want me to do it?”

“You… please.”

Jake had been hoping that would be the case, has plans to slowly stretch Leo open on his fingers, maybe while stroking his cock, or maybe sucking him, but none of it can be enough to get him there. It’s like trying to deliberately be bad at sex so that it can be really good later. He opens the shower door and reaches for both the lube and plug, which is dark blue, slender and silicon and had good reviews online about being good for beginners and for sleeping with it in all night. It has a delicately flared base and he places it carefully on one of the shelves.

He’s glad there’s an infinite supply of hot water, angles the showerhead so he can kiss Leo without getting a face full of water or spray, lets their bodies rub and press, Leo’s erection bumping and grinding against Jake’s stomach and he pumps out two squirts of lube and then runs his finger down between Leo’s ass cheeks. He brushes over his hole, feels Leo press back and he kisses harder, grabs an ass cheek with hard fingers to given himself a little more room to work, runs his fingers back, jerks his hips forward at the same time and sucks Leo’s bottom lip into his mouth. He’s rewarded by Leo jerking in several directions at once, clearly trying to chase after multiple different sensations. Yeah. He can work with this.

“Just… you stay stop and I stop okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Please…”

Of course, they’ve talked it through, stop is a sufficient word between them to halt things. But Leo has warned him that he’s going to beg and Jake isn’t sure how that’s going to make him feel. But he’s an over achiever and goal orientated, so he’s going to try his best to ignore a whimpering begging Leo so he can edge him and then fuck him hard. Yeah. Goals. He slides a finger just against the rim, knows he’s going to want to use plenty of lube if the plug is in fact going to stay in all night. It might not of course, but Leo has goals of his own. He lets one finger slide inside to the second knuckle and feels Leo grind back.

“Jake…”

He doesn’t answer with words, simply moves a hand, wraps it around Leo’s cock and starts fisting him hard and fast for a count of fifteen before suddenly just releasing, leaving nothing but the patter of water hitting his skin and the sound he makes is wounded but so sweet. He reaches for the lube again, dodges Leo’s attempts to grind against him and swats him on the ass playfully. Then he’s sliding a finger and more lube inside and Leo is swearing under his breath, then he’s reaching for Jake and pulling him in for a kiss and he goes, doesn’t stop moving his finger despite the increasingly awkward angle his wrist is at.

Then he grabs Leo’s cock again, repeats the same hard and fast count of fifteen and Leo swears again, his breath coming in shorter and raspier pants. Jake lets go and slides two finger tips very carefully just inside the rim, pressing and stretching until Leo is pressing back. It’s back and forth like that for an age, Leo becoming increasingly worked up and Jake finds himself just squeezing around the base of Leo’s cock a few times while he jerks, eyes clenched shut, as he clearly tries not to come. His ass and thighs are absolutely slick with lube, and Jake’s plan is changing even now. He shifts them, puts Leo’s hands on the shower wall and make him stand with his feet should width apart, and then he runs the plug down the length of his crack, nudges against the relaxed and stretched hole before pressing it in slowly. Leo almost sobs with it and Jake is infinitely glad he steered away from the prostate massaging types, although they’re definitely worth looking at for the future.

“Shh shh shh…” he murmurs, mouth at the curve of Leo’s neck, placing little kisses as he holds Leo to him and feels him tremble.

“Jake…”

“You’re doing so good for me baby. So pretty like this. Think you can sleep with it inside you?”

“Oh… yeah. Yeah I think so.”

“Okay, you let me know if it gets too uncomfortable. You can take it out yourself, I don’t mind. Just… thinking about tomorrow morning and you already being stretched a little. Already lubed up. Just taking it out and sliding right in…”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah baby, thinking about waking you up with my mouth, getting you hard until you’re leaking on my tongue…”

“Jake.” His name is almost a sob.

“Yeah, getting you close but then stopping. Not letting you come. But I get to come, don’t I baby?”

He encourages Leo to shift again, to press his legs together and then he slides his cock between Leo’s thighs, can feel the head of his cock bump up against his balls, and it’s warm and tight, he can feel Leo’s entire body is tense with the effort to hold back and he lets himself rock backwards and forwards, reaches around to feel how turned on Leo is. Feels him press and turn his head into a sloppy kiss against Jake’s jaw.

“Going to come all over you and you’re just going to have to wait…”

The sound Leo makes isn’t even intelligible now and Jake just holds his cock tight, hopes it’s enough to stop Leo from coming as Jake thrusts harder and faster into the tight space between his thighs. It definitely feels counter intuitive, trying to stop Leo from coming, but as he jerks and comes he thinks he’s managing okay.

He rinses them off, is careful now to keep his hands perfectly practical, and even then Leo jerks occasionally, making little gasps as Jake kisses him and dries him carefully, watches as his cock grow softer, less of an angry red, but still clearly aroused. He gets them both glasses of water and just stands close as they brush their teeth side by side, presses soft kisses to the naked skin of Leo’s back. He puts everything he thinks he’ll need on the bedside table, mindful that Leo is watching and then he slides into bed, wraps his arms around him.

“Okay?”

“Yeah… so okay. Sleep well sweetheart.”

“You too baby. Wake me up if you need me though okay?”

“Of course.”

… … …

He wakes the next morning and as he had hoped and expected, Leo is pressed along his back, his morning erection pressed against Jake’s ass and he bites his lip, the memory of said cock in his ass making his skin prickle. It has been intense, unexpected. He’s still not sure how he feels about it all. Of course it had been good, amazing even, but he doesn’t think he could do it too often.

He runs a hand over the smooth skin of Leo’s cock and smiles, shifts to face him and then he shuffles, moves down under the covers, presses a kiss to Leo’s thighs and then takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking hard and fast, fully expecting the sudden jack-knife jerk of Leo’s body and he presses him down, hears him swear, muffled by either his own hand or pillow and then the blankets are being pulled away and Jake looks up the length of Leo’s body to see dark eyes watching him, mouth open and panting.

“Morning…”

“Fuck me…”

“Eventually, I promise.”

“Man’s got jokes… Jake. Please…”

“Hmm. Nope.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

He remembers last night in the shower, Leo’s body trembling as he held back his orgasm and Jake wants to get him back to there again, to have his entire being focused single-mindedly on the one task of not coming, for him to be unable to form words. He sucks him down again, hears more muffled swearing, feels Leo’s fingers curling in his hair. He keeps going, knows Leo’s tells for getting close from a blowjob pretty well, and sure enough, just as he’s about to pull off Leo is scrambling, trying to pull away.

“Close. Close, so close. Oh my god, Jake…”

He pinches the skin on the inside of Leo’s thigh, knows it’ll offer a spark of pain that will bring Leo back, probably, then realizes that it might bruise and if it does then Leo is going to be a fan. He moves back up Leo’s body, gives him a kiss which he accepts hungrily and Jake feels so incredibly lucky.

“That’s three huh?”

Leo lets out a huff of laughter, but he’s nodding and shifting, rubbing himself against Jake like he can’t get close enough. He reaches a hand behind him, lets his fingers run down Leo’s crack, half-expecting the plug to have been removed during the night. But it’s still there and he tugs at it a little before letting it sink back in, sees Leo’s eyes roll in pleasure and yeah, that’s fucking hot. He does it again and Leo’s entire body shudders.

“Please. You said… please Jake…”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll take care of you,” Jake says, because he had said a lot of things, every single one of them something he wants to make a reality. He’s hard, but he’s got no urgent need to immediately get off, which is just as well because the final part of his plan in edging Leo is to have him almost come on his cock only for Jake to back off. It’s going to test his stamina, but coupled with Leo’s desire for hard Jake is pretty confident he can make it happen.

He shifts away, smirks at Leo’s pout but he grabs the condoms and opens one, slides it on, the whole time Leo’s eyes are on him. Then he’s smearing lube on his cock, wiping his hands and then shoving at Leo.

“Come on baby, roll over. Hand and knees.”

“Want to see you…”

“You said you wanted it hard and bruises to remember me by. Which do you want the most?”

Leo doesn’t answer with words, but he’s rolling over, his ass in the air, head resting on his arms and Jake can see the plug very clearly. He tugs at it again, smirks at the moan Leo lets out and the jerk his body gives. As he admires Leo’s ass he wonders what it would feel like to get his mouth on him there. He’s never thought about rimming someone before, but he’s having a lot of firsts with Leo. Something else for another time. He should start making a list. While he’s been musing he’s been tugging and twisting the plug almost absently, Leo’s body rocking back and forth and Jake remembers.

Hard.

He swallows, knows it isn’t going to be any problem whatsoever, his own cock hard and throbbing and he pulls the plug all the way out, watches and Leo’s hole stretches open and then closes. He smears more lube on his hole, places the head of his cock at Leo’s hole and then just presses forward, hears Leo grunt but feels his body press back and he grabs at his hips, digging his fingers in to bring him in tight close to his body and holding him there as he just grinds in place for a few moments, enjoying the tight hot heat of Leo’s body surrounding his cock.

“You feel so good baby…”

He draws back slightly and pushes forward again, his fingers not letting go of Leo’s hips, moving them in counter to his own movements. He hears Leo groan and he bites his lip, speeds up and then they’re off, settling into a rough hard fuck that has the blood thrumming in his ears, heart pounding and he can see circles of white around each of his fingers where they’re holding onto Leo so hard. His balls feel a little bruised from the force he’s been using; their bodies slick with sweat and he wants to lick Leo all over, taste his skin in every spot. He stops suddenly, remembering that he was trying, hoping, to aim for a fourth, but had forgotten with the distraction of Leo’s body.

“No no no… please. Jake please… want to come. Need to come. Please…”

Leo’s entire body is shaking and Jake presses a kiss to his head but pulls out, hand careful to hold the condom in place.

“Roll over.”

Then he’s shoving a pillow beneath Leo’s hips, leaning down to kiss him as he slides back in and he gets to watch as Leo’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open and as he looks at the dark red, almost purple cock jutting up from Leo’s trimmed auburn curls at the base of his cock he realizes he’s going to get to see that too. He shifts one of Leo’s legs onto his shoulder and rolls his hips, digs his fingers back in and hears Leo’s sharp intake of breath, eyes squeezing shut tight. Jake resumes the same fast and brutal pace, but this time he can watch Leo come apart.

And he does, between one breath and the next, he’s shaking apart and coming, his cock jerking between them, untouched and looking painful, even if Jake knows the relief of release must be overwhelming for Leo right now. He pulls out, presses an apologetic kiss to Leo’s cheek for the lack of any warning, but then he’s jerking off his own cock, wanting to add his own come to Leo’s and maybe smear it all over. Just a little. A different kind of mark to go with the bruises. Leo’s sucking in huge shaky breaths, not quite a sobbing wreck and Jake brushes back his hair, it’s dark with sweat and he presses little butterfly kisses along his hairline.

“Shh shh shh,” he shushes, “I got you baby. You did so well. So fucking gorgeous. Just perfect,” he murmurs, and he means every word. If Leo makes any comment about not wanting to leave, Jake isn’t going to be able to let him go.

… … …

“Here. Made you something.”

“Is this… Did you make me my own supply of sauce? Stupid question. Of course you did,” Jake says with a grin.

“Yeah. Small batch run, limited edition. Intended audience of one, although Maria likes the smoky one so maybe keep it away from her.”

“God I’m going to miss you,” Jake mutters, because it’s nothing but the truth.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Going to miss the sex too, but I’ve grown pretty fond of you too…”

“Feelings mutual. Let’s see how this goes huh?”

“Yeah. Let’s see how it goes.”

TWENTYFOUR

#Season to taste #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #AU

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callistocalavarni · 12 days ago

Text

shifting to the 60s

hii I havent posted in a while, I've been trying re group from multiple shifts while getting my life back in order but I think I'm back.. Anyway I have a bunch of stories from so many places I'd like to share and im currently working on how I want to post them. But I don't see a lot of storytimes so I think it would be fun to share some. So i'm gonna rant about some shorter ones here.

shifting with sleep paralysis

I wanted to talk about this shift because it stuck out to me and I can't stop thinking about it.. I had shifted about 2 times in the span of 30 seconds. For a whole week back in October I was waking up at 3-5 am in the morning without being able to go back to sleep. So as you can guess I woke up at around 4 am and was restless. At around 6 am I got tired again so I started my method and I know people say that symptoms don't exist but in the time that I have shifted all I can say is that I disagree.. Anyway, one moment I was saying affimations and then the next I woke up all tingly and in a weird sleep state I've never been in before. I didn't even say to myself I wanted to shift I just did. It was like my mind was on autopilot. Didn't say affimations, didn't go through my script in my head, didn't even try to use the 5 senses. I just started seeing myself in 1st person and what I would be doing in my dr without any forethought and shifted. The first shift, I was on a track running with a couple of men and we all were wearing 60s running wear. I had an orange and red tank top with matching orange shorts. It had felt like there was an orange filter in this reality.. if that makes sense. I was on the track about to run and I just recall looking around laughing.

When I shifted to this moment its like I felt my consciousness leave my body; Which is the weird part because I've never really experinced this before. It felt like I was being pulled up by something and all I could hear was constant noise. I don't even know what noise I was hearing it was like someone was screaming right in my ear or veryyy loud ringing/static. The noise was SO loud. I was in the middle of sprinting when I shifted back because I thought I was the one making the noise, I thought I was screaming..Thankfully it was not me. But When I came back I was still In that state and I could look around me but my eyes were still closed. It's like I was seeing everything from a different perspective. There was a spider crawling on my wall right next to me when I shifted back so I freaked out and the noise got even louder ! The spider was leaving black spots all over my wall,, I could not figure out what was going on in the moment ( when I was writing this in my journal I figured out it was sleep paralysis ) It felt like I was tripping on a bunch of pain killers when I shifted back. I still couldn't move so I shifted again to the same reality but this time I was in the shower... the noise got even louder. The noise made it feel like a bad trip and I ended up shifting back here to try and stop it. It took my like an hour to get out of sleep paralysis. Unlike the method, this reality was very enyjoyable. It felt like a Nina Brodskyaya song, I lived alone and I was successful. I think I worked at a cigarette company, which is ironic because I hate smoking. But I don't know for sure as I didn't stay long enough to find out.

Lumari is a country I scripted, Forlina being one of its nations.

This reality was late 70's early 80's and one of my favorite drs. I stayed here for about a year. I was in Forlina living in an all girls home. Forlina gives free housing to students so I moved out of my parents house to start collage. About six girls are given a room to share together, don't worry they are pretty big. I loved our room. It had big sliding windows that gave a view of the tropical forest. We each had sunken in beds, some girls who were home sick shared beds for a couple of weeks. It took me a while to get use to the amount of noise in the morning. There was this one girl who would blast music on the radio while getting ready. I only had to worry about this sometimes because I woke up pretty early. Art was one of my classes and the professer would make the class times either 7 am or 9 pm which also took me some time to get use to. idk the guy was kind of weird. I rode my bike everywhere here. I miss being able to ride down a bike trail and see the ocean. I've been thinking about shifting back here for some time. I might post more about this reality in more detail later.

#reality shifting #shifting #shiftblr #shifters #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting stories #shifting motivation #desired reality #reality shifter #shifting antis dni #shifting storytime

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a-random-whovian7 · 1 year ago

Text

What your favourite Doctor says about you (just like the Master and Companion lists, this is all just jokes and my own terrible takes, absolutely no offence intended towards anyone). This is gonna be a long one, so good luck:

One (I think):

Is somehow able to sit through The Keys of Marinus whilst completely sober. Their feelings on Twice Upon a Time completely depend on whether they are able to accept that TV shows made in the 1960s will inevitably have some outdated bits or not. Loves slow-burners and less science-heavy stories, and wishes the Doctor would go back to trolling his companions again. Prays every night for The Celestial Toymaker and Marco Polo to be found. Hates the Timeless Child with a burning passion.

Two:

Two fans deserve a lot better. Despite a large chunk of their era being limited to surviving audio, PowerPoint presentations telesnaps and the, er, mixed bag of animated reconstructions, they still contribute a lot to the discussion of Classic Who and are usually well versed in the lore of the EU. 2nd Doctor fans are remarkable, as they are able to get along with pretty much every other group of fans. However, there is plenty of infighting thanks to the UNIT dating controversy and which story should be reconstructed next. If they ship Two/Jamie, they have fully earned your love and are surprisingly good if you pass them the aux.

Three:

Pretty much blows a gasket whenever some idiot says that the modern era is 'too political'. Like, I'm sorry, but was the "England for the English" scene in the Claws of Axos a little too subtle for you? Were Malcolm Hulke's scripts absolutely apolitical in your eyes? Does the mere existence of The Green Death mean nothing to you?! Oh, well maybe you should try WATCHING THE SHOW and DOING YOUR RESEARCH before you start claiming that it's become 'tOo pOLiTiCaL' because the main characters aren't always played by Whiteguy McStraight now, shouldn't you?! YOU AND YOUR MEDIOCRE OPINION SHALL COWER BEFORE MY KNOWLEDGE OF THE THIRD DOCTOR'S ERA AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!

It is for this very reason that 3rd Doctor fans get along particularly well with 13th Doctor fans. Perfectly nice people with a great sense of humour and an excellent taste in episodes, unless a conversation resembling the above occurs, at which point you will see how much damage the repressed urge to do Venusian Akido can do. Refuses to admit that The Ambassadors of Death is two episodes too long.

Four:

Either a child of the 70s or chaos incarnate. Yes, 4 is pretty much the universally recognised Doctor, but that doesn't stop him from being one of the most unhinged Doctors. Loves more gothic horror-themed episodes and can ignore the somewhat questionable production qualities of early Baker stories. They have almost certainly attempted to make The Scarf at one point; whether they were successful or not entirely depends on their talent for knitting. Is surprisingly ok with admitting that Tom Baker stayed for a little too long and that his later seasons were a little underwhelming. Hasn't stopped them from watching every version of Shada though.

Five:

The tired parental figure of any group they are in. They immediately related to this Doctor when they saw 5 trying to hold it together whilst his multiple adopted humans argued, whined and got themselves trapped on doomed freighter ships. Has tried to play cricket once, but a general confusion over the rules and a few broken windows stopped that. You can take care of the cinnamon roll that is the standard 5 fan by providing them with cups of tea, giving them lots of hugs and removing all copies of Time Flight from your house.

Six:

Best fashion sense out of all the fans... somehow. Their favourite episodes are usually Vengeance on Varos or Revelation of the Daleks (both bangers), although they lean more heavily towards EU and Big Finish material, where the stories are more consistent and the costumes are less yikes. Either the best or worst fan to be around, either giving fair balanced views on the show or just being an absolute arse. Loves cats. Hates Michael Grade. Kind of ambivalent towards Mel.

Seven:

If 2nd Doctor fans are well versed in the EU lore, then these individuals are fucking academics. Constantly annoyed that 7 had two of the best seasons of Classic Who and was the darkest Doctor but is only remembered for Time and the Rani for some reason. Their favourite companion will always be Ace, which is what motivated them to watch Power of the Doctor. Usually excellent taste in stories, but is completely capable of dragging you to the depths of the EU. Wishes the Doctor would commit a few more genocides. Their religious beliefs can be summarised in the phrase "Cartmel Master Plan". Still annoyed that the most strategic Doctor was killed by the two most American things (guns and bad healthcare), but gets along well with 8 fans despite that. Somehow understands Ghost Light after just 3 rewatches.

Eight:

Big Finish fan. Basically willing to explain the entire plot of Dark Eyes if you ask them. Thinks the TV Movie is just OK, and has rewatched Night of the Doctor too many times to count. Loves a sad boy, and has definitely referred to 8 as a "poor little meow meow" at some point. Wishes 8's TARDIS interior was still intact and that he'll get his own live action series. Had an actual heart attack when he appeared in Power of the Doctor. Usually a bisexual from my personal experience, and looking at Paul McGann in the 90s, I can see why.

War (or is it Nine?):

We're stepping into the depths of the Moffat cult with this one. Wants a more traumatised Doctor, and kind of wishes we saw more of the Time War beyond the laser battle in Day of the Doctor. Content to sit back and watch due to the fact that the War Doctor had the perfect arc in his one episode, although they are happy that the War Doctor still pops up in the EU. Bridging the gap between the modern and classic series means they get along well with everyone except Shalka fans.

Nine (the Curse of Fatal Death one):

Does this one count? Just loves the classic series. Still praying for Joanna Lumley as the Doctor. Nowhere near as obnoxious as the Shalka fans and surprisingly funny.

Nine (the Scream of the Shalka one):

They pride themselves on being 'against the trend' and being fans of an overlooked bit of Doctor Who history. Doesn't quite realise that Scream of the Shalka was basically an B-tier Big Finish story with janky animation. Wants Richard E Grant to show up again. Constantly attempting to upset Eccleston and Hurt fans, only to get angry when everyone forgets Scream of the Shalka existed. They definitely listen to Weezer.

Ten, no, another Nine (the Eccleston one):

The word "fantastic" is permanently superglued to their vocabulary, and yet it never gets old. Owns a leather jacket too. Wishes that the BBC hadn't been stupid and Eccleston had stayed on for another series, but doesn't hold it against Tennant. Knows the Daleks were at their best in S1. Really wants the Reapers to return, and was utterly distraught after Chibs kind of ruined 9's role in the wider arc by blowing up Gallifrey again. Major nostalgia for the 2000s with this one, and is slowly becoming a member of the Big Finish cult thanks to Eccleston's return. Understandably forgot Adam was a thing. Both loves and hates John Barrowman.

Ten? Eleven? Ten and a half? The Tennant one. I hate numbers:

Their first experience to Doctor Who was during the golden age- wait, no, sorry, the RTD cult has threatened to terminate my membership if I'm not honest with this one.

Either a child of the 2000s, a member of the aforementioned RTD cult or someone who just likes the show to be more emotionally resonant. Well, that or they are the blandest person alive. If they acknowledge how good 10's arc was in terms of deconstructing the Doctor and setting up his fall from grace via misplaced attachments and vanity, then absolutely someone to be around. If they simply say "because he was popular", definitely bland. We all know Tennant was popular, it's still not one of the many valid reasons to love him. They have an easygoing relationship with 4 and 11 fans, and otherwise OK relations with the rest of Doctors fan groups, although there is a bit of friction between 13 stans due to 10 being dragged into a lot of 13's media post-2020 to boost ratings. They didn't like it because it cheapned 10's return and era whilst also overshadowing 13. 13 stans didn't like it because it basically gave the message that the BBC had given up on 13 before her era had finished.

Definitely excited for the 60th after the regeneration and the announcement of RTD's return. Has tried owning a pair of converses, only to find out that they aren't exactly cheap. Has fought for the Ten/Rose ship on multiple occasions. Tried hair gel once, with disastrous consequences.

Huh. This one was incredibly easy to write. All I had to do was look in a mirror.

Thirte- no, Eleven:

Major ADHD energy in the best possible way. Saw the chaotic excitable Doctor and immediately fell in love. They will not rest until they have forced every former Doctor to read the "Hello Stonehenge" speech. They have also cosplayed the most out of any fan, due to the availability of fezzes and bow ties. Definitely the most fun to be around at a party. Was disappointed by Matt Smith's decision not to return for the 60th, especially after the absolute banger that was Day of the Doctor. If they ship 11 with River, they're cool, even though 11 was very asexual in S5. If they ship him with anyone else, then yikes. Wishes for the show to return to a quirky fairytale tone again.

If they were present during the SuperWhoLock days, keep an eye on them. You're only one drink away from dragging us back to 2013, and I ain't reading any of that fanfiction again *shudders*.

Fourte- FUCK, Twelve:

A certified member of the Steven Moffat cult, or just someone who likes some of their stories to have a slightly more mature tone. Has tried to play the electric guitar more than once, only to be forced to stop by their partners or housemates. Either willing to admit some of the flaws of the era or strongly defends it, with no inbetween. Absolutely correct in their assertion that S9 and 10 absolutely slapped, although this cam be undermined if they try to defend Sleep No More. If they ship River and 12, then you can trust them with anything, and they will offer you good relationship advice. If they ship 12 and Clara in a romantic way (which is strange to me cos i always got platonic BFF vibes from them, but that's just me), they definitely have relationship advice, although waiting 4 billion years to get your memory wiped is a questionable means of resolving conflict. They have a pair of the sonic sunglasses. Cried when Capaldis majestic floofy hair got shaved off for a superhero film.

Thirteen? That's right? Phew, finally getting the hang of this. Ok, Thirteen:

There are two types of 13 fan. The first is cinnamoniest of rolls. Is just happy to sit back and have fun, thus allowing them to enjoy pretty much any episode (something that a lot of people could learn from). Immediately realised that Jodie is an amazing Doctor and deserves more praise and justice. Definitely shipped Thasmin, and are the best at constructive criticism, recognising what worked and didn't in a respectful, polite way (again, something we could all learn from). Wierdly enough, they get along well with all the Doctor fans, as they are a wholesome ray of sunshine that reminds us that every era has something to offer, no matter the general consensus.

The second type masquerades as the first, but gets all hipster-y and more than willing to use the term 'overrated' when RTD or Tennant are mentioned (so basically a healthy 80% of the #antiRTD tag).

Both are convinced that the Chibnall Era will receive a massive reappraisal like the 12th Doctor's era did, despite the odds of that happening being the same as an on-screen Thasmin kiss. I'm so sorry, that's a really mean line to end this bit on. Let's instead end by saying Haunting of Villa Diodati is an absolute banger of an episode.

Ruth:

Loves the admittedly cool concept of a mystery incarnation. The rest depends on their theory of where the Ruth Doctor fits in. If they use the season 6B theory, then they have an encyclopedic knowledge of the classical series and the EU regardless of whether they have watched it or not. If they use the Timeless Child/Division theory, then they basically settled for the easier version of 6B after looking into the insane asylum that is classic who and EU discourse (wise choice). If they think she's from an alternative universe, thinks that she's Omega, Rassilon, The Rani, The Master or any other figure, then they practically have a gold medal in Mental Gymnastics. Either way, all of them don't like to admit that they are unfortunately limited to 4 episodes (three of them being fairly mid, the other being a mild car crash) and a pretty good comic. Cool fashion taste. Gets along with 13 stans and, surprisingly, 2nd Doctor fans.

Fourteen- oh for fucks sake:

YOU ARE TENTH DOCTOR FANS. GO BACK TO EARLIER ON IN THE POST. YES, I KNOW THAT'S THE BBC'S OFFICIAL LINE AT THE MOMENT. YES, I KNOW YOU'RE HYPED FOR THE 60TH, I AM A HYPED RTD CULTIST TOO. JUST WAIT UNTIL SEPTEMBER. P L E A S E.

Fourt- no fifteen- no, fourteen- BBC, HAVE MERCY:

Only in the Doctor Who fandom can a Doctor who has only appeared in a brief clip and some photos have a fully developed fanbase. I should know, I've already joined it. Ncuti's photos in that suit sealed the deal. Either an RTD cultist or someone just looking forward to a fresh new direction. Also very fashionable. Has a somewhat complicated relationship with 13th Doctor fans due to the fact that Ncuti's first season and casting completely overshadowed S13 and the specials, but Ncuti also had to deal with the same levels of toxicity from the same 'fans' who threw temper tantrums at Jodie's casting in 2017. Best haircuts out of all the Doctor Who fans. Strange but true.

Full Fathom Five:

Y'all scare me.

Zagreus:

Y'all terrify me.

The Watcher:

Y'all confuse me.

The Valeyard:

Has wanted a darker series since god knows when. Was kind of annoyed when the Time Lord Victorious arc wasn't dedicated to a whole series. Also, the Valeyard is the Shadow the Hedgehog of the Whoniverse. I refuse to elaborate any further.

The Curator:

"Alright gang, let's see who the Curator fans really are!"

Pulls off mask

"Fourth Doctor fans?!"

All jokes aside, they just want a more experienced Doctor. Accepts that the show will have to end one day, and is cool with that, since they already have the perfect ending. Either cool grandad vibes or an actual grandad. Good knitwear. Their response to everything is simply putting the kettle on.

Doctor Moon:

Now these ones are very, very rare. I personally love the theory that Doctor Moon is a future version of the Doctor who is keeping River and the Library safe, but limiting your favourite Doctor to two episodes and an endorsement of the theory from Steven Moffat? Now that takes guts, and I like it. Usually partial to classy clothes, and talks in a very formal tone. Their best subject is usually maths.

Dr Who (Peter Cushing):

Unashamedly insane. Saw the absolutely glorious cheese-fest that was the 1960s Dalek movies and ended up loving one of the most unique versions of the Doctor. Is absolutely fine with bypassing 90% of the TV shows lore, making them really fun to talk to. Time Lords? Nah. Sonic screwdriver? Nope. Their Doctor is a wacky grandpa who built a multi-dimensional time machine in their back garden, and they love it. Is a sucker for Alternate Universe stories and usually loves classic B-movies. Knows that the movies kind of suck as adaptations, but as pure 1960s camp, they are unbeatable. Absolute legends.

All of Them:

The glue that holds this fanbase together. Enlightened individuals who have to check in every now and then to make sure that we mere mortals are behaving ourselves. They just simply enjoy the show and hold no biases. Absolutely infuriating to talk to for that very reason.

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thepersonalquotes · 7 months ago

Quote

A self-limiting belief is no stronger than the flimsy rope that tethers an elephant by its foot.

Stephen Richards, Six Figure Success: Time To Think Big - You Can Do It

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puckpocketed · 4 months ago

Text

29/06/2023 - the Montreal Canadiens select Jacob Fowler 69th overall | y // 1/09/2023 - Inside the Canadiens Draft Meetings, 2023

Jacob Fowler — an introduction, a collection of media

I’ll give you three shooters, and you can tell me if they’re righty, lefty, passer, or shooter. Perfect. Okay. Harvey, Chicago? He’s a passer. He’s a lefty. Lefty. (pause) Perron? Perron’s a shooter and he’s a righty. He’s got a really good shot. Fine? Fine’s a righty. Didn’t see too much of him this year. I’d say he’s a — he’s probably more of a passer, yeah. So you know your stuff. I do. You could probably go up and down the whole USHL and I could name… righty, lefty… Okay, now, how did you… When did you start studying it like that? I don’t think it was ever a ‘study’ as much as just — not even a photo memory — just; you play against those guys and if you want to stop those guys, you’re going to figure out real quick if he’s a righty or a lefty if you want to stop the puck. I mean you can’t… You can’t play your short side wrong if it’s a righty on his one side or a lefty on the other side, so… I think if you don’t know what hands they are, or if they’re a shooter or a passer, you’re not going to be very successful.

[Fowler at the scouting combine, speaking to a Canadiens psychologist] But I’m more interested in the guy who’s really inside, right? Yeah. Tell me about him. Tell me what makes him friggin’ tick. I’ve been, y’know, doubted and… Yeah! Here we go! I’ve had to prove people wrong my entire career. Of course you have, yeah! I sat in my living room in a shirt and tie with my whole family and watched, y’know, five or six hours of the entire OHL [Ontario Hockey League] Draft, the entire USHL [United States Hockey League] Draft and — to never see your name pop up on that screen is… It’s a pretty crappy feeling. To know that you played in the National Championship, you played in the national tournament twice; you’ve won just about every youth championship you could win in North America… To never be talked to, or to never see your name pop up is — it’s terrible. I don’t read too much into the different awards, but… To win the award of Goalie of the Year in this league that I was undrafted [in] — nobody wanted me. There were 16 teams and not a single one of them wanted me. I had to go out and prove that, every single night, that you messed with the wrong guy and Youngstown was just fortunate enough that I ended up in their corner. That feeling sticks with me every day, and… The last thing I want is any organisation to look back and wish they would’ve taken a chance on me because all I’ve done is prove people wrong.

Where do I even begin with Jacob Fowler? Scouts and pundits and fans have taken note — the Canadiens have had a distinct vision with their past few drafts under the Kent Hughes regime: culture and character. Jacob Fowler is yet another piece. In what I figure is typical Montreal media fashion, he's being hailed as the next goalie-of-the-future, as Carey Price come again. Big hair, big expectations, and a big fucking chip on his shoulder — that's Jacob Fowler. Also Jacob Fowler: a goalie who has always performed, always been at the bleeding edge of every leader board, a goalie who makes every net his.

The stats are the least notable thing about Fowler. Plenty of young goalies have put up good stats. It's not about his sv%, for me. It's about all the rest of it. It's the candidness with which he tells his story. It's the intensity of his complexes — borne from years of being overlooked.

Jacob Fowler rattles off skaters and their tendencies and thinks of it as a given that you should know these things by rote if you want to make saves. Jacob Fowler knows how good he is, he remembers every single instance where he'd been ignored when it came time to pick, and he's seemingly simmered this anger for just as long as he's understood it. That's what makes me care.

There's love of the game, and there's this. He's a fascinating case study: undeniably elite, yet somehow passed over again and again; confident and on the verge of cocky; calm, but only in the way the surface of a rip current hides it's pull. He's picking a fight with everyone who doubted him each time he gets in net. He's looking at the yawning chasm of where Carey Price used to be and he's going to jump. Against the searing lights of playing in Montreal? He says, "I don't think I could write the script any better. I want to be a Montreal Canadien, and I want to win a Stanley Cup for them. As a competitor, I don't want it to be easy. I think — I want the bright lights, I want the big stage, and y'know I said earlier pressure is a privilege."

It might all be bluster. It might be a media-trained, canned response. I was convinced.

x | y // x | y

[Exchange between the Canadiens' scouting team] Martin Lapointe: So, Billy, you're saying you would put Fowler ahead of [redacted]? Bobby Ryan: Yes, 100%. Fowler shows up every time and wins. It's, it's like almost — it's crazy. No one's saying Fowler was 'good' growing up. He was the best growing up. He's (redacted goalie) not better than Fowler. Like if we're playing a game right now and I said, "Alright, I'm gonna — you pick your team, we all got..." Vincent Riendeau: We're talking about the NHL today? They're not facing the NHL today. These guys will face them at 24, 25. BR: I know, but what I'm saying... He's ready — he already mastered... He's mastered his position. The other guys haven't. They have the tools. They haven't figured out in their head how to fuckin' win games. This kid does it. He's been doing it since he was like 10 years old. And he wants to do it. [...] We're all working towards the same goal. We're trying to win a Stanley Cup and... I'd want the kid who wins the most. Never been not the top goalie, ever. Ever. Look at the numbers. He's never not been the top goalie in the entire league. Not like — not the starter. He's never not been the highest save percentage in every league he's ever been in. VR: I can't deny it... I can't — but... BR: I just think we're going to regret not taking this kid.

I'm cheering for Jacob Fowler not because I think it's a sure-fire bet — he might never make it, and more promising prospects have fizzled out before — I'm cheering for him because I'm unbelievably excited to see him try.

#JACOB FOWLER BE UPON YE!!!#alternate title while i was working on this: fowler propaganda post #there's like.... 4-5 more posts left in me probably. a web weave about it at some point when i figure out how i want to approach it #transcripts are mine and ough i did in fact get goosebumps watching fowler's section of the video <3 #jacob fowler #montreal canadiens #habs lb #puck!gif #puck!script #p!gif:habs #primers #my writing #nhl gifs #nhledit #hockeyedit

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magnifythesun · 6 months ago

Note

CCO Anthony Padilla and President Ian Hecox of Smosh

ooooooo let's goooo!

post writing notes: YAY OKAY IVE DONE IT!!! so i read this and immediately assumed you meant a business au and i for the life of me have not been able to think of what kind of business they would run in this fic SO it is "the company" and they make money and also have shareholders and they call their employees their "crew" and dont ask me any details i was unable to figure it out!! but i think this turned out pretty cute?? more angsty than i was anticipating but with comfort i promise.

also i stayed g rated since i wasn't sure what rating you were comfortable with but Company(TM) President Ian and CCO Anthony could get it on i think if anyone wants that in the future lmao, just don't expect any details on what the hell they're selling sorry lmao! also i know nothing about business

bonus points if you can spot the direct reference to the wikipedia article for the term CCO.

---

The responsibility of being in charge of the company weighed heavily on Ian. It had been at its worst when Anthony had left, the fear of driving the company into the ground, of not being a good enough leader, of failing to thrive without his right-hand man.

When Anthony had returned, it was like a breath of the freshest air. Although Ian maintained his position as President, Anthony taking the role of CCO was possibly the best business decision Ian had ever made. Anthony had always been best with the marketing and business strategy, with an eye for the best trends to get their company booming. A huge weight felt like it was moved off Ian's shoulders. He could just focus on the top-level stuff and taking care of his employees and leave the marketing, which Ian had always hated, to Anthony.

Still, this didn't mean Ian didn't get stressed anymore. Ian loved his work, but sometimes it became overwhelming, the way his mind spun around, worrying about the whether he'd assigned the right person to the right project, whether his employees were happy, and so forth. Over the course of each work week, the panic would build up inside, setting him on edge until he would lie awake at night, staring up at his bedroom ceiling as his mind flew.

Reprieve came from an unexpected corner.

There was a routine now. At the end of the work week, there was always a meeting, and he and Anthony would attend. Ian would mostly listen, too stressed and sleep-deprived to think of any meaning contribution. Plus, Anthony was better at leading the meeting anyway, as it was mostly about that week's sales. Afterward, Anthony would talk him down from all his worries, and Ian would be able to breathe until the next week began. This week was no different.

At the end of the meeting, everyone filed out, excited to book it home for the weekend, leaving Ian and Anthony alone in the big meeting room. Ian let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging, letting the last shards of his confident facade crumble and fall. Anthony glanced over at him as he shuffled his papers back into order.

"You alright?" He asked this every week.

"You know me," Ian waved a hand dismissively, "I get in my head."

"You're too hard on yourself, man," Anthony tapped the papers on the desk with finality. "Didn't you hear anything I said just now? Our sales are up, stockholders happy, and we even get to give a big bonus to the whole 'crew,' just like you always talk about doing."

Ian shook his head like he could knock the words away, standing up to face the big window that was letting in the light of the late afternoon sun.

"This year is going great, Ian! Why won't you let yourself celebrate this success that we've built?"

Anthony sounded tired. Ian couldn't blame him. They'd had this conversation every week for the last six months. However, this time, Anthony's words just couldn't shake the dread inside him.

This year, things were going great. But it wasn't that long ago when it had been the whole company on Ian's shoulders, margins in the red, the heavy weight of responsibility for all of his people's livelihoods crushing him into the ground. What's to say this year's success wouldn't be short-lived? Was there already something he wasn't seeing, some sign of trouble to come?

And what if, when things got rough... What if Anthony...

A gentle warm grip on his wrist startled him out of his thoughts. Ian turned, surprised. They'd had this conversation a million times, but Anthony always talked him out of it, sitting over at the table while Ian paced out his anxieties. He'd never come to join him by the window, and certainly had never—

Anthony tugged him slightly so that they were facing each other directly, the sunlight filtering through Anthony's hair so that the light brown highlights he'd gotten sparkled. Ian, for a blessed moment, couldn't think of anything else at all. Then, Anthony's hands took his own.

"I," Anthony started, not seeming sure of himself, "I get this feeling. Every week, I reassure you about the company. About how we're doing. About how our 'crew' seems really happy about where we're at, how we're seeing success at levels we could barely dream of back when we first started this." Anthony paused, his face filled with such genuine worry that Ian felt the hot sting of guilt roil in his stomach. "But, Ian, telling you all that doesn't seem to help you for very long."

Ian sighed, looking off to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"I think I do," Anthony cut him off, reaching up to grab his shoulders instead. "Ian, I don't even know if I can say this in a way that will fully convince you, but I—," He pushed through with growing confidence, "I'm not leaving this company again."

How did this man always see right through him?

"I'm not leaving you again," Anthony said, quieter, and Ian couldn't stop the tears that were coming to his eyes. "Ever. Do you understand?"

Ian reached up and swiped the tears away. "Yeah," He said, shakily.

"I'm not leaving." Anthony shook him slightly, the look in his eyes so serious that it began to chip away at the pit in Ian's stomach that had sat there for years.

"Right. Yeah," Ian nodded his head.

"I'm not. We're gonna be running this thing for years," Anthony smiled, "Into the ground if necessary."

Ian laughed, "Okay, okay. I believe you." And he actually did. Another, heavier weight that he hadn't realized he was still carrying felt like it was melting away. "Alright, good."

They stood there just a little too long, Anthony's hands warm on Ian's shoulders, the sun bringing out each delicate shade of brown in Anthony's eyes. And again, for a moment, Ian couldn't think about anything else.

"Right, so." Anthony let go and walked back over to the table. Ian took in a slow, deep breath and let it out as Anthony grabbed his papers and shoved them in his briefcase. "I don't know if you even realized with your President head so far above the clouds, but we just wrapped a fiscal year!"

Ian rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that."

"Just checking!" Anthony beamed at him. "So, wanna celebrate? How about soup at your place?"

That startled a sharp laugh out of Ian. "That's the biggest celebration you can think of?"

"Look," Anthony held up a haughty finger. "As your CCO, I think making soup tonight will allow us to achieve our long-term objectives."

Ian scoffed. "Yeah, your long-term objective to have me cook you soup," Ian said dryly, grabbing his own briefcase and heading toward the door.

"No, hey, hear me out!" Anthony followed him out. "I've got a whole pitch for it and everything!"

#my fanfic #asks #ianthony #☀️🔍#my apologies for the long delay between prompt fills! i started a new job last week and i have been adjusting lol #hope you all enjoy!! <3

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ursa9909 · 4 months ago

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Sammy Knows AU

(I'm running on like two hours of sleep so this might be hopping a bit in every direction lol)

Headcanon that towards the middle to end of the second season (if half the season they're on the ship give or take) we have a scene where like Yas or Ben is about to get eaten when Sammy goes full cowgirl and starts rangling the dino on its back, ropes over it's maw to keep it from eating her friends, etc...and it's successful, until the boat gets hit by the approaching storm.

Then we see the big metal cargo containers and dinos start falling into the ocean, the last shot with the five camp fam is them rushing towards her, but it's to late. A cargo container does a glancing blow on Sammy and the dino knocking them and the rest can do nothing but watch as dino and Sammy take a plunge and don't come up. Yas and/or Ben almost caught her, traumatizing them even more their seam of six now down two.

The rest of the shenanigans happens and like with the ending of the first season we get Brooklynn, only this time she's out at night backlit by moonlight when a soggy figure emerges from the water. Her only words, "Do you remember?"

There's a something in her hand, it's the same devices to disrupt the chips that were once used to make dinosaurs fight, only this time it was to keep a mind from remembering. A safeguard. Brooklynn would complete her mission no matter what (just like her conviction with keeping the laptop away from Dr.Wu)

Sammy looks at her, looking more like a drowned rat than anything else. Her head is killing her, and it's like the poisoning all over again, the pain behind her eyes, the fogginess in her head accompanied by a killer headache, like her nerves were set aflame.

She looks at the unwelcomed ghost come to life again, she agreed to this, knows that Brooklynn is doing what she thinks is right and Sammy would help a friend in need, especially one that she considers family. But the others were far away, she saw them as they scrambled for a life boat before Sammy went under.

Ben was right to be suspicious of her, even if she and Brooklynn were doing this for them.

Sammy sighs heavily, lets her memories clash with one another; she wonders what permanent damage has been done to her brain, wonders if she'd ever remember anything in the correct order without feeling like she put one piece in front of another at the wrong time.

"Yes"

#jurassic world chaos theory #jurassic world chaos theory headcanon #jwct #jwct headcanons #sammy gutierrez #Brooklynn jwct #Sammy Gutierrez Knows #jwct sammy #chaos theory

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indiaalphawhiskey · 2 years ago

Note

Hii! First off I absolutely adore your writing and I'm super excited for your upcoming fics, but I was wondering what are your favorite go-to fics (by other authors) that you want to read again and again?

Hello, love!

I did this once, but I can’t seem to find the post (go figure) so I’m happy to do it again. ❤️ I actually have a folder on my Kindle titled Comfort Fics and these are what’s in there. (I also have a bunch of fics from the same authors, but I thought it best to rec one per author. Check out their other stuff if you haven’t already.)

Most Re-Read Fic

🏈 Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante

This fic has, without a doubt, my most favorite version of Louis ever written. But more than that, I think that this is just a very nostalgic fic for me, because it was released about six months into me falling into the fandom, and so it kind of reminds me of that time where I was discovering fics and fandom and Larry for the first time. I feel like whenever I go back to it, it feels like that slice of time all over again. Epitome of a comfort fic.

Snack Fic Re-Read

🌬️Fugue by iwillpaintasongforlou

This is just the most perfect single-sitting fic ever. It has everything you need to feel like you’ve read something full and all consuming. I’m a really big fan of the romantic build up, and I love that this has that, even in what is technically an established relationship trope. Love, love, love.

Fave Bedtime Re-Read

🕊️ Counting the Steps Between Us by zarah5

I keep crawling back to this fic like a long lost lover. It’s just written in such a way that hits the spot every time, with the perfect amount of tension and storytelling for you to feel like you’ve earned it by the time they get together.

Best Smut Re-Read

🫦 Hike Up Your Skirt (and Show Your World to Me) by Brooklyn_Babylon / @twopoppies

When this was being written, I told @twopoppies that it was going to overthrow Are You Gonna Be My Girl? by LoadedGunn as my holy grail smut fic and I wasn’t wrong. I mean… this fic’s reputation precedes it. It just gets the job done in the most delicious, dark, dirty way. I get that the themes might not be for everyone, but it’s definitely for me. If you’re specifically looking for something that can only be described as delectable debauchery, you’ve found it. (Read the tags!)

Specific Mood Re-Read

🪐 Saved Tonight by Anonymous*

Harry's the world's most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis' biggest fan. Louis hasn't written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It's probably destiny.

This fic is just really, really special to me. It’s soft in the most weird and wonderful way, and I’ve not found another fic that makes me feel the way this does. I think the best way to describe this is that it’s a fic that envelopes you in such a specific setting that you find yourself going back to it to live in that place for a little while.

*The author has since taken it down, and I don’t know by what username they prefer to go by, so I just listed it as Anonymous.

A/B/O Re-Read

🐺 Where You Lay by HamPalpert

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles. Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

A/B/O is my most favorite trope ever, but because there are a lot of different permutations of the “rules”, it’s often hard for me to find an A/B/O fic that includes everything I really really really love about the trope. This is that fic for me.

Best Soft Re-Read

🎵 Make Your Words A Weapon by HelloAmHere / @helloamhere

The way Harry is written in this fic is everything to me. This fic is soft in the most lovely way, and there’s something so healing in the way it discusses trauma without ever sacrificing the romance in the fic. This has a piece of dialogue that I think about nearly monthly, but I won’t share it cause I want you to experience it for yourself first.

Holy Grail Re-Read

⏳my heart is breathing for this moment in time by usedtothebeach

Let me start off by saying this fic is an investment, but Jesus is it worth it. This is just the most unique blend of canon and Larry lore ever, and it just does it so, so perfectly. If you’re looking for a fic that will make you see Larry’s love story as the most perfect insider version of it ever, this is the fic. It’s so good that I never want to read/watch the original Time Traveler’s Wife. As far as I’m concerned, this is the original. (Don't forget to read the companion piece feel myself fall, make a joke of it all.)

Honorable Mentions

(I haven’t re-read these yet only because I feel like I’ve just finished them and I’m giving myself some time to miss them so much that it feels like the first time all over again.)

🗽 Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo

An exes-to-lovers for the ages. This fic is painfully beautiful, and there’s something about these characters that have stood (and will continue to stand) the rest of time. I think this is a gorgeously mature fic that deals with the complexities of love and romance in a way that’s rare. This is one of the most realistic depictions of Harry and Louis that feels true to who they are in every era.

🦋 of the divine by @thedevilinmybrain

Harry in this is literally ethereal, but also, the way the romance is layered over religious themes is just done in such a fulfilling and delicious way. I love fics that manage to marry such specific knowledge with a story that’s still romantic and wildly sexy. This is a journey, and just thinking about it makes me want to pick it up immediately.

#iaw re-reads #iaw fic rec #iaw anonymous #iaw ask

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merrybloomwrites · 1 year ago

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You Can Start a Family (Extra: Mitchrry Prequel)

Summary: A writing and recording retreat to Jamaica opens the door to a new relationship between Mitch & Harry

Previous Chapters:

Main Story: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

Sickfic Part 1 ; Part 2

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Smut

AN: Since this takes place in 2016, Sarah & reader are not in it, just the boys.

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Mitch could not believe the turn his life had taken. Mere weeks ago, he was struggling to make ends meet, working at a pizza shop to afford his life in Los Angeles. Now he was traveling to Jamaica to record an album with Harry Styles.

Music had always been his passion, and he knew that he would have to take some big risks to make it in the industry. He was truly close to giving up when he got the call from his roommate that Harry needed a guitarist to help with his first solo album.

Mitch had to admit that he only vaguely knew who Harry Styles was. The name was familiar, he had heard of One Direction but hadn’t listened to their music before. Harry could tell this right away, and he figured this would be a good thing. He was happy to have people on his team who didn’t have preconceived notions of him or his previous work with the band. It would be more of a fresh start that way.

Harry could also tell Mitch hadn’t worked in a studio before. Everything was new to him, which Harry again saw as a positive. After years of being in One Direction he felt as though people would expect him to be confident and know exactly what he was doing in this process, but he didn’t feel that way at all. Going solo was a huge change, and he felt overwhelmed by how much he needed to learn. Having another person on the team in the same position really helped him to be comfortable, and so he found himself gravitating towards Mitch.

While they both had some learning to do on the technical side, it was obvious that they were both extremely talented, and worked very well together. A couple weeks into the process everyone was feeling confident about what they were making.

From the moment Mitch was told about the trip to Jamaica he was incredibly excited. He had never been before, and it made him realize that teaming up with Harry would potentially open up the world to him. His dream of being a successful musician was coming true and he started to dream even bigger.

The house they were living and working in during the trip was perfect. Everyone had their own room, and they were right by the water.

The days were filled with writing and recording, as well as swimming and relaxing outside. Nights were also often filled with writing and recording. But everyone tended to let loose a bit more once the sun set. Drinks flowed, weed and mushrooms were passed around on occasion.

Most nights ended in a way that people might not expect of a world-famous popstar. Harry would choose a romantic comedy and settle in his bed to relax and watch the movie. The first few nights he did so alone, but Mitch soon started to join him.

At first they would leave space between them on the bed and Mitch would go back to his own room as soon as the movie was over. But each day they started to move closer to one another and Mitch would stay longer, spending time talking with Harry.

It only took a week before they started cuddling during the movie, taking turns on who was the big spoon. Each night after the movie ended they would lie on their sides facing each other and talking about music, movies, their lives, or whatever else was on their minds.

Little by little they would shift closer, until their noses were practically touching as they spoke. More than once their lips would accidentally brush together causing them both to pull back. These moments caused Mitch a fair amount of confusion, as he had never thought about men the way he now found himself thinking about Harry.

It’s a Friday night, and while days of the week really don’t matter to them on this trip, they decide it's a night for the group to let loose. Drinks flow steadily all evening, causing everyone to get quite tipsy. And eventually, quite drunk.

Well past midnight Mitch looks up to see that everyone else has gone to bed except himself and Harry.

“Want another?” Harry asks, holding up a beer.

“Sure, why not?” Mitch replies and Harry passes it to him before opening his own.

They drink in silence for a few minutes before Harry askes, “Want to go sit on the dock?”

Mitch nods and they walk together to the end of the dock and sit side by side, feet dangling off the edge and into the water.

“I have to say, I’m glad the original guitarist flaked,” Harry says.

“Really?”

“Yea. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have joined the team. We wouldn’t have met.”

“Well, I’m really glad he flaked too. This experience has been a dream come true.”

Harry smiles at that before continuing, “I feel like this album would be so different without you. Your contributions are really shaping it.”

“Thanks man,” Mitch says. They lapse back into a comfortable silence. Harry suddenly shifts and rests his head on Mitch’s shoulder. Mitch in turn wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, enjoying this moment of contact. He finds himself wishing for more but refuses to make the first move.

More time passes, thoughts spiraling through Mitch’s brain, and then he feels it. Harry’s lips ghosting over the skin of his neck. Mitch’s breath catches as those light touches turn into firm kisses along the side of his throat. His eyes slip shut, and he gets lost in the feeling. Harry’s lips travel up first to Mitch’s chin, then finally, his mouth.

The kiss starts soft, sweet, tentative. There’s no rush, but also no hesitancy. From the first moment they connect, Mitch matches Harry’s firm presses, letting him know he’s perfectly okay with what’s happening.

Harry’s hands move to cup Mitch’s face and his tongue slides across the other man’s lips, asking for entrance. Mitch immediately parts his lips, gasping at the first swipe of Harry’s tongue across his own, and he reaches out to grip Harry’s hips.

They get lost in one another, time slipping away as they continue to make out, the sounds of the waves in the background. Mitch’s hand starts to slide of its own accord, until it’s dangerously close to Harry’s groin.

Harry pulls away and Mitch starts to apologize for his wandering hand but Harry cuts him off saying, “Movie time?”

Mitch is confused for a moment at the sudden change but nods and follows Harry back inside to his room, hands linked together. The house is mostly dark and silent, indicating that everyone else is already asleep.

Harry picks up the remote to his TV, putting on a random movie that Mitch recognizes as one they watched a few days prior. Both men then sit together on the bed against the headboard, and Mitch isn’t sure what’s going to happen next. He isn’t left wondering for long before Harry turns and reconnects their lips. This time it grows heated very quickly. Mitch again reaches out to Harry, resting his hands on his waist.

“It’s okay,” Harry says.

“What is?”

“You can touch me. Anywhere.”

Mitch nods, eyes meeting Harry’s as he murmurs an okay to show he understands.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks and Mitch lets out, “Yes, please,” before crashing their mouths together once more. Mitch gets lost in the feeling of Harry’s mouth and tongue sliding against his, and he lets out a broken moan as Harry palms his cock. Even through two layers of clothes the touch feels amazing. Quiet gasps fill the room as Harry continues to press against him.

Finally, Mitch builds up the courage to return the favor and he reaches out to stroke Harry over his shorts. His eyes nearly roll back at the sounds of pleasure he pulls from the other man.

They become frantic for a moment, and soon they find themselves completely bare, all their clothes strewn across the room.

Harry pulls back, pausing them and asking, “How far do you want to go?”

Mitch furrows his eyes, not sure what his answer is for a minute. But then he looks back and Harry and knows exactly what he wants.

“I want to go all the way. I just- I’ve never been with a man before. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“That’s fine, I can teach you.”

Mitch nods and goes quiet again before asking, “Who going to uhm-”

“Top and bottom?” Harry guesses Mitch’s unfinished question. “I mean, whatever you’re comfortable with, but I would really like for you to fuck me if you’re okay with that.”

“Fuck, yes, more than okay,” Mitch answers before connecting their lips once again. He moves them so that Harry is laying on his back, Mitch on top of him.

“You’ll need lube. And a condom. They’re in the bedside table, top drawer.”

Without a word Mitch grabs the necessary items and turns back to Harry, looking for directions on what to do next.

“Are you comfortable prepping me? If not I can do it,” Harry says.

“Just talk me through it, okay? I don’t want to hurt you,” Mitch replies.

“You won’t. I trust you.”

Those words soothe Mitch, and he leans forward to place a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips before pulling back and opening the bottle of lube. He takes his time opening Harry up, listening to the tips the other man gives to make it pleasurable.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Harry says after Mitch gets to the point where he can easily slide three fingers through his opening.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, Mitch, I’m ready. I need you inside me.”

“Okay. I’ve got you.”

Mitch pulls back to slide the condom on and coat it with a layer of lube. He lines up with Harry’s entrance and starts to push the tip inside.

“Relax for me baby,” he says, and watches as Harry goes fully limp, wanting to just take whatever Mitch plans to give him.

Mitch is gentle, sliding in a little at a time and watching Harry’s face to make sure there are no signs of discomfort. When their hips are finally flush Mitch nearly collapses with how good it feels, how tight Harry is around his throbbing length.

Their eyes meet and Harry starts to swivel his hips, creating pleasure for both of them. Mitch takes a deep breath to keep himself from coming right then and there. After he feels more in control he begins to slowly and gently thrust in and out.

Harry moves to wrap his legs around Mitch’s lower back, and the change in angle allows Mitch to hit his prostate with every thrust. Harry throws his head back in pleasure and Mitch can’t resist leaning down to kiss and bite at the exposed skin.

“Harder, please, more, I need more,” Harry gasps out and Mitch doesn’t hesitate to follow those instructions. He sets a faster pace, motivated by the sounds Harry is making, and by the sounds of their hips slapping together repeatedly.

It doesn’t take long for them to both near their peaks, and Mitch reaches down to stroke Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts. Harry comes first, letting out a long and low moan as his come paints his own chest as well as Mitch’s hand.

He contracts around Mitch as he comes, and this added stimulation has Mitch emptying into the condom a moment later. He collapses on top of Harry as they catch their breath. He slowly slides out and ties the condom, tossing it into the nearby trashcan and uses tissues to clean the cum off of Harry.

They lay side by side exchanging sweet kisses, soaking in the post-orgasmic bliss.

“Stay with me tonight?” Harry asks quietly.

“Of course,” Mitch answers. They maneuver themselves until Mitch is behind Harry. He tucks his face into the other man’s neck and wraps an arm around his waist to hold him close.

Mitch is nearly asleep when he hears Harrys sleepily murmur, “Really glad you’re part of the team.” Mitch smiles at this call back to their earlier conversation and replies, “me too,” before pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s shoulder.

They hold each other close and fall asleep in each other’s arms for the first, and definitely not last, time.

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@akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @theekyliepage @numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry @ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess @houseofdilfs @shaquille-0atmeal-1 @kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye @n0vaj3an @snwells @drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305

AN: Thank you again for reading this story! If you have any requests please let me know!

#harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles #mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader

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