#Social Distancing Shoes

[anaalnathrakhs]

argh you just know there’s something a little shady under that whole retirement situation :))))

[m0e-ru]

p4 models standing next to each other or whatever the hell

[suguann]

✎. he’s nice. well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you.

tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, simon is an excon, non-linear narrative for future chapters [18+ only]

part one | part two

He’s always been a little obsessed with pretty things, even as a child.

It only makes sense that the habit would follow him into adulthood.

He sees you once while he’s walking by the bus stop. A timid thing wrapped up in an oversized sweater and parka coat, not looking up from the little book in your lap until the bus stops before you and takes you away.

The next time he sees you, he makes sure to come a few minutes earlier, lighting a cigarette and keeping his distance while he watches you read the same book from the day before. Simon knows it’s you, the girl from the letters, even if it’s a big city. It has to be—his pretty, lonely, silly girl.

He thinks about walking up to you just to make sure, but he doesn’t really need to. The address on the envelope brought him here, and you’re the only one he’s seen wearing a university sweater in this neighborhood.

But when he hesitates too long, a boy starts talking to you, and he watches you smile at somebody else.

Simon runs his thumb over his bottom lip and takes a deep breath to fill his chest with the soothing feeling of menthol and the burning taste of nicotine, trying to relax his white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel. 

You’ll learn, he thinks, when the bus drives off, and the boy doesn’t follow you on. He’s a patient man—it’s possibly one of his finer qualities.

He lets his car idle as he climbs out before crushing his cigarette bud underneath his shoe, straightening his black tie, and crossing the street. The boy sees him and freezes, but Simon can only laugh, wiping blood off his cheek several seconds later.

You’ll learn.

He’s nice.

Well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you. But nice, you've learned, can mean any number of things: a nice laugh, a nice house, a nice job, et cetera.

But how he holds himself—tall, broad, and dangerous—hardly screams nice.

It’s funny because you don’t remember seeing him around the office before—the company, including IT, occupies only four floors in the building. 

Someone tells you he’s a friend of a friend. This initially sounds odd until Rose, the office gossip, says he’s someone rich who helps fund the company's social events. Hence, the crisp suit and the wide berth of space you’d give someone who wields their smile like a weapon. 

You quickly look away twice when you find that smile aimed at you, heat traveling up to your hairline at an alarming rate.

It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not your type. 

“Enjoying the party?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice so close to your ear. Careful not to spill your drink, you turn your head to find him smiling down at you with a sharp curl of his mouth.

Then he’s in front of you, eyes dark and crinkling in the corners.

“Uh, yeah. It’s not bad, though,” you squeak nervously when you realize you haven’t answered him. “It’s different from what I’m used to.”

He raises an amused brow. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He’s intimidating up close, and you take a small sip of your drink to ease your nerves. “Well, no kegs or trashy music playing, and boys with egos bigger than the room.”

The man lets out a low chuckle as he considers your honest reply, and you swear you see something ripple across his features, but when you blink, it’s gone. “I suppose that differs from top-shelf liquor and live bands, huh? Which is better?”

You shrug. “Well, it depends on who you ask.” 

“I’m asking you.”

“Honest answer?” 

He nods. 

“Neither. I don’t really care for parties.”

“Then it’s quite unfortunate that you found yourself at one tonight.” He seems privately amused, in on a joke you have no part of. Then he says, “You want to get out of here?”

“I probably shouldn’t follow a stranger home,” you tell him bashfully.

“That’s very responsible of you. Then how about I get you a drink? There’s a hotel across the street, and the bar’s not shit.”

You bite your lip, and his big, warm hand is on the small of your back before you say anything. It must’ve been written all over your face like he knew you would say yes.

He’s ever the gentleman, unlike most boys your age. Though, perhaps that’s the difference. He isn’t a boy—nothing about him can hardly be described as such. This fact becomes a bit overwhelming and more evident once he has you on your back, thighs nearly up to your ears, and held in place by a firm, intricately tattooed forearm.

His smile—almost too sharp to be nice—makes your chest do this silly thing when he says, “Let’s play a game.” 

You whisper into the night air. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple. You tell me yes or no.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of the rules of the game. “But—”

The slap against your cunt isn’t harsh, but it’s the suddenness of it, how no one has ever thought to touch you like that, is what makes you squeak and tremble underneath him—the rings on his fingers sharpening the sting—trying to scurry up the bed, but hindered by his iron grip.

“Yes or no?”

“Y-yes.”

“There’s a girl,” and then his fingertips drop down to where you're slippery-wet and sensitive, moving in hard, tight circles until you're clenching down on a curse between your teeth. "Messy little cunt."

It's too much, you think when he plugs two fingers (feeling like three of your own) into your pussy. The muscles in his shoulders roll as he shoves his fingers in and out, batting your hands away when you try to get him to slow down. Too much, too—

“It’s not. I want you to cum like this,” he says, teasing, nudging your clit with his thumb and swirling it in tight spit-slick circles; you have no choice but to chase that bright light feeling until you cum, sticky and sweaty. 

Just like he promised you would, your orgasm is a shivery thing, molten heat, incandescent, settling in your veins until it pours out of you like liquid wax against the scratchy hotel sheets, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his fingers curl up and press into where you’re soft and tender.

He smiles. “This is fun, isn’t it, love?”

“I can’t,” you whimper, not exactly answering him. “No more, please.”

His eyes, already pupil-fat, go dark at hearing you beg, nostrils flaring. Please, the key for the small amount of mercy he grants you as he replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit and lightly sucking it into his mouth. His lips are just there, and then they’re gone.

“Say it again.”

Your response is a wet little hiccup at the back of your throat. “W-what?”

“Beg me.”

“Please.”

“Again,” he says one more time.

“Please, please, please…”

It’s all you can think to say, strung between that dreamy space and reality, that you don’t even notice him flipping you onto your tummy with ease, not until the light in the room is blotted out as he leans over you. He wraps a hand into the scruff of your neck and presses your face into the bed, the other tucked under your hips to keep them at the right angle—held down with nowhere to go.

He leaves biting open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders and the back of your neck—Simon—he manages to tell you his name from one little bruise to the next. Somewhere between the buzz in your ears, you hear him telling you that he wants you to moan it for him, nice and loud.

The haze clears a little, however, at the metal clink of a belt and the sound of a zipper coming undone before you feel his cock prodding you open—raw, without a condom.

“There you go. Lay there, and just—just give me what I fucking want,” Simon rasps as if you could actually move with his hands pinning you in place. 

There are many things you should feel: scared of his words, trapped by the rings digging into tender flesh, by his thighs forcefully pushing yours apart. The red flags look more like flashing lights at this point.

Instead, you feel wanted—your walls tighten around his cock, fluttering, pulling him deeper inside, letting him turn you inside out. A small smile buried into the pillow.

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT LOKI'S SHOES (ACTUALLY, HIS WHOLE WARDROBE)

Production costs aside, clothes tell the audience about how characters think of themselves.

Loki's shoes in the S2 finale raised a lot eyebrows, but I find them quite fitting: they are comfortable, practical, and most importantly, they are humble. The camera brings this to our attention to communicate his evolution in character.

Loki has always dressed well, often times ostentatiously. Whether he is at war, passing as a Midgardian, or held captive as an Asgardian prisoner, Loki communicates his social class and sense of superiority through clothing. For him, clothing armors his fragile sense of self and against others' opinions of him. He intends to be perceived as deadly charming but ultimately unapproachable.

His attire in the first Thor movie is roughly equal parts green and gold, signifying his royal status. His style is dressed down for his brother's misadventures in Jotenheim, yet overall both silhouettes are lofty, princely, but not hardened or threatening.

In Avengers, Loki's look has more black and leather, with exaggerated emphasis on his shoulders meant to intimidate as he assumes the role of villain. The silhouette is very hard, heavy, and edgy. Gold detailing is prevalent as well. Combined with the goat's helm, this is Loki's most pretentious outfit, which speaks to an undercurrent of low self-esteem and a compulsive need to impress. There's no mistaking he is the main antagonist of the story.

In Thor 2, Loki's attire is similar to Avengers but the overcoat is exchanged for a less bulky version (perhaps conveying he is less guarded now that the effects of the Mind Stone are no longer influencing him). Loki's role likewise pivots from the harsh lines of a villain to the more flexible edges of a reluctant villain-turned-ally. This aligns with his character arc when he protects both Jane and Thor, seemingly sacrificing himself.

In Thor 3, Loki's silhouette is streamlined even further. The overcoat is done away with in favor of what appears to be a leather doublet, pauldrons, and vambraces. Gold accents are minimal. While stylish, Loki's attire is more practical than showy, and his helm serves the dual purpose of protection as well as weaponry. At this point in his arc, Loki has become a full antihero, joining his brother's side in rescuing as many Asgardians as possible, and eventually dying in a vain bid to protect Thor from Thanos.

The TVA does something very fun and interesting in taking away Loki's ability to dress himself. Since Loki cannot use his magic in the TVA, he is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor/advocate, who eventually becomes his best friend and peer.

Perhaps, on a subconscious level, this helped Loki to feel included. We know by his pwn admission that Loki fears being alone and desperately craves a sense of belonging. At the same time, he intentionally dresses to put people at a distance, thereby protecting himself from potential rejection at the cost of isolating himself further.

When Mobius gives him that TVA jacket for the first time, Loki seems uncharacteristically pleased. It is not an attractive jacket by any means, yet he neither scoffs at it nor refuses to wear it. Instead, Loki puts it on and is content when Mobius says it looks "smart" on him. He continues to dress like Mobius and, indeed, mimic some of his mannerisms such as placing his hands on his hips. Without clothing meant to push people away, Loki opens up, has more fun, and makes friends.

Loki's choice of attire as he assumes the mantle of God of Stories (and time) is fascinating. Setting aside the clear design inspiration from the comics, Loki's silhouette is soft, remarkably so. His colors are earthy hues of green, and the only bit of flare are the light gold trimming and crown. The look brings to mind the garb of sages and wise wizards rather than royalty or warriors. He's powerful yet approachable because there is humility in his bearing. And that humility springs from a well of healthy self-worth, self-love, and a deep love for others.

The shoes are not meant to be attractive. They are meant to help him ascend the throne, nothing more.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Thinking about a popular playboy type of yandere falling for someone he'd never take seriously on the regular... But oops! He fell first AND harder!!

I'm just imagining a scenario in which you go to a party with some friends, all is good and you're having fun. The guy is all over the place, he's cheerful, he's carefree, all the ladies love him and all the men want to be him and boy, does he know it.

Being the social butterfly that he is, he approaches you, naturally. And you humor him, perhaps you even play along a little, flirt back and just match his energy. You hit it off so well that people even start talking about how you two go so well together, that you'll be dating in no time.

You laugh at the absurdity of those claims.

He is charming, he is sweet, perhaps even gentle.

But you would never date him, not in a million years.

Perhaps you're still not over an old ex, or you're just not looking to date someone. Maybe you're the hopeless romantic type, someone who wants to make a proper connection in order to date someone.

Let's not play games and waste time, yeah?

In turn, you keep him at a safe distance.

You are not rude or snide, you say hello to him when he greets you, sometimes you might even laugh at his corny jokes too!!

But you never stick for longer than necessary. You never say yes to any of his proposals, you never even acknowledge his advances.

He thinks you're just playing hard to get. Ah, how precious. He loves a challenge! Time passes, he has made no progress. His confidence is wavering and it's all your fault. Life has no purpose and there are no colours in the world. The air is dead, his food is stale, his heart does not function properly.

He can only come to life if you acknowledge him. He doesn't care how, just as long as you look at him. Him. Him only. No one else. Him.

If he can't be your lover, perhaps he can become your pest.

He ties your shoes together, he purposefully puts salt in your drink, he constantly teases you about everything and anything. People are freaking out with how much attention he's giving you, no girl has ever managed to keep him so focused in so long.

None of them understand just how horrible he is. He's no better than a termite, the harder you try to squish him, the stronger he becomes and he always comes back with a pep in his step.

In his mind, any attention is good attention, as long as it comes from you.

Although, who knows for how much longer that ship will stay afloat.

He's only human after all.

[pin-k-ink]

HOME ⋆✦⋆ kuroo tetsurou

synopsis ➸ you knew nothing good would come from answering a late-night call from your ex’s number. but now that he’s drunk and helpless, you’re stuck with him. and you’re well aware of how this will end—you never could resist him

tags ➸ exes-to-lovers, mentions of alcohol consumption, drunk and clingy kuroo, teeny tiny bit of angst, hurt/comfort (kinda), dry humping, groping, biting, nipple play, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, squirting, begging, kitchen sex

wc ➸ 9.1k

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you growled, snatching your phone away from your ear to glower at the caller ID blinking incessantly.

The string of familiar numbers stared back at you mockingly against the too-bright screen, igniting a complicated tangle of emotions you'd fought to bury deep over the past year or so. That particular contact had been set to automatically bypass Do Not Disturb mode - a relic from simpler times before everything unraveled between you.

Before you'd reluctantly walked away from the love of your life for reasons that still stung with poignant ache.

With a weary sigh, you swiped to answer and tried steeling your voice into something approaching calm neutrality.

"Kuroo?" Your voice still caught slightly on the syllables of his name despite your best efforts. "It's the middle of the damn night, do you have any idea wha—"

"HEEEEYYYYYY!!! There she is! The light of my life, keeper of my—!"

Your brows furrowed as a raucous chorus of unfamiliar voices erupted in the background - tipsy laughter and joking catcalls that swiftly extinguished any flare of long-harbored hurt. Apprehension slithered up your spine as you registered the telltale slur to the once-familiar rasp on the other end.

"...Tetsurou?" you ventured again, unable to disguise the sudden edge of concern creeping into your tone. "Are you...where even are you right now?"

More scuffling and garbled background noise - the distinct cacophony of an evening in full revelry you'd become accustomed to long ago during varsity parties and volleyball socials. A crisp, unfamiliar baritone cut through the whirl of boisterous chatter then, clearer than the rest.

"Apologies for disturbing you so late, [Y/N]-san! It's Akiba from Kuroo's work team here." The perky voice paused to exchange a few muffled words amidst more inebriated hooting before returning ruefully. "We, ah...well we seem to have gotten our friend into a bit of a...state tonight."

You frowned, fingers reflexively tightening around the phone case as a particular rowdy whoop clearly carried Kuroo's timbre. A pit of unease opened in your gut as worst-case scenarios swirled unbidden. Despite the bitter fallout at the end, old habits died hard when it came to his wellbeing.

"What exactly happened?" you demanded, already pushing up from the couch to search for shoes and coat. "Don't sugarcoat it - is Tetsurou somewhere unsafe or in trouble?"

An awkward pause stretched from the other end, punctuated by more muted murmuring until Akiba cleared his throat carefully: "He...might have overindulged a bit in tonight's celebration and become a tad uncooperative about calling for a ride home, shall we say?"

The understatement settled like a lead weight somewhere behind your ribs even before you tuned back into the commotion filtering through. But it was Kuroo's sudden drunken declaration that swiftly blanketed you in resigned dread:

"Jus' call m’girlfriend, she'll swoop in an' rescue me again! 'Smyyyy...precious kitten...beautiful, preeecioussss..."

His slurred affection collided squarely with the messy reality of your current estranged relationship status without reservation. Of course, Kuroo had always been a relentlessly sappy, clingy drunk whenever you were around as his girlfriend to keep him anchored. And clearly, some long-buried part of him still instinctively grasped for you to be that tether despite the distance between you now.

You drew in a shuddering breath against the memories threatening to well up and sting behind your eyes. There really wasn't a choice here, was there? Not when it came to Kuroo's potential safety hanging in limbo like this for one sentimental instant.

"Yeah, okay...I hear you," you managed finally. "Just tell me where you assholes are and I'll come pick up the mess, okay?"

Akiba listed off a familiar bar address, hurriedly agreeing as you grabbed keys and coat to head out into the night. And as you descended the front steps into the brisk spring air, you steeled yourself against the maelstrom of tangled emotions bubbling just beneath the surface at the prospect of seeing your ex-boyfriend again in such unpredictable circumstances.

The rowdy dive bar loomed into view at last, dim neon signage flickering as the cab pulled up to the curb. You cast a steeling glance towards the entrance, squaring your shoulders in preparation before handing over the fare with a murmured thanks.

Despite having braced yourself the entire journey over, nothing could've quite fortified you for the sight awaiting within those grungy walls.

The instant you stepped through the doors, a chorus of raucous whoops and hollers erupted from the far corner booth. Your eyes immediately zeroed in on the source - a familiar form draped over the leather bench, shirt rumpled and hair artfully disheveled in a way that stabbed through your chest with acute yearning.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

His chin lolled forward, supported by a firm grip on his broad shoulders as he swayed precariously. Even from across the room, you could make out the bleary, lidded gaze roving sightlessly until his tawny eyes finally landed squarely on you.

A beat passed, the raucous background noise fading away entirely. Then Kuroo inhaled sharply through his nose, back straightening fractionally as you two locked stares through the smokey dimness.

"...Kitten?" he rasped out, the old pet name escaping without a shred of uncertainty or pretense.

His friends followed his dumbstruck gaze, muttering in surprise. But you remained transfixed, rooted to the spot as a dozen conflicting emotions ricocheted through your thoughts in rapid succession. Because despite the gulf of time, space, and irrevocably changed circumstances now separating you both...Kuroo was still drinking you in like a man stumbling upon an oasis after months adrift.

Like he'd only just realized you existed again after so long missing from the orbit of his singular focus.

He began to struggle against the firm hands clamped on his shoulders then, long legs splaying under the table clumsily in a clear bid to rise and approach. But before he could topple into the surrounding din completely, you spurred yourself forward once more - moving on autopilot towards his wayward form even as reason warred with instinct.

"Tetsu," you called out once within earshot, stomach clenching at the unwitting endearment rolling from your tongue so easily. "Let's just get you home and sobered up, alright?"

His disheveled head whipped up at the sound of your voice, features etched in mournful longing and boyish hopefulness in equal measure that left you reeling slightly. Then Kuroo shook off his friend's restraining grip with a sloppy roll of his powerful shoulders, surging upright to sway dangerously.

"But 'myyyy home," he rasped out almost petulantly, prowling a few steps into your personal space with that same prowling intensity from back when you'd shared quarters together. "My home's wherever you are, precious girl..."

His trembling fingertips ghosted over your cheek in a shockingly intimate caress for a man nearly insensate with inebriation moments ago. They trailed, featherlight, along your jaw and down the delicate column of your throat until your entire body hummed with white-hot tingles of restless, half-forgotten longing uncorked all over again so suddenly.

"Stars couldn't shine half as bright as you," Kuroo murmured, breath hot and tinged with whiskey against the shell of your ear as he boxed you in against one solid forearm braced along the peeling wallpaper. "M'heart's been a black hole swallowing allll the light since you left it, kitten...just cold and empty."

A shuddering inhale punched itself from your lungs as his nose nudged along your hairline, nuzzling unabashedly and utterly oblivious to the raucous hollers of his colleagues nearby. Kuroo's free hand settled heavy and possessive on your hip, bunching the fabric there as you instinctively surrendered beneath the delirious weight of his presence so intimately close once more.

"Please come home finally, precious," he rasped in a broken sigh...teetering on the edge of lucidity yet remaining unwavering in his raw ache for you to soothe some deep-seated wound even you'd never discovered the extent of during your time together until now. "I miss...so, so much..."

The crack in Kuroo's voice threatened to completely undo you from the inside out, body tensing in aborted retreat until you regained enough oxygen to think clearly once more. With gentle yet firm motions, you pried his wandering palms away and guided him back from your shared orbit of wistful temptation for just an instant.

"You're drunk out of your mind," you scolded, well aware of how hoarse and wrecked your own voice sounded now. "And I'm not your home anymore, Tetsu...we both know that."

One dark brow pinched fractionally at the reminder, lips parting around a sharp inhale. Before he could voice the tortured protest welling up behind that intense amber regard, though, you motioned for Akiba and the others watching on in stunned silence.

"Let's just get out of here," you sighed, already giving up the battle before it truly began. "I'll let him sleep at my place until he's fit to function like a big boy again. Then maybe we can actually talk properly when he's present for once..."

Exchanging subtle nods with the young men, you scooped up Kuroo's arm and slung it over your shoulders without needing to be told. The familiar, smokey cedar wood and old spice aroma swamped your senses fully, igniting a flurry of delirious intimacy in its wake like some Pavlovian response hardwired straight into your cerebellum.

Of course his solid weight pinning you close felt as natural as breathing after all this time...just like the hungry yet adoring look glowing in his dazed stare as Kuroo leaned in to nuzzle sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your cheek towards the thundering pulse in your throat.

"Gonna take such good care of me, kitten," he mumbled in that too-raspy cadence you'd memorized beneath the sheets so many steamy nights spent unraveling together. "'Smy good girl...always have the- the magic touch to put me back t'gether."

You swallowed thickly, grateful for the steadying hands of Akiba and a few others helping guide your stumbling entourage back out into the bracing midnight breeze before you surrendered entirely to the delirious, tactile torment of Kuroo's undivided debauchery laid bare once more like this. Despite the consequences already stretching out before you both in the form of that inevitable reckoning soon...you were already helpless to deny or escape from finally reuniting in the thrall of his gravitational pull a while longer.

So as you ushered your sloshing mess of an ex-boyfriend into a waiting cab, you couldn't help but steal a glance down at the contact listing for your number - helpfully still saved to his phone under that beloved nickname you could never seem to scrub from your wounded soul no matter how hard you tried:

My Precious Kitten 🖤

The cab ride back to your apartment passed in a delirious, heated blur of Kuroo's wandering hands and increasingly bold murmurs against your flushed skin. No sooner had you bundled his languid bulk into the backseat beside you before those long fingers were smoothing up your thighs and ghosting over the exposed column of your throat.

"Pretty kitten," he rasped gutturally, amber eyes glazed yet burning straight through you with naked yearning. "Lemme touch...need to relearn what heaven feels like after so long..."

You caught his straying palms just as they began roaming over your breasts, nipples pebbling traitorously underneath your shirt. Kuroo whined low in his throat, pawing against your restraining grip with intoxicated insistence until you leveled him with a stern look.

"Easy there, big guy," you managed in a tone far steadier than you felt. "Let's just get you settled somewhere more private before you try seducing me, yeah?"

The blunt teasing helped ground you both fractionally. Kuroo huffed out a thick chuckle smeared in tipsy amusement, allowing you to corral his restless limbs close once more. He turned to nuzzle his nose into your hair then, inhaling deeply with a shuddering exhale that caressed your nape in delicious wisps.

"Was always only ever yours to seduce, though," he confessed in a gravelly murmur tinged with mournfulness. "Miss your touch most of all, kitten..."

You swallowed hard against the sudden emotion clogging your throat, forcing yourself to remain as aloof and unaffected as possible. Just a little longer and you could bundle Kuroo off to sleep and collect yourself properly before allowing the tidal wave of still-lingering sentiment to crest in relative privacy.

Sure enough, the familiar facade of your apartment complex quickly hoved into view outside the grimy cab window. You nudged Kuroo gently until he roused enough to blink owlishly at the unfolding surroundings, momentary comprehension flickering behind that hazy stare.

"Wait...s'this your place?" he rasped in a rare moment of lucidity. "'Sgonna be real easy for me to mix signals and cross lines if y'bring me to bed again, baby..."

Rather than mount either indignant protest or bemused flirtation, you simply levelled him with a weighted look before shrugging gamely.

"Well unless you've got any better options handy, this is what you're stuck with right now," you declared mildly. "So let's just get you settled somewhere soft so tomorrow's hangover won't be quite so unbearable, hmm?"

His tongue darted out to wet full lips you definitely didn't track with laser focus, shoulders rolling beneath the rumpled button-down in that boneless shrug of idle surrender you recalled so intimately from happier times. Without further preamble, Kuroo roused himself enough to shuffle from the cab without excessive guidance, muscular forearm slung over your shoulder while you supported his swaying weight against your side.

From there, navigating the dingy entrance and dimly lit stairwells passed in another heated blur of scorching looks and whispered flirtations that made your skin prickle with slowly escalating temptation the closer your shared destination loomed. Somehow, you managed to guide your stumbling entourage down the hallway and swipe your apartment door open without too much struggle. But the feeble illusion of control vanished the second Kuroo's unsteady gait carried you both across the threshold with graceless momentum.

Your footing faltered, chest impacting the nearest wall with a low grunt of effort as Kuroo's arms encircled you from behind in a viselike brace. His chin hooked over your shoulder, the scruffy rasp against your nape sending fresh shivers slithering down your limbs until you trembled despite the radiating heat of his body pressed flush against your own.

"Easy...easy there, baby doll," he purred in a familiar rumble that punched straight through any lingering self-possession you'd been clinging to pathetically. "S'okay...lemme jus' hold you 'gain, hm? Been way too long..."

You inhaled a shuddery breath in time with the molten glide of Kuroo's wandering palms along your sides - exploring the dips and flares with a shameless sense of ownership that bordered on delirium in its intensity. He sighed gustily against your neck, each tremor of his chest seeming to reverberate all the way through your own ribcage until your heart galloped completely out of sync.

"You came when I called," Tetsu murmured in something resembling awe, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a searing brand that made you squirm helplessly. "Never shoulda gave up hope...not when y'feel so goddamn perfect in m'arms again, dollface."

His slurred endearments and the scorching heat of his hands mapping over every lush curve robbed you of any outward composure completely. A punched moan slipped free without restraint as he rolled his hips with aching leisure, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his cock straining against the taut fabric below. Kuroo groaned low in his chest in response, nuzzling closer until your cheek slanted against his and you drowned in the earthy, intoxicating notes of his cologne still clinging to sweat-slick skin.

"Used to dream about this, y'know?" he rumbled out brokenly, dragging scalding kisses over the thundering pulse at your throat between panted confessions. "About findin' m'way back t'you some way...fallin' into bed together just like this an' never wantin' t'stop feelin' you everywhere again..."

Your head fell back against the solid weight of his shoulder in something akin to rapturous surrender as his hands and mouth roamed restlessly. Deep down, every syllable dripping from that low, raspy timbre you adored resonated with your very core - igniting long-buried embers to crackling life once more despite your staunchest denials.

Because you'd spent countless, endless nights chasing the very same fantasy, hadn't you? Indulging in the hazy, forbidden imaginings of Kuroo blazing back into your world like a black hole's gravitic allure - inescapable and irresistible as the cosmic forces driving his rapturous, ardent worship of your body yet again.

He seemed to sense the exact moment you teetered over the edge into resigned capitulation entirely. Kuroo stilled for a charged beat, the tension coiled in his looming frame transmitting straight through your merged forms in electric vibrations until every nerve ending pulsed in time with your rabbiting pulse.

"Yeah...that's m'good girl," he crooned against the fevered hollow of your nape in a silken rasp that robbed what little breath remained in your lungs completely. "Been waitin' so fuckin' patiently for me all this time, I bet. No need t'fight it anymore, kitten...I got you now."

With a low, ravaged sound rumbling from his chest, Kuroo twisted his hips in a practiced grind that had your knees buckling shamefully. One mammoth palm anchored around your shoulders, pinning you upright through the shockwaves as inch after delirious inch of his scorching erection rutted against the soft give of your ass in unhurried possession.

You cried out shamelessly at the torturous friction, hands flying up to clutch the arm banded across your abdomen in a desperate, futile anchor. But still Tetsu didn't relent - continuing his merciless rhythm as he sealed every searing inch to your form with leonine mastery, raining whiskey-soaked praises and growled endearments against your skin in a delirious mantra of sin.

"Such a perfect lil' fuck toy, takin' m'cock so pretty for me like y'were made for it," he rasped hotly at one point, making you quiver. "Can already feel those sweet walls squeezin' down like a greedy vice...yearnin' t'get stuffed up an' bred full of my babies again, ain't that right baby?"

You whimpered helplessly against the onslaught, hips unconsciously pivoting into each grinding roll as he mercilessly chased your unraveling higher with every crude vulgarity spilling free from his swollen lips and scorching exhales. Long-denied flashes of muscle memory stirred to vivid life - of nights blurring into mornings spent wrapped in Kuroo's powerful embrace as he took his fill and gave back in equal measure; of being stretched impossibly around his throbbing cock; of the addictive, dizzying rush of his cum painting your innermost depths white and dripping out messy and hot rivulets.

It was only once you'd finally managed to deposit Kuroo's bulk onto the plush embrace of your living room sofa that things quickly veered out of controlled territory altogether.

Because no sooner had you straightened up fully with the intent of retrieving some water and painkillers for what promised to be a brutal hangover come sunrise...only to find yourself promptly hauled back down into the sinuous sprawl of Kuroo's trembling form over yours with crushing urgency.

You gasped aloud as his powerful thighs caged your hips between them, vision swimming briefly until your senses managed to recalibrate around Kuroo bracketing your prone sprawl with utterly relentless possession. He loomed over you panting harshly, eyes finally focusing with piercing, unhurried intent that robbed you of oxygen entirely.

"Please..." he rasped with raw earnestness laced through each syllable, calloused palm settling over the thundering cadence of your pulse in a searing caress. "Pretty girl, I need you...I can't—I can't keep going like this without you anymore..."

Kuroo pitched forward then, hot and trembling as he nuzzled and sought out every slick expanse of your throat with unbridled ardor. Each open-mouthed suckle and rasping noise he painted onto your fevered skin sent another cresting surge of electric heat saturating straight through to your pussy like the sweetest poison drip-fed directly into your veins.

The only tether to reason you still desperately clung to through the rising fog of delirious lust crashed over you with each molten glide of Kuroo mapping every curve and hollow with a devotion that teetered beyond the obsessive into something profoundly more all-consuming altogether. Raw, boundless need burned behind every caress and filthy endearment he showered over your unraveling form - yearning so utterly visceral that you couldn't tear yourself free of its anchoring depths even as your own restraint frayed.

"I can't..." Kuroo rasped again in a voice wrecked with equal parts ruin and rapture intermingled. "Can't breathe without you in my lungs, baby...fuck, need you like oxygen or I'll—"

Whatever apocalyptic promise hung trembling behind his gaze went mercifully unvoiced. Because with one final shuddering inhale, you summoned the last fragments of your slipping resistance and twisted free from the delirious tangle of Kuroo's limbs before he could swallow you whole again.

The resulting whine that punched free from his chest sounded utterly shattering - eyes gone blown wide and anguished as he watched you hastily retreat towards the bedroom on shaking legs. You paused only long enough at the threshold to pin him with one last weighted look that hopefully conveyed a semblance of the tempest still roiling beneath your own defenses in the face of his unbound hunger.

"Get some sleep, Tetsurou," you managed with gentle steel laced behind each weighted syllable. "We...we can talk properly in the morning."

He opened his mouth to protest, clearly. But you had already turned and fled through the doorway entirely before granting his fraying self-restraint the chance to tempt capitulation once more tonight. Because as the bedroom door closed behind you with an ominous thud of finality...part of you already sensed this latest reunion would merely serve to finally unmake you both with blinding, rapturous certainty in ways neither of you had yet recovered from their last disastrous conclusion.

The sizzle of bacon grease popping in the pan punctuated the uneasy silence permeating your kitchen like a stifling fog. You kept your back turned towards the entryway, feigning focus on tending the eggs with studious concentration despite your rattled nerves.

Last night's heated confrontation replayed through your mind in lurid flashes, stoking embers of yearning and consternation alike. Because as much as rational thought might attempt to overwrite the visceral reality of having Kuroo's scorching adoration and unrestrained ache poured over you so reverently...your body betrayed deeper truths.

Ones where you desperately craved being laid utterly bare before him without defenses or hesitation once more.

The telltale shuffle of approaching footsteps across creaky hardwood sent your pulse skyrocketing anew. You braced yourself, drawing in a fortifying inhale and squaring your stance instinctively.

When you finally turned to face your guest, however, all the hasty pep talks fled your temporarily vacated lungs entirely.

Kuroo stood in tousled disarray just beyond the kitchen's threshold - collared shirt hanging open to reveal a broad swath of defined musculature you couldn't tear your gaze away from instantly. His dark locks stuck up at wild angles, countenance still bearing the rumpled vestiges of last night's heated imbibing and intimate tussle sprawled across the sofa.

Yet it was the open longing etched across his striking features that undid you most of all in that suspended heartbeat. The same rapturous adoration shone bright and undiminished behind each fractured inhale shared between your suspended forms once more.

"Hey pretty girl," he rasped out in that smoke-roughened timber that caressed over every inch of your overstimulated nerves exquisitely. "Missed being the first thing my eyes landed on every morning."

Your throat clicked with an audible swallow as Kuroo prowled further into the tiny kitchen space, relentless in his approach. Despite hours of anticipated reprieve between that delirious reunion and the cruel light of sobriety now bathing him fully...the slow burn of his molten need remained banked and simmering bright within those arresting tawny irises.

"Don't," you managed roughly in what you hoped was a tone of forbidding steel despite the tremor fracturing its foundations. "Just...stay right there, Tetsurou."

Kuroo's steady advance only faltered briefly at the command before resuming its measured pace anew. It was only when he drew within a few scant feet that you whirled away again, bracing both palms against the tiny kitchenette counter as if it could somehow serve as an impenetrable barricade.

"Pretty sure breakfast's about done by now," he commented idly - utterly unphased by your clear retreat and hostility. "Mind if I steal a—?"

"Get cleaned up already if you're actually intent on sticking around," you interrupted with more venom than intended, forcibly resuming your tasks to distract from the delicious masculine proximity now swamping your senses so thoroughly once more. "And once you're done gussying up that hungover mug of yours...I think it's high time you got the hell out of my place too while you're at it."

A tense silence followed your gritted demand - charged and pregnant with unspoken currents thrumming between your rigid frames with dizzying friction. Finally, after inhaling a weighted breath of his own, Kuroo spoke up once more in a low, tempered pitch that sliced through your defenses like a hot knife cleaving soft butter.

"You know I can't leave without us finishing this first, kitten..."

He was closer now - close enough for the wafting cedar wood and crisp spice of his cologne to swamp your heightened senses completely, robbing you of any lingering faculty for retreat entirely. You sensed Kuroo moving, circling around your flank with that same purposeful yet indolent prowl you'd witnessed stalk so many opponents down to utter devastation right before claiming rapturous victory over the years.

"I get that you're pissed...and hurt," he continued, rich cadence bleeding into your stuttering focus now. "Hell, maybe you even hate my guts a lil' still over how things crashed between us back then."

You flinched against another scorching glide of his presence alongside your left hip, blunted fingernails digging into the laminate counter until your knuckles went white as paper. Any second now Kuroo would come into your periphery properly...and then all remaining delusions about composure or propriety would officially fracture beyond repair completely.

"But looking around this place again so fresh..." Kuroo husked from somewhere over your shoulder, radiating magnetic want and bittersweet yearning in equal seismic waves. "All our old routines and reminders everywhere I look, baby...not much has really moved on despite those brave faces you put on, has it?"

You flinched again - utterly undone by his perceptive summation as those calloused fingertips came into view over your trembling fists. There Kuroo traced the outline of a vibrant yet faded kitchen towel emblazoned with a whimsical cartoon cat motif - one of his silly yet doting gifts from happier days.

Further over sat your favourite ceramic mug decorated with a cheeky slogan you'd laughed over countless mornings curled up against his bare chest enjoying the quiet tranquility before rushing off to classes or jobs. On the fridge hung a lurid assortment of old takeout menus, inside jokes scrawled beside favored recommendations in your half-forgotten couple shorthand.

"I still see the home we made together everywhere I look, precious girl," Kuroo confessed in a broken rasp tinged with wistful sincerity and bone-deep fatigue alike. "And I know you can't have forgotten what we we shared here either...no matter how badly you've tried moving past our trainwreck eventually."

Time seemed to fracture and blur around you as he spoke, memories and tantalizing glimpses of a life you'd both meticulously nurtured together over years of triumph and hardship seeping through the fragile cracks of your armor against his smoldering attentions once more.

It was true. No matter how resolutely you'd vowed to press onward from the messy conclusion you'd arrived at - some stubborn, sentimental part of your soul simply refused to lay down arms against the life you'd shared with this beautiful, maddening soul of a man completely.

Every tiny touchstone or embedded routine kept in defiance of your mutual separation served as a lighthouse beacon calling you both home despite the tempestuous waves still swallowing your wrecked ships in darkness.

Kuroo took a measured step forward, closing what little distance remained separating your pinned forms until you could feel the blistering heat radiating off his solid frame in delicious waves. Instinctively, you tensed - muscles coiled to resist or perhaps even lash out against the achingly familiar onslaught of temptation swamping your senses once more.

But just as you teetered on the brink of that momentary defiance...Kuroo continued slowly, inexorably crowding your personal space without restraint. You squeezed your eyes shut as his broad chest brushed against your shoulder blades, torn between surrendering and fleeing before that magnetic aura of dark rapture and ruinous lust could fully ensnare you within its dizzying, euphoric spirals yet again.

"Don't..." you managed to bite out weakly, barely above a trembling whisper. "Tetsu, please...you need to just go before we—"

"Before we what, baby?" Kuroo rumbled from just behind your ear, smokey cadence dripping scorching sin over your thrumming pulse points. "Before you finally give in and let yourself have a taste of what you've been so desperately craving since I walked back into your world, hm?"

You whimpered despite every last fraying thread of self-composure willing otherwise. Because Kuroo spoke nothing but blistering truth laced through each gruff vowel ghosting over the prickling hairs along your nape. Already, you could feel yourself wavering - rigid defenses steadily liquefying beneath the relentless onslaught of his virile presence and unbound desire laid achingly bare.

"Hush now..." Kuroo groaned when you managed a pitiful whine of protest, calloused knuckles skating up the undersides of your forearms until goosebumps erupted in their scorching wake. "I've got you, kitten...always did, even after we completely lost the plot for a while there."

He nuzzled his face into your mussed tresses then, inhaling deeply like a man starved for air before trailing open-mouthed kisses behind your ear and down the racing column of your throat. You trembled around a ragged inhale, eyelids fluttering as every nerve ending burst to searing life beneath his scorching brands of worship once more.

"There's my sweet girl..." Kuroo husked in rapturous delight, tongue darting out to taste the thundering pulse leaping desperately against your overheated skin. "Always so responsive, like your body just can't wait to invite me back in after raising those prickly defenses to drive us both crazy..."

You shuddered against him bodily, head lolling back in helpless surrender at the first electrifying graze of his stubbled jawline scoring a delicious path to better access the vulnerable dip of your clavicles. He growled low in pure masculine satisfaction at your visceral response, one large palm settling squarely over your abdomen in a molten possession that had your back arching wantonly against the solid wall of his bulk behind you.

"There she is..." Kuroo rumbled with evident approval, tongue swirling over the juncture of your neck and shoulder in searing figure-eights that undid you completely. "My sweet, gorgeous girl finally...so desperate for her man to take the lead again after stumbling around lost for too damn long..."

Low in your belly, a coiling ache began throbbing to life in tandem with each unhurried swipe of his searing mouth mapping every inch of you he could reach properly again. You rolled your hips back mindlessly, seeking friction against the rapidly hardening length already straining against the worn denim of his slacks as a low, needy moan punched free.

"You don't have to say a word, baby..." Kuroo snarled with possession lacing every word, stubble rasping deliciously against your bared throat. "Know you better than anyone in this world...the way your pretty lil' cunt gets so fucking soaked just from me pinning you with this hungry look, yeah?"

Your vision whited out momentarily at the filthy endearment, body going utterly liquid against the brutal intensity now pinning you in sublime rapture. Because Kuroo was right - always had the uncanny knack for reading your every non-verbal cue and unspoken need like a savant. Just like he seemed to understand you were already a hairsbreadth from shattering apart into blind surrender without reservation once again now...

So when Kuroo growled out another guttural noise of relentless possession, turned you around and seized your jaw firmly to angle your slack mouth towards his waiting hunger...the only response that tore free was a broken, keening whimper of joyous capitulation at last.

He swallowed down the sound greedily, tongue sweeping between your parted lips in a searing glide of satin and sin that punched the air from your trembling lungs entirely. Each slick swipe of his probing velvet strokes branded you anew - searing unspoken promises of ruinous devotion deep within your marrow as you arched and whined mindlessly into the glorious collapse.

Because this was always your undoing in the end - slipping fully into Tetsurou's unraveling thrall against your feeble will and giving him every scrap of your surrender to claim and mould as he saw rapturous fit. Your hands roamed his rippling musculature with frantic greed, desperately seeking every hard ridge and flexing hollow as if mapping the sacred geography of his form by touch alone could fully unearth your eternal salvation there.

Only when Kuroo finally tore away from your swollen mouth on a sawing inhale did your scattered focus manage to drag its way back into sluggish coherence. He stared down at you utterly wrecked and ravaged already in his ruinous embrace - raw adoration and transcendent hunger searing through his intense tawny gaze that robbed you of breath anew in an instant.

"So perfect..." Kuroo rasped out in a tone laced with rapturous wonder and naked reverence both. "My sweet girl...my beautiful kitten...letting me touch her like this again, after the stupid shit I've put her through lately..."

He cradled your slack jaw with earth-scorching tenderness, leaning in until your laboured breaths intermingled deliriously between trembling lips. You could only gaze up at him dazedly, already utterly undone in the best way yet once more by the soul-sundering truths radiating from every blazing syllable dripping from his wicked mouth.

"Still the only home that's ever mattered, kitten," Kuroo confessed hoarsely, tilting your faces together until your noses brushed in an intimate nuzzle that made your eyes flutter shut rapturously. "No matter how many times I lose my way..."

With a trembling inhale, Kuroo sealed his confession with a soft, lingering kiss that set every nerve ending alight with delirious heat and aching need anew. He cradled the back of your skull tenderly, guiding you into the perfect angle to savour the slow, intoxicating glide of his velvet mouth over yours until you could no longer tell where his essence ended and your own began.

Only when the last scraps of rationality threatened to flee your addled brain entirely did you break the seal with a shuddering gasp. Kuroo's lips curved against yours in a satisfied smirk, nipping at your swollen lower lip in playful chastisement before pulling away entirely.

You whimpered, chasing his addictive warmth on instinct - utterly bereft without his consuming heat pressed fully against you once more. But as his grip slid from the base of your skull to clasp around the delicate column of your throat in a steely brand of possession, that familiar rush of dark rapture and intoxicating submission swept back in an instant.

"Let me take care of my pretty kitten, hm?" Kuroo husked against your parted lips, thumb stroking down the rapid flutter of your pulse beating wildly against his restraining grasp. "Need to spoil my good girl after making such a mess of her these last few weeks..."

"Tetsu..." you whimpered, hips rolling in mindless abandon now as he traced the pad of his thumb over your pouting mouth teasingly. "Fuck, just...please..."

A low chuckle reverberated against your over-sensitive flesh, his other hand gliding down the planes of your shuddering abdomen with tantalizing indolence. The calloused pads of his fingers stroked a lazy, circuitous path across every quivering plane and dip before finally dipping between your spread thighs.

The first tentative graze of his dexterous digits against your soaked panties had you jerking helplessly against the iron bands of his restraining hold. You keened aloud, nails biting into the taut bulges of his biceps as Kuroo traced a featherlight path down the soaked slit, pausing to circle your engorged clit agonizingly slowly.

"Look at my pretty girl..." Kuroo groaned low in his throat, tawny eyes blazing with ravenous intent as he watched your lashes flutter and hips grind desperately against his teasing strokes. "Already soaked straight through this lil' thing for me...just aching for me to tear them off and bury myself in this tight cunt, aren't you?"

You sobbed openly at his taunting words, head lolling back helplessly. Because even as his fingers dipped beneath the clinging fabric to tease your dripping core properly, he never applied the slightest pressure or friction where you needed it most. Instead, Kuroo drew his soaked digits out to circle your neglected bundle of nerves in lazy circles, relishing the way you bucked and mewled mindlessly for more.

"Please," you finally broke and begged, unable to endure the slow-building torment any longer. "Tetsurou...baby, I can't...fuck, need you so badly, love...please..."

That seemed to finally undo the last threads of Kuroo's own tenuous composure, because in the next moment, he had you pinned against the kitchen counter once more. He captured your open, pleading mouth in another ravenous kiss, tongue spearing past your gasping lips in time with two thick fingers plunging into your clenching walls without mercy.

You cried out against his devouring mouth, hips canting to welcome the exquisite stretch as he immediately sought outyour most sensitive spot with devastating precision. His thumb worked feverish circles over your swollen clit, each merciless thrust and scissor of his wicked digits coiling the building pleasure tighter and tighter deep within.

Kuroo tore his mouth away from yours, panting harshly as he continued pistoning those talented fingers into your drenched core with unrelenting rhythm. The molten tawny pools of his darkened gaze roved over your disheveled, wanton form, taking in every blissful grimace and desperate whine you gave with evident male satisfaction.

"Always so responsive," Kuroo praised with a growl, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit as he worked a third finger into your greedy core. "So fucking sexy like this...can't believe I was dumb enough to leave you hanging these last few months, baby..."

You whimpered, eyelids fluttering as those sinfully long fingers continued pistoning in and out of your soaked depths, stretching and filling you to perfection. Kuroo chuckled darkly, curling his fingertips up against your spasming walls in a come-hither gesture that had you crying out hoarsely as sparks ignited along every nerve ending.

"But don't worry, kitten..." Kuroo leaned in until his lips were grazing your flushed earlobe, nipping at the sensitive flesh as you keened helplessly against him. "I'm gonna fuck all those nasty memories of those lonely nights right outta your tight cunt tonight, baby...promise."

Your entire body shuddered, a choked sob breaking free as Kuroo's scorching words and skilled touch sent you spiralling towards the edge of release without mercy. The delicious coil of pressure wound impossibly tighter as he worked those thick digits in and out of you, relentless and perfect, while his thumb continued circling and teasing your pulsing clit without pause.

"Come for me, kitten..." Kuroo urged hoarsely, tongue flicking over your earlobe before his teeth bit down possessively. "Want to feel your pretty cunt gushing all over my fingers, baby...gonna watch my pretty girl make a mess of herself just from this..."

And then, without warning, he curled his fingers up against that bundle of nerves tucked deep inside, thumb circling your engorged clit and drawing you closer and closer to that precipice. The dam finally burst, shattering the last restraints holding you captive beneath the weight of his intoxicating rapture.

You were keenly aware of the obscenely strong gush of fluids coating Kuroo's knuckles as he continued thrusting his fingers in and out of your throbbing core, the slick sounds of your juices echoing loudly through the kitchen. His groans of masculine approval and praise washed over you like a soothing balm, lulling you back down from the high with every tender stroke and husked syllable.

Kuroo eased his digits from your spent body gently, leaning in to nuzzle and kiss at your slack jaw as the aftershocks continued wracking your trembling form. Your limbs were a deadweight at your sides, muscles still twitching and shuddering around the delicious burn of your release as you floated through the haze.

"So good for me, kitten," Kuroo husked against your temple, gathering you into his solid frame tenderly. "So goddamn perfect, baby...I can't believe I've gone without this sweet cunt around my cock for months, huh..."

You shuddered, instinctively wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he hitched you up to sit on the countertop. Kuroo stepped between the V of your spread thighs, calloused palms stroking up and down your exposed flesh soothingly as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Missed you so fucking much," Kuroo admitted quietly, breath fanning over the sensitive juncture of your shoulder. "Not just like this, baby...missed everything about you, all the time. It's been killing me, kitten..."

You hummed softly, pressing a featherlight kiss to the crown of his mussed raven locks before leaning your cheek atop the silky strands. The last lingering threads of resentment and bitter disappointment faded away in the warm cocoon of his embrace, leaving behind the familiar sense of comfort and ease you'd only ever felt in his arms.

"Me too, Tetsurou..." you admitted on a sigh, stroking your hands down his broad back soothingly. "I missed you too, baby...but we're here now, right? That's all that matters."

Kuroo shuddered against you, pulling back just far enough to gaze down at your upturned face with burning intensity. In his smouldering tawny gaze, you saw the same unspoken promises and eternal devotion that had been laid bare in your soul for far longer than you cared to admit.

And then, Kuroo was surging forward and claiming your lips in a kiss so fierce, you could almost swear you could feel your bruised heart beating a tattoo in his own chest once more. His hands tangled in your hair, tugging on the messy strands just the way you liked to tip your face back for better access.

You moaned openly, arching into his scorching form and giving him anything and everything he demanded in the wake of that all-consuming kiss. Your own hands clutched at his shoulders, kneading and stroking the firm contours as if you could somehow drag him closer, deeper, and fuse him to your very being completely.

Kuroo growled low in his throat, wrenching himself away from the kiss just far enough to mutter a single command. "Lift your hips up for me, baby...gotta get this cute ass naked for me, okay?"

You whimpered, nodding dumbly as he reached for the waistband of your dampened underwear and tugged it down your shaking thighs. Kuroo peeled the garment off completely, tossing it aside before sliding his palms up the length of your calves.

When his calloused grip reached the crease of your thighs, he yanked you towards the edge of the counter, prompting a surprised squeal to slip free as your balance shifted precariously. Kuroo only laughed, the sound boyish and carefree as he wrapped one arm around your waist and dragged his stubbled jaw against your collarbones in a playful rasp.

"Don't worry, baby...gotcha," Kuroo assured, the heat of his breath fanning over the exposed swell of your breasts. "Gonna take such good care of you, kitten...gonna fuck you nice and slow, the way my good girl deserves, yeah?"

You keened aloud, fingers carding through the messy strands at the nape of his neck as Kuroo began mouthing his way down the valley of your breasts. He traced the curve of each mound reverently with his wicked tongue, laving and suckling until you were a trembling, moaning wreck beneath his worshipful attentions.

When Kuroo's lips closed around the sensitive bud, you cried out, arching into the hot, wet cavern as he suckled greedily. His teeth grazed the hardened peak with the barest edge of pain, and you hissed, grinding down against the growing bulge pressing insistently against your aching core.

Kuroo groaned, releasing the swollen nipple with a wet pop and leaning his forehead against the valley between your breasts. His breaths came in harsh pants, the muscles in his back rippling and flexing beneath your questing fingertips as you clung to his broad shoulders for dear life.

"Fuck," he swore on a ragged exhale, nuzzling the sweat-dampened skin as his hands slid down the dip of your waist and over the curve of your ass. "You're driving me fucking crazy, kitten...keep trying to go slow, be all gentle and sweet like you deserve...but all I can think about is slamming this cute ass down on my cock and fucking you until you scream my name loud enough for the neighbours to hear, baby..."

The filthy confession punched the air from your lungs entirely, and you were suddenly acutely aware of how much you needed that too. Needed the hard, relentless stretch of his girth bottoming out inside your quivering walls until the only thing you could remember was his name.

"Yes," you begged brokenly, tugging his raven locks hard enough to tilt his head back and seal your plea with a filthy kiss. "Please, Tetsu...just want to feel you, baby. Need it so bad..."

Kuroo swore again, biting at your swollen lower lip and sucking it into his mouth as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass with bruising force. He pulled away just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, sharing a shuddering breath as his hand fumbled blindly at the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Fuck, hold on," he muttered, tearing away entirely.

You blinked hazily, watching as Kuroo shucked his jeans and boxers down his lean hips and off his legs entirely. His swollen length bobbed heavily between his legs, flushed a dark crimson and already leaking copiously at the swollen tip.

He palmed the thick base with one hand, giving himself a few long, hard strokes from root to tip and swiping his thumb through the pearlescent bead welling at the slit. Your tongue darted out to moisten your suddenly dry lips, entranced by the sight of him pleasuring himself before you.

It was an achingly familiar and yet strangely erotic scene, and the thought that you were both still so eager and needy after all this time was equal parts humbling and exhilarating.

Kuroo groaned, tawny eyes blazing as he took in your dazed expression and parted lips with obvious male pride. He stroked his free hand up the planes of your inner thigh, teasing his thumb through your soaked folds and tracing the glistening path back to your swollen clit.

Your breath caught, fingers scrabbling against the smooth countertop for purchase as he rubbed lazy circles against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips jerked helplessly, torn between chasing the addictive friction of his dexterous touch and the growing emptiness between your trembling thighs.

"Tetsurou," you whimpered, eyes fluttering as he teased your sensitive flesh with expert precision. "Tetsu, please..."

Kuroo chuckled, stepping between your thighs and hitching you closer to the edge of the counter in a single, fluid motion. He gripped the base of his cock, nudging the flared tip against your dripping core and dragging the velvety length through the gathered slickness.

You moaned, canting your hips forward instinctively as one hand reached for his shoulder while the other clung to the edge of the counter. But just as the swollen tip breached your quivering walls, he retreated once more.

"Tetsurou," you hissed, glaring up at the smug bastard.

Kuroo's lips twitched, eyes glimmering with unbridled mischief as he repeated the slow, torturous drag of his cockhead against your slit. His other hand snaked up the length of your torso, teasing the soft underside of your breast before plucking at the swollen nipple once more.

"What's the matter, baby?" he taunted, tweaking the sensitive peak with a little more force this time. "I thought my kitten liked it when I played with her, hm? Or does my greedy girl just want my cock instead?"

You scowled, the flush on your cheeks deepening at his shameless words. But even as your mind scrambled for some clever retort, his deft fingers continued toying with the tight bud. The sudden surge of pleasure left your thoughts scattered, and all you could do was keen in a desperate bid for more.

"Hmm? Does she?" Kuroo prompted, slipping the chubby tip into the searing wet heat of your cunt just far enough for your greedy walls to clench around the intrusion. "C'mon, baby...use those pretty words for me and ask nicely..."

"Fuck, please!" you finally sobbed, nails digging into his shoulder blades. "Please, Tetsu, want you so fucking badly...please, baby, need your cock, need you to fill me up...please..."

Your rambling pleas seemed to satisfy him at last, and with a guttural groan, Kuroo finally slid home with a single, powerful thrust. Your back arched, a silent scream parting your lips as his cock split you open without mercy.

It burned, stretched you impossibly wide, but the sensation was exactly what you'd needed. You felt the exquisite ache all the way to your bones, every nerve ending lighting up in response to the deliciously familiar fullness.

Kuroo's breath was hot and unsteady against the sweat-dampened skin of your neck, his broad shoulders quaking beneath the white-knuckled grip of your fingers. The taut lines of his body were coiled tight, and you knew he was hanging on by a thread.

"F-fuck, kitten," he panted against your neck, nose skimming along the curve of your jaw. "Always feel like the first fucking time with you...so fucking tight and wet, baby...god, you're perfect..."

You keened softly, rolling your hips down onto his cock to urge him on. Kuroo took the hint, slowly dragging his cock out until the flared tip was just barely kissing your clenching entrance. And then, without warning, he slammed back home, the punishing snap of his hips rocking your entire body forward and punching a breathless cry from your lungs.

Kuroo didn't give you a moment to recover, setting a steady rhythm that soon had your vision blurring around the edges. His hips pistoned forward, spearing his cock deep into your fluttering walls with every thrust. The obscene sounds of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the kitchen, joined by the filthy squelch of his cock pumping in and out of your dripping cunt.

You were lost to the sensations, reduced to a moaning, writhing mess as his swollen cock continued pounding into you with ruthless force. There was no space between your bodies, no way for you to move or grind down against the delicious friction except for the unrelenting pace of his thrusts.

"Such a good girl," Kuroo praised against your temple, the words slightly slurred as he chased his own release. "Taking my cock so well, baby...such a good, pretty kitten...love the way your sweet pussy feels around my cock, kitten..."

A ragged moan tore from your throat, head falling back against the cool wall as your walls began to spasm around his shaft. The telltale pressure coiled tighter, the delicious drag of his cock along the sensitive walls of your cunt building the pleasure to dizzying heights.

Kuroo seemed to sense your impending release, one arm hooking beneath your knee to hike your leg higher as his thrusts picked up speed. The angle allowed him to delve deeper, and your jaw went slack as a strangled moan was punched from your chest.

"Come on, baby," Kuroo urged, voice hoarse and strained. "That's it, kitten...let go for me, sweetheart...wanna feel that cute cunt squeezing the fuck outta my cock, yeah?"

You sobbed, fingers scrambling against the firm lines of his back as the tension finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge. Your body seized, a silent scream parting your lips as he continued pounding into your quivering cunt without mercy.

Dimly, you registered the guttural groan of his own release and the searing heat of his release flooding your fluttering walls. You whimpered, clinging to him with what little strength you had left as the aftershocks of your climax continued to wash over you.

Kuroo held you close, stroking one hand down the curve of your spine soothingly and dropping featherlight kisses along the side of your face. He murmured quiet praises against your flushed skin, lips skimming the shell of your ear and down the curve of your jaw.

Slowly, your senses returned, and the hazy euphoria ebbed away enough for the aches in your body to register. The tender flesh between your thighs throbbed, muscles twitching and shuddering around the spent intrusion buried within your sensitive core.

Kuroo pressed one final lingering kiss to the corner of your lips, nuzzling the damp strands of hair plastered to your temple as he gently lowered your leg back to the countertop. You sighed softly, relishing the comforting weight of his body as he pressed closer.

"Still with me, kitten?" Kuroo prompted, breath warm against your cheek.

You nodded dumbly, forcing your heavy eyelids open to meet his heated gaze. Kuroo chuckled softly, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting caress before carefully easing his softened cock from your spent core.

A weak whine slipped free at the loss, but you bit down on your lip to silence the embarrassing sound as Kuroo helped you down from the countertop. Your legs felt like jelly, and you swayed precariously for a moment before he scooped you into his strong arms and carried you across the kitchen.

"So," he started casually, carrying you into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him. "Does this mean I’m your boyfriend again, kitten?"

You snorted, wrapping your arms around his neck as he set you down beside the bathtub. "What, you didn't get that memo when I was literally begging you to put a baby in me, Tetsurou?" you retorted, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Well, no," he admitted with a wry grin. "I was a little too focused on the whole 'putting a baby in you' part of that deal to really focus on the semantics."

You rolled your eyes, tugging on his arm to join you in the tub. He laughed, climbing in behind you and tugging you into his chest. "Okay, fine, you big idiot. Guess I’m stuck with you."

Kuroo smirked, leaning forward to capture your lips in a deep, languid kiss. "I think I can live with that, kitten."

[vanteguccir]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❝ take calm, deep breaths, you'll be fine after that ❞

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❆ - angst ✮ - smut ❀ - fluff

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦﹒﹒𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑺﹒◌﹒

── ୨୧ !⠀the right love for me | part 2 [ ❆❀ ]

where Elena and Matt grew up together, fell in love as kids but realized too late. Will there be any hope for them?

── ୨୧ !⠀sleepy [ ❀ ]

where Matt had a busy day and just wants to sleep in his lover arms.

── ୨୧ !⠀destructive home [ ❆❀ ]

where Matt helps Y/N get through an anxiety attack.

── ୨୧ !⠀fight for you [ ❀ ]

where Y/N gets into a fight because of Matt.

── ୨୧ !⠀sleeping inside her | part 2 [ ✮ ]

where Y/N wants to be impossibly close to Matt.

── ୨୧ !⠀heaven and back [ ✮ ]

where Matt eat Y/N's pussy in the backseat of his car.

── ୨୧ !⠀truth or eat [ ❀ ]

where Y/N participates in the TRUTH OR EAT video from behind the camera.

── ୨୧ !⠀grwm with boyfriend's clothes [ ❀ ]

where Y/N is a fashion influencer and makes a GRWM only with her boyfriend's, Matt, clothes.

── ୨୧ !⠀galaxy girl [ ❀ ]

where Matt has a crush on Y/N, an influencer extremely well-known in the USA, but when she goes to the Zach Sang Show, Matt discovers that she also has a crush on him. When the two meet at a party, how will Matt react?

── ୨୧ !⠀lovestruck boy [ ❀ ]

where Nick and Chris are trying to record wednesday's video, but Matt's lovestruck gaze keeps going to Y/N, distracting himself.

── ୨୧ !⠀daddy's favorite girl [ ❀ ]

where Matt realizes that his daughter, Eloise, has him tied up in her pinkie.

── ୨୧ !⠀medium girl [ ❀❆ ]

where Y/N is a medium and Matt's girlfriend. She is invited to participate in the collab between Sam & Colby and the Sturniolo Triplets but ends up being targeted by ghosts all night.

── ୨୧ !⠀saudade [ ❀ ]

where Y/N and Matt have a long-distance relationship. After months of not seeing each other, Y/N decides to surprise Matt in LA.

── ୨୧ !⠀there's someone inside my head [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N is targeted by a certain ghost during the filming of the Sam and Colby ft. Sturniolo Triplets video.

── ୨୧ !⠀tiktok trends | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 [ ❀ ]

4 times that Y/N and Matt made a couple's trend on tiktok.

── ୨୧ !⠀profane [ ✮ ]

where during scenes, all the control Y/N has over her life and body is completely given away to Matt's big and perfect hands.

── ୨୧ !⠀let's trade shoes [ ❀ ]

where Y/N feels pain in her feet from wearing high heels for hours, and Matt gives her his sneakers to wear.

── ୨୧ !⠀disgusting food roulette [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N participates in the Disgusting Food Roulette video and ends up having to take care of Matt.

── ୨୧ !⠀fainting spells [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N has severe low blood pressure, but seems to forget about it when getting up too quickly, causing her to pass out, but her boyfriend, Matt, is there to help her come back.

── ୨୧ !⠀atelophobia [ ❀❆ ]

where Y/N has suffered with an eating disorder for years, but lately, - because of the some "fans" and social media - her insecurities have been taking her to a more than dangerous path, which she couldn't get out without help.

── ୨୧ !⠀opposite [ ❀ ]

where Y/N and Matt are polar opposites.

── ୨୧ !⠀kiss cam [ ❀ ]

where Y/N, the triplets and Justin are present at the Bruins game, and the Kiss Cam chooses Matt and Y/N to share a kiss.

── ୨୧ !⠀left alone | part 2 [ ❆❀✮ ]

where, after a difficult week, Matt takes out all his stress on Y/N, causing great damage to their relationship.

── ୨୧ !⠀8 minutes of cute moments [ ❀ ]

where a fan made an 8-minute video with a compilation of Matt and Y/N being in love.

── ୨୧ !⠀I like your face [ ❀ ]

where Y/N has had a crush on Matt for years but hid her feelings out of fear. She just didn't expect Matt to feel the same way about her.

── ୨୧ !⠀you're mine [ ❀ ]

where Y/N is a ray of sunshine, and Matt is her dose of grumpness.

── ୨୧ !⠀sick boy [ ❆❀ ]

where Matt wakes up with the flu, but Y/N is there to take care of him.

── ୨୧ !⠀long live [ ❆❀ ]

where the Cut The Camera Podcast comes to an end and Matt feels emotional about it, but Y/N is there to comfort him.

── ୨୧ !⠀petals of death | part 2 [ ❆❀ ]

the Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

── ୨୧ !⠀quality time [ ❀ ]

where Matt skips Tara Yummy's 1M party to have quality time with his girlfriend.

── ୨୧ !⠀matilda [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N remembers her traumatic past, but Matt is there to support her and help her heal the wounds through a day on the beach and playing with toys while recording a video.

── ୨୧ !⠀lavender haze [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N drowns amidst so much criticism and negative comments from the media regarding her relationship, but Matt is right by her side to bring her back to the surface and surround her in a lavender haze.

── ୨୧ !⠀speak now [ ❆❀ ]

where it's Y/N's wedding day, but Matt isn't the groom. During the ceremony, an act of impulse on the boy's part changes the fate of everything.

── ୨୧ !⠀coziness, love, and other things [ ❀ ]

where Y/N's cozy cottage becomes a refuge for Matt, but it's not just the house that encloses him, but who's inside; OR, where Matt and Y/N are in love, but afraid to confess. Until one day.

── ୨୧ !⠀a day to forget [ ❆❀ ]

where, in a day full of downs, Y/N faces a series of challenges at work that culminate in an anxiety attack in the car on the way home, but Matt is by her side to bring her back.

── ୨୧ !⠀love in the lunchbox [ ❀ ]

where it's part of Matt's routine to prepare breakfast and pack his girlfriend's lunchbox every day.

── ୨୧ !⠀4 times that she made him smile [ ❀❆ ]

where Y/N is the only person who can make Matt smile genuinely; OR 4 times that Y/N made Matt smile.

── ୨୧ !⠀you belong with me [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N and Matt love each other, but don't seem to have the courage to declare themselves; OR, where Matt belongs to Y/N but can't seem to understand it.

── ୨୧ !⠀roslyn [ ❀ ]

where a storm is happening and Y/N is afraid of thunder, making her seek comfort in her best friend's brother arms, Matt.

── ୨୧ !⠀anxiety on tour [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N is just another fan at one of the Let's Trip Tour shows, until it comes time for the Meet&Greet. Things get out of hand for Matt, and she ends up being the only one who manages to calm him down.

── ୨୧ !⠀you make loving fun [ ❀ ]

where the sun inside Matt fell in love with the moon inside Y/N; OR, 4 moments between sunshine Matt and grumpy Y/N.

── ୨୧ !⠀wisdom teeth chaos [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N faces the terrifying experience of having four wisdom teeth removed. With her boyfriend, Matt, and his brothers by her side, Y/N goes through moments of anxiety, laughter, and confusion under the influence of anesthesia.

── ୨୧ !⠀hockey drama [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N is a hockey player of the Boston High-school hockey team, and during one of her games, her temper is tested by her opponent while her boyfriend, Matt, is watching.

── ୨୧ !⠀traitor | part 2 [ ❆❀ ]

Y/N and Matt are in a complicated relationship, where Matt is still stuck in the past with his ex. In an angsty pathway, Y/N suffers when she realizes that Matt will never love her as she wants.

── ୨୧ !　not the one for you [ ❆❀ ]

In a seemingly perfect relationship, Y/N and Matt face a silent storm when Y/N, after appearing in a video on Matt's personal channel, is the target of cruel comments that leave her feeling inadequate. Unable to share her insecurities, Y/N distance herself from Matt, wallowing in self-criticism and painful comparisons, until he snaps.

── ୨୧ !　kiss me [ ❀ ]

where Y/N and Matt are just friends that act like they’re in a loving relationship.

── ୨୧ !　turning 21 [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N plans a special 21st birthday dinner, but her friends don't show up, leaving her heartbroken. But Matt, while dining nearby, notices her and decides that making her company would be a good idea.

── ୨୧ !　a home for the holidays [ ❆❀ ]

where Y/N, estranged from her parents, hasn’t celebrated holidays with family in years. Until her boyfriend, Matt, invites her to spend Christmas with him and his family in Boston for the first time.

── ୨୧ !　soft launch | instagram [ ❀ ]

where Y/N and Matt have been in a stable relationship hidden from the media for months, until they were forced by it to do a soft launch.

── ୨୧ !　wedding dresses and perfect moments [ ❀ ]

where Y/N, a fashion influencer, records a video trying on wedding dresses, surprising her boyfriend, Matt.

── ୨୧ !　halloween [ ❀ ]

where it's Halloween, and Y/N and Matt go through the fall day together, enjoying their best couple activities.

── ୨୧ !　scars to your beautiful [ ❆❀✮ ]

when things between Matt and Y/N start to heat up for the first time, insecurities about her own stomach and stretch marks make it difficult for Y/N to move forward.

── ୨୧ !　eggs and pregnancy [ ❀ ]

where Matt uses his loss on the egg challenge as an excuse to reveal Y/N's pregnancy to his brothers.

── ୨୧ !　9 months after [ ❀ ]

where Y/N's and Matt's babies are finally born after 9 long months of waiting; OR, where Matt is finally a dad.

── ୨୧ !　you obey me [ ✮ ]

where Matt denies Y/N's orgasm for too long until she snaps.

── ୨୧ !　only good boys deserve it [ ✮ ]

where Matt wasn't a very good boy, and now Y/N has to punish him.

── ୨୧ !　safeword [ ❆❀✮ ]

where Matt comes home angry after a stressful day and takes it out on Y/N, making her use her safeword.

── ୨୧ !　left hand [ ❀✮ ]

where Matt hurt his right wrist during a horse ride for a video, but who said that a wrist guard would hold him back from fucking Y/N with his fingers?

All rights reserved © 2024 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐑. Please do not copy, rewrite, or translate my works on any other platform.

[thedreadvampy]

Guys I am BEGGING you to mask up if you're going to counterprotest the fash. They DO take photos and they DO spread them around their networks for targeting reasons.

This is not just targeted at people who consider themselves Serious Radgy Activists, antifa or anarchists.

This is for you, your mum who's angry about people targeting your neighbours, your nan who thinks the racists are being silly, your pals from the pub.

This is for everyone. We all need to stay safe at anti-racist demos.

It can feel paranoid, but things can escalate fast and it's hard to walk back once your photo's out there. A bit of overabundant caution when it's not 100% necessary is better than looking over your shoulder for years or getting jumped unexpectedly in the pub because of a photo you didn't even know was taken.

Honestly, especially with more and more police crackdowns against protesters, this is a good habit to get into at any protest or demo where there's the slightest chance of things kicking off, with fash or with cops.

You don't have to go full black bloc, but even if you're not planning on diving into the fray, stay safe - consider:

Cover your face. Wearing a mask can also help prevent COVID in your network, but if you don't have one or don't want to wear one, cover the bottom half of your face with a snood, balaclava, scarf, etc. If you need to eat, drink, smoke or vape, turn AWAY from the front of the line and ideally duck behind a banner or another person to do it. Keep masked until you're out of line of sight of the demo.

Cover your hair, especially if it's coloured or you have an interesting haircut. I usually part my mohawk down the middle and tie it to disguise the undercut, and bundle it up at the back to disguise the length, before I put on a hat or scarf - but I'm paranoid, and a hat, a headscarf or a hood will be fine. A baseball cap is good too - the brim further obscures your face from a lot of angles.

Cover up big tattoos, or tattoos that are highly identifiable from a distance. I have an upper arm sleeve and I'm honestly still working on summer options for this, but consider long sleeves for arm pieces, a light scarf/bandana for chest/neck tattoos, long trousers or leggings for leg tattoos, and/or gloves if you have hand tattoos (often the easiest to identify cause they're rarer). Even mesh or fishnet can be ok, or in a pinch you can use plasters or draw over it with a felt tip - you don't necessarily need to hide it fully if that's too hard, but try and make it harder to recognise.

If there's an accessory you often have on you in your regular life - colourful shoes, a bag with a fun design, exciting glasses frames, favourite earrings, etc - consider swapping it out for a more generic option. You don't want to put loads of effort into covering your face then get jumped on the way to work because someone recognised your backpack!

Don't help the fash out - if you take any photos, try to avoid including people's faces or tattoos as much as possible. If you post pics on socials, give them a quick once-over and consider putting an emoji or drawing over anyone's face visible.

If you see photos of someone you know at a demo, let them know (especially if they've come from rightwing accounts). If you see one of the fash taking photos, warn people and make the effort to help others cover up if they need it.

We haven't seen fascist/white nationalist mobilisation at this scale in a long time, and most people trying to help haven't dealt with this shit before. The risk factors are different to protests you may have gone on before.

Fash do sometimes come back and target people individually outside of demos if they've marked you out as an enemy. Keep safe, keep covered, keep together.

Few additional safety/security tips:

Once you've arrived at the demo, don't go anywhere alone until you're well away from the area. Stick with a buddy or a group you feel safe with and you're less likely to be jumped. Definitely don't leave on your own.

Cops are not your friends! They've been arresting as many anti-racist activists as racist ones. so remember: no comment, no personal details, don't tell them anything, and this includes blue bib PLOs. If they tell you to do something, ask 'under what power' and if they can't demonstrate that you're legally required, don't.

Don't drink or do drugs at a demo - you're adding risk for everyone around you

If you have your phone with you, make sure it's password-locked. We all sometimes lose or drop our phones and if it gets into the wrong hands you want it to be secure.

If you don't want to risk fighting, that's ok - numbers are still super important and tbh most of us aren't super keen on throwing down. Make sure that if things do seem like they might kick off and you don't think you can defend yourself, that you're moving towards the centre of the crowd and that you're not out on your own.

Look out for each other. Step in if someone's being harassed or attacked - step in as a group so you have more backing, if possible. If you're white, even if you're not able/up for fighting, it can be helpful to be part of a human barrier around people who are more likely to be targeted (eg people of colour and people who are wearing hijab/are otherwise visibly Muslim). When you're surrounded by other people, you're way less likely to get attacked.

If the fash seem to have gone, don't immediately disperse and don't post on socials that you're leaving. Especially if you're defending a specific place, it's very easy for them to wait till you've gone and come back later - give it at least an hour after the expected fash action, ideally longer.

On the flip side, don't be the last small group of people left standing. The usual rule for higher-risk demos is 'when we leave, we leave together as one' - however, for community defence, as above, doing that too early can out the people you're defending at greater risk. However, if there's like 5 of you there when 20 fash come back, you might be screwed - unless you're confident you can handle yourself, try to make sure the counterprotest crowd doesn't fall below 10-15 people. If it does, and you haven't specifically planned for that, you should consider calling it quits and leaving together.

If you're traveling to and from a demo on public transport, keep security in mind - you and the fash may be traveling to and from the same place. As much as possible, stay with buddies. Put away any signs and try not to look like you've just come from a protest. If you feel nervous, consider taking a more roundabout route home, or hopping off the train partway and getting back on the next one.

Don't do the fash's work for them. It's tempting to repost white nationalist calls to action to warn people, but you're kind of just spreading their rhetoric along with it. Instead, keep info to places, times and groups - you don't need to include the fearmongering about immigrants!

Don't post about where you are in too much detail, for the same reason - especially hotels and refuges!!! Fash are targeting those places for a reason, and when you've gone home, the people they're targeting are still there. If you post "we're at X hotel where asylum seekers live," could the wrong person see that and think "oh, that's where the bastards live, I'll remember that"? Remember, it's people's basic safety we're here to defend! Similarly, think about how much detail you share about tactics, who told you or how they knew - on social media you're not only talking to your own side.

also Stand Up To Racism have been at the forefront of a lot of these counterprotests. there's a whole sordid history there which mean a lot of people hate them, but more immediately they're just not always the best example of practical security. Just today they called time on a demo in Newcastle before the advertised fash demos were even due to start, and they are often very free with information and with people's photos. don't take your lead from them! they're playing a role in coordinating things, but ultimately they are not prepared when it comes to keeping either activists or the communities we're protecting safe.

if in doubt, skew on the side of caution - cover up more, share less info, stay in larger groups for longer, and stay later. If you come alone, it's ok to attach yourself to the side of an existing group - they'll understand.

[cutielando]

dating headcannons | l.n.

synopsis: in which you think about your relationship

my masterlist

you would meet at an after party for one of the Grand Prix

he would immediately take an interest in you as soon as he would see you in the busy club

you would exchange numbers and stay in contact afterwards 

took you on 4 dates before officially asking you to be his girlfriend

would be the sweetest boyfriend ever

you would keep your relationship a secret for a few months to make sure that what you had was the real deal

he was skeptical to introduce you to his fans because of what happened with his ex-girlfriend

but they all ended up loving you to death

they could see how happy you made Lando and how much you loved each other

you often interacted with them on social media, posting more Lando content for them to see and sometimes exposing him

he would spoil you rotten

he had the money to do it, so he bought you every single thing that you would look at for more than 5 seconds

jewelry, shoes, clothes, purses, books, perfumes

it didn’t matter what it was, he would buy it for you

buys you flowers with every occasion 

brings you with him to every Grand Prix that you’re able to attend

loves showing you off to the entire paddock, making sure that everyone knew how beautiful and loved his girlfriend was

Zak would oftentimes have to physically separate you two whenever he would have a meeting and wouldn’t want to separate from you to attend it

you and Jon would 100% be besties, staying in touch on a regular basis

his family loved you, happy to see that someone loved their son as much as they did

you would talk with his sisters and mother on a daily basis, more than he does. Would definitely have a group chat just the 4 of you

he would sometimes get jealous because you would pay more attention to his family, but in reality he was just grateful that you got along with them so well

you loved watching him race, but you also worried like crazy every time he would get into the car

being there with him when he crashed in Las Vegas had been the scariest experience you’d ever had

he reassured you that he would always find his way back to you, no matter what

his lando.jpg account would turn into a fan account dedicated to you

he would always take pictures of you, no matter where you were or what you were doing

lazy days, lazy days, lazy days

you two enjoyed every little moment that you had together, seeing as you didn’t get too much time to relax during race weekends 

would spend the entire day cuddled in bed, watching some crappy movies or just talking about anything and everything for hours on end

you would move with him to Monaco almost after one year of being together, not wanting to be apart or do long-distance anymore

goofy, silly mood all the time in the apartment

he would make it his mission to make you laugh constantly, your laugh being his favorite sound in the whole world

Max would love you, you got along like brother and sister 

you would be a very known face on his Twitch streams and featured in Quadrant videos 

his friends accepted you into the group like you were one of them from the very beginning

the grid would call him a “simp” because he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about you

you and Oscar would be besties, often making fun of him or teaming up to pull a prank on him

the McLaren team loving you like you were part of their team, which essentially you were

they would sometimes ask you to film videos with Lando for content, which you would always happily film because you loved the team and you also loved Lando

goes wild in bed

he spends hours upon hours worshiping every part of your body

very passionate lover, focused on your pleasure and your pleasure alone

you would keep him grounded, being his solace during the hard times

after a bad race, he didn’t need to say anything for you to know that he just needed to be held and coddled

you two loved each other very much, fitting together like two missing pieces from a puzzle

soulmates, all the way

married, children, a house, you would go all the way

happily ever after

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[sl33paholics]

Baki's Reaction To Your Ex Trying To Get You Back Headcanons! (and a mini story ig)

Uhm.....it's 6am as I write this and I'm giggling my ass off

To say that Baki would come up and beat the shit out of your ex on the spot right in front of you and others is an understatement.

Baki is more of a quiet observator. Rather than confrontational, Baki might choose to observe your ex from a distance, assessing the encounter with a calm demeanor, possibly seeing it as an opportunity to reaffirm your commitment.

Baki's not an idiot. He can choose to downplay the situation, opting not to give your ex's attempt much attention, focusing instead on maintaining the positive dynamics of your relationship.

Known for his actions more than words, Baki might subtly intensify his efforts to show affection and support, reinforcing Baki's commitment through deeds rather than direct confrontation.

Baki knows how much you love to post yourself on social media. The latest fits, shoes, or with your friends. He's aware that your ex still follows you, even though you unfollowed him many, many months ago. Expect Baki to always hype you up in the comments under your posts on Instagram by spamming hearts and down-bad shit as well, he's most likely getting pinned every time.

Hell, if you're not posting yourself, you're sharing photos of the two of you on dates and random shit. Such as the you two at the gym. Baki's arms always wrapped around your shoulders or his hands gripping your hips. Baki can tell your ex is salty, he stalks his story on an alt account, LOL!

Sometimes, Baki could sense how annoyed and bothered you are whenever you'd see accounts named "shien_giveaway_6997" viewing your story. It's so obvious! Baki values honesty, and he'd engage in an open conversation with you about the situation, discussing any concerns or insecurities. Baki doesn't want a pretty woman like you stressing out over a man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

If you don't want to speak to him about the whole situation, Baki could respond with affectionate gesture, like a surprise date or a thoughtful gift, to reaffirm his commitment and show that he values and appreciates you. He could even use humor and make jokes about your ex's attempts to diffuse the tension.

However, it could only be so long until the man could entertain your ex before he was going to be pushed off the edge.

Baki could opt for a straightforward conversation, expressing his feelings and concerns calmly while speaking to the man via text message or phone. While not confrontational, Baki gives off a subtle warning vibe, a non-verbal cue that communicates the depth of his commitment and suggests that attempting to disrupt the relationship won't be taken lightly.

This could go two ways. 1) Your ex could simply back off and respect your wishes that your current relationship holds. Or 2) your ex could simply be cocky, shouting at him over the phone, insulting him to insert dominance, and other things to Baki as he's just there sitting silently listening to him yap yap yap yap yap yap yap -

It just so happens that Baki and your ex stumbled across each other while in the city.

Guess you can see where this is going.

Seeing Baki's size, your ex laughed and berated him. How can a man his height cuff YOU up? He couldn't believe it. How low were your expectations? He was tall and built. Baki? Sure. He was ripped but SHORT.

"I don't have time for this," Baki simply said, making your ex raise a brow in confusion. "(Y/N) is waiting for me, I can't have my love waiting." Baki walked past the taller figure, his hands in his pockets. He stopped once your ex pulled on his shirt, tugging and pulling Baki back.

"A short boy like you can't do shit!" Your ex would spat. The smell of cigarettes reeked and made Baki want to cough in his face. "Suddenly coming 'round and stealin' MY girl away from me?! I should punch you in your shit-"

It's safe to say that Baki hit this man with a two-piece combo. A slap and a roundhouse kick sent that man straight to sleep on the sidewalk. Baki stared at the unconscious man before sighing. Continuing his journey towards your place.

Hours later, your phone begins to blow up from your friends of the picture of your ex on the sidewalk earlier that day. You confronted Baki only for him to pout and say, "He ruined my shirt :("

You couldn't be mad at him. At least your ex knew not to fuck with you and your boyfriend anymore.

[nichuuu]

Lemon.

Word count: 13k+

You decide that you don’t quite like Balls (get your head out of the gutter).

Music: odd. Yes, it’s a fancy mansion—5 floors, the works… But you don’t know how to feel about the sole pianist in the centre of the foyer, the one that’s playing some classical piece that has the people around you murmuring about his technique and sound (whatever the hell either of those meant).

People: you don’t know a good half of them. Scratch that—it’s a sea of strangers

Drinks: strong, way too fucking strong for your liking. The drinks are free of charge, and the bartender clearly didn’t shake this Pina Colada well, but you have to drink it if you want to even try and get into the mood of the party. Around you, men in posh suits and women in flamboyant dresses skirt each other, talk to each other with placid smiles—hoodwinking each other with their highfalutin laughs and smiles to establish connections that probably won’t matter in a couple of days. The only person you’ve talked to tonight is the bartender, and that was just to order your drink. 

This whole place stinks of capitalism, and you feel out of place in your cheaper suit and dress shoes. On your right, some guy is talking about how bitcoin and blockchain will make a grand return, some lady is gossiping about the latest Gucci handbag on your left. In front of you, a man and a woman are clearly flirting with each other, bashful grins on their faces as they hold their fancy drinks in their hands and talk about god knows what. You’re wondering if you should ask for a straw from the bartender just to dip your toes in social interaction.

Wonder why Cinderella was so hot on attending a Ball, thing seems pretty bland to me, you’re thinking, watching the tip of the ice that was shaped like an iceberg melt away and sink beneath the surface of your margarita. Some guy in a tux comes by, orders two glasses of Prosecco—one for him, one for the woman next to him. He’s talking loudly, disrupting your peace and quiet. Your solution: move seats.

From a distance—two chairs away from your original seat—you watch as he takes the two glasses from the hands of the bartender, hands one to the woman, then clinks his glass with hers. He’s preternaturally genteel, and you’d know because you recognised him as the guy that got slapped at the start of this whole thing because he grabbed the ass of someone’s wife. Impropriety, but it’s the behaviour of the newfangled rich. 

Now he’s bragging about his car. Nissan GTR fitted with this engine, this ventilation, blah, blah… Whatever it is he’s saying, the woman’s having none of it. You’re no psychologist, but you can tell that she wants to get out of a conversation; her smile is awfully sweet, but you can see that she’s silently importuring him to shut his trap—her eyes give it all away. You pity her, silently sending her your best wishes as the man grabs her by the arm and leads her back into the sea of people. Personally, you’d be screaming if you were in her shoes.

(Off to your left, just at the edge of your vision, you see your boss talking to a woman. She’s getting touchy, really touchy and really flirty; her hand’s on his thigh, fuck me eyes out to play and on full display—A trite tactic used by these types of women to get lucky with a rich man at these type of events. Luckily for her, your boss is quick to bite on to such bait. God bless them both.)

For the record: you’ve never really enjoyed Balls or anything of the ilk, because quite frankly speaking, you’d much rather burrow up in your bed at home and binge Kimini ni Todoke till you were giggling and squealing like a little schoolgirl. Maybe I’m still young, I’ll learn to like these types of events later on, you tell yourself, I’ll need connections at some point, maybe I should start—

A sickly sweet fragrance crawls up your nostrils, truncating all thought. Perfume, you’re quick to identify, and then you’re aware of the presence of someone on your right. Your grip on your glass grows tighter in the slightest; you’re praying—Please just be ordering a drink, please be ordering a drink.

Frankly, you don’t know why you’d ever think anyone would talk to you, an unimportant cog that just tagged along with his boss because he had nothing better to do. Irrational fears are really a funny thing.

Sharp, clear, resonant—three words that came to mind when you heard the voice of the person next to you, the voice that delivered the simplest of orders: Yamazaki. I want it neat. 

Your first thought is, Damn… Neat Whisky? Someone’s having a horrible night, as you turn your face away from her (if you couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be able to see you, right?). And just as you’re wondering if she’s gonna take her drink and leave, your question is answered by the soft creak and even softer rustle of shifting fabric from your right. You bristle.

The glass makes a sound against the wood as it’s gently placed down on the table.

(Now would be an excellent time for a subtitle to come in, one that states in square brackets: Awkward silence.)

You can hear her swirling the liquid around in her glass. Fuck, now this is awkward… You’re thinking, and then you’re wondering if you should just get up and leave, absquatulate, skedaddle—any word that can convey the act of disappearing in an instant—right out of there. But as you start to slide your butt off the chair, that voice rings out once more.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

She doesn’t know how her simple sentence has caged you in the most challenging position (to you at least). Now you’re sliding your ass back into the bar stool and you turn and face her—

(Now that you’re looking at her, your second thought about her comes in: God, she’s beautiful. Dark brown hair that falls just past her shoulders like velvet curtains, soft yet somehow piercing eyes, a smile that makes you feel fuzzy all over—probably one of the most attractive women you’ll ever meet. She’s the woman from earlier, the woman that you saw smiling and nodding placidly to that guy who got her the Prosecco. She must’ve found a way to slip away, and she has your full respect for that.)

—and you find that you’re drumming your nails against the base of your glass.

“Shy, huh?” she’s throwing out a guess, watching as the Whisky in her glass slowly swirls to a stop inside the chilled glass. “It’s been a while since I met a shy man. You’re a breath of fresh air.”

You shift in the stool, and your first instinct is to ask her if you two had met before. It’s only after that last syllable leaves your mouth that you realise how stupid of a question it is. You don’t know her, and judging by the fact that she hasn’t called you by your name: she doesn’t know you either. You let her decide whether to oust you as a fool as she scans you up and down.

(Update on your boss and that woman: She’s kissing him now, full on making out. It’s an unsettling sight to behold, and you attribute your queasiness to the fact that they’ve somehow found they’re way behind the woman you're talking to. Your boss doesn't see you; you choose not to see him. God bless them both.)

“Well… Considering that you don’t look the least bit familiar,” she sets the glass down, “and that you haven’t been introduced to me like some product by a crusty, old man… I think it’s safe to say that we’re.”

Now her eyes are on your drink. What are you drinking this fine night? She’s asking, using her chin to gesture towards your Pina Colada. You tell her exactly what it is, and she cringes slightly. They say Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, I say it doesn’t belong fucking anywhere. Oust it as a fruit! she’s telling you, making sure to add a little more emphasis on the word “oust” as she couches her firm belief, something you find rather hilarious considering that it’s your first meeting with her. She sips the Whisky, grimaces a bit, then sets the glass back down to say, we skipped past a lot of formalities, didn’t we?

And here comes the part of talking to strangers that you’re the most comfortable with—Introductions. You think that it is safe to assume that just about anyone would find saying hello and telling someone your occupation much easier than holding up a conversation, what more with a beautiful woman like her. You give her your name, tell her what you do for a living, the usual stuff. She listens, the gleam in her eyes that comes when you’re done talking ever so enigmatic and cryptic. 

“Lawyer huh?” She’s playing with her glass again, “considering were we are right now, I really shouldn’t be this surprised… Yet I am. Little shy for a guy dealing clients on the daily, no?”

Somehow, by the grace of some supernatural force (you call it alcohol), you crack your first joke of the night—I know. The most I ever talked is in court—and you’re relieved that she’s kind enough to humour you (or maybe she really does find it funny. You’ll never know), and gives you an elegant chortle, one that makes your hair stand at their ends as your third thought about her goes through your mind: even her laugh is attractive. Is there anything wrong with this woman? 

And when she tells you her name, you realise why she seems to be exuding this inexplicable aura; Minatozaki Sana, pleasure to meet you, she introduces herself with a generous amount of pizzaz. You’re scanning her up and down at this point, and only now do you take in the expensive dress that dons her slender frame, the same dress that’s accompanied by a glimmering necklace and earrings, 3 rings on her middle, index and ring finger respectively.

“You’re…” you begin.

“The host’s daughter? Yes.”

Now you’re at a loss for words. Well uh… It’s an honour to meet you, is what you plan on saying, but it comes out as a simple, more blunt manner: Oh damn. Sana’s giggling to herself, swirling her Whisky as she watches you struggle to find things to say to her.

“I take it that you don’t come around here often?” she asks. When you raise an eyebrow, she explains how her father hosts a Ball like this every other month to try and find her a “suitor”. Apparently, 27 years old is “too old”  to still be single, so my Dad just gets a bunch of men together and parades me around, she’s carping. The glimmering chandeliers, the array of drinks and food, the vanity of all these people; the dazzling marble floor, the glass sculptures, the embroidered tablecloths; this event, in all its glory and prestige, is all about her. 

Christ, you’re thinking to yourself, money really gets you to places, huh? 

Now she’s explaining how some of the people here are frequent visitors. Mothers and their sons, fathers and their sons, young business men, old business men, middle aged businessman; whoever can afford to come to this lavish Ball—all of them frequent this mansion like moths to a flame, all looking for a chance to ingratiate with the Minatozakis so that maybe, just maybe, they get a chance to get Sana’s hand in marriage. It’s a glorified yet obsolete form of Tinder really.

(Your boss is nowhere in sight now, and you’re pretty sure that the two of them have gone off somewhere to get it on. Maybe this event isn’t just about Sana, it’s about finding a rich person that can spoil you for the rest of your life too. God bless everyone here.)

“So what brings a man like yourself here this fine night?” She seems oddly interested in you (and also very hot on using this fine night as well apparently). You give her the truth that carries your watered down emotions in your tone—My boss asked me to tag along. Apparently all attendees were to bring a male plus one.

Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.

“So Dad’s reverted to these tactics huh?” you hear her whisper before taking an alarming large gulp of Whisky. She swallows, then sighs, “wonder what he’ll do next… Maybe an arranged marriage?”

Past the frustration and utter disappointment, there’s amusement in her voice. It tells you: if I could, I’d kill my Dad. It’s more of an inference from your end than a message that you’re sure that she’s trying to imply. You always had a bad habit of reading between the lines—probably picked it up from your job.

Sana downs the rest of the Whisky in a flash, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. She scratches her nose, then turns to you and asks, “say, you don’t look like you want to be here, and neither do I.”

Behind you, you can hear the voice of a man approaching. He’s talking to someone—my daughter should like you very much, you seem like a man that suits her taste—and Sana bristles. Her father, you deduce, noting the way that the woman before you is searching around for an exit. Then you blink, and in that split second, she grabs your hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Just like that, you’re running through a crowd of people, spewing a million-and-one apologies as you jostle your way through the crowd, in tow behind a woman you've known for a grand total of 5 minutes. 

A very unlikely start to a romance really.

*

Now the gears in your head are whirring, your stomach’s churning—there’s no other way to describe how you feel when Sana’s looking at you like that from across the table: small smile, a slight gleam behind those eyes, hand under her chin and fingers tapping against her cheek… She’s got you in perdition just with a look. You’re a guy of relatively taciturn nature, and the last time you went on a date was in university. That date went horribly, and now you’re wondering if this one was gonna go up in flames as well. Your brain urges you to say something to her, but your mouth seems to be sewn shut. 

On the other hand, Sana’s poised as ever. “What’s wrong?” she’s cocking her head and pouting slightly, “nervous?”

You're not ashamed to admit that you indeed are, and that you’ve never really gone out on dates in a long time. Sana seems tickled by this—It’s been a while since I’ve seen a shy man. I like it, she tells you—and assures you that she won’t bite. In fact, she’s glad that you’re quiet and not rambling off about some business venture. She tells you, I don’t recall the last time I’ve been with a guy like you, though I’d appreciate it if you assist me in starting some conversation, and you’re slightly ashamed of your reticence. 

There’s a gleam in her eyes when you start asking her some questions on her personal life, and she finds it congenial to gesticulate in a moderate manner as she answers your questions. Her outgoing nature leaves you flummoxed, and there’s barely enough space in your brain to remember everything she tells you about herself. Born in Osaka, likes yoghurt smoothies, likes to take walks in the park, likes this, likes that… You vaguely remember her telling you this on the night that the two of you escaped that event.

(To jog your own memory: She took you to the garden, where the two of you spent the rest of the night strolling amongst shrubs and other greenery that thrived in Spring. The Pina Colada in your system allowed you to hold a conversation, one that lasted long enough for her to take a liking to you. At the end of it all, she gets your number, you get her’s, and a date’s been settled in some french restaurant she patronises.)

“Now, I don’t expect you to remember all of this,” she’s watching the wine leave streaks against the glass, “but if you do, I believe you're entitled to some extra points.” 

“Points?” you’re keen on inquiring, “we’re keeping a scoreboard?”

Sana simply smiles. For asking that question, minus 2 from you, is her answer—not a very good one if you were to be blunt. You can’t suppress a chuckle as you take a sip from your own wine.

Unwittingly, Sana has eased you into her presence. It suddenly feels like you’ve known her forever (if forever meant 2 weeks that is).

A smooth start to a relationship if you do say so yourself.

*

“Sana, there’s people out there.”

“I know.”

“They might hear us.”

“I know.”

“We could get caught.”

“We won’t.”

It’s the confidence in her voice that irks you really. The lack of hesitance combined with the sheer lack of shame towards the fact that anyone outside the changing room in this damn Prada store could easily raise a phone over the door and start recording. It’s not that she’s not cognizant of this, but more of the fact that she doesn’t give two shits if someone captures a video of her blowing you in this dressing room. Shameless, aplomb, obstinate, are the three words that come to mind when dealing with Sana at the given moment, but there’s no energy in you to convey this to her, not when she wraps her lips around your cock. The outfits that she chose remain untouched behind her, fabrics still in light while the person that chose them remains active on her knees. 

(Almost a year. Almost a year the two of you have been dating. You thought you’d learned all there is to know about her, yet she’s hitting you with new facts and surprises every day, left, right, and centre. There are probably many more things that you have yet to figure out, but they’ll all come to light in due time.)

Really, it’s on you for not exercising due diligence upon entering the store; you should’ve known better from the moment you saw that look in her eyes while she was looking at a dress. But there’s nothing you can do about it now, not when she’s already enraptured you with that damn gaze—the one that exudes want and lust, the one that’s the leaven to your morality in her eyes. She knows that she’s got you wrapped around her finger when your hand rests itself atop of her head as she slowly bobs her head over your crotch. She’s taking her time despite the situation that she’s placed the both of you in. 

“This has always been on my bucket list,” she’s letting her hand run along your shaft, spreading her saliva with each stroke of her palm. Her nails, freshly done just over 2 hours ago, glisten under the light—partially because of her spit and partly because of the gloss. “Everything about this is just so… Eroctic, isn’t it?”

Christ, she’s really into this thrill-seeking thing, you note as you choke out a reply: Not particularly, but whatever floats your boat Sana (obviously, it doesn’t come out as smooth as it should. No one would be able to get out a full sentence with phonics properly strung together if they too were getting blown in a changing room). She’s got a glint in her eye, but it’s covered by your shaft as she slides her tongue down your cock, nose brushing against the base of your cock, just behind her tongue. She knows what she’s doing, she’s given you head before; she’s building up the suspense and waiting for you to beg for more. You really don’t want to indulge her, you really don’t, but there’s not much you can do when she starts placing kisses on your shaft—base to tip in a fervently slow fashion. How far is she gonna go with this, you can’t help but wonder, but you quickly have your question answered in the next second or so.

“Unenthusiastic?” she quips, “minus four”.

She wraps her lips around you and pushes her head forward, and you almost let the people in the store know that something’s going down in here.

You figure that the feeling of her lips wrapped around your shaft will never get old, not when it sends electricity up your spine and makes your hand ball into a fist in her hair. Her eyes seem to glint as you let out a sharp gasp. Yes, you could be caught by an employee at any second. Yes, you could very well be caught on camera by a customer at any second. There were a lot of things to consider when assessing the dangers of the circumstances that Sana has put the both of you in. Yet, none of them take anything away from the pleasure she’s bringing you, not as she starts to bob her head in beat to the metronome in her head. There’s no point in trying to figure out her pace. 

“Jesus… Fuck… Sana I…” Your voice is—somehow—hushed as you struggle to convey how weak she’s making you, but it’s not like you need to anyway—she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s loving every second of the havoc she’s wreacking upon your senses. The slight tug in the corner of her lips is the suggestion of a smirk, and the muffled noise that rises from her throat is the implication of a giggle. 

There's a knock on the door and you bristle; Sana slows down, but she doesn’t stop. Past the door, the voice of the staff that led you to this very room asks if everything is alright in there, and you’re praying that her eyes aren’t set on the floor. Sana locks eyes with you, then darts her eyes to the door to tell you—Answer it goddamnit. Of course, she doesn’t make it easy for you as you open your mouth, applying light suction to your tip as you find the strength to say: Yep, just give us a few more minutes please, making you choke on that last word and sending alarms blaring in your head. Thankfully, the store assistant is kind enough to leave you with a take your time sir, and the shadow of her feet disappear from the gap beneath the door. It’s then that Sana pops your glistening cock out of her mouth.

“A few more minutes, huh?” She’s got drool on the corner of her lips as she rises to her feet. “Better make this quick then. You gotta keep your word as a lawyer, don’t you?”

Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.

(There are customers outside now, you can hear them talking to the store assistant. They sound vaguely familiar… Maybe you heard them at the restaurant? Or maybe they’re colleagues… No, that can’t be it, at least you hope so).

Now for the record: you’ve seen Sana naked on multiple occasions, be it voluntarily or not. The shower, the bedroom, even a public shower at the pool… You could name a lot more places where she’d shamelessly flaunted her nude body before you off the top of your head. “A body to die for” is a fitting expression for Sana; you’ve always wondered if you’d find her on the top of the Google image search if you were to look up “dream bodies”, and you figure that you can probably get her there if you could somehow take pictures with your eyes as she undresses before you. She’s more methodical than anything, straying away from her usual teasing nature for the sake of being quick (that’s what you infer from her behaviour, but really, she could just be extremely horny and desperate. There’s never a solid answer to Sana’s behaviour). Mini skirt, then top, then bra; she’s going through the motions that she’d usually drag out just to get a reaction out of you preternaturally quickly.

Why is she getting naked in a changing room? You have no clue. Your best guess: she’s doing it for the thrill of it. The thought of getting caught completely nude with her boyfriend speared inside of her must be sending lethal doses of adrenaline through her veins. A pretty solid guess if you do say so yourself. No time for anymore guesses anyway—she’s already brought your hand up to her right breast, and she’s closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of your fingers closing around the semi-firm flesh. Her top lip’s furling behind her front teeth, she’s letting her other hand rest on your arm. She’s telling you where she wants it—did you cum in my ass yesterday? Or was it the day before? Ah, whatever… Give me a fucking creampie—in this soft, low voice that sends a velvet chill down your spine. Then she's kissing you softly, sweetly, nibbling on your top lip as usual, all while pushing you to the corner of the room where your feet aren't visible to those outside, flushing your back against the wall. It’s an uncomfortable fit, but that quickly changes when she grips the middle of your shaft and lines you tip up with her slit. The hand on her tit is guided to that slim waist, your other hand quickly finding its place on that symmetrical, slim figure. 

“I don’t care if I cum or not,” she drawls, trailing a finger down your chest, “I just want your load inside me, right here, right now. Just focus on that, nothing else.”

(Half request, half demand—give her an award for being so damn ambiguous. Subtitles that could translate what she truly means would be really, really handy right now. Alas, such a system doesn’t exist.)

Describing how Sana’s pussy felt would be doing her injustice. The feeling was ineffable. From entering her to hilting yourself inside of her, there was never a second of that process where you had an easy time breathing or thinking. You’ve never been so reliant on your senses to keep you grounded in reality, nor have you ever been so glad that Sana’s nails are digging into your shoulder. This position—facing each other, standing and fucking against the wall of (all places) a changing room—is a stranger to the both of you, but the sheer tightness of her cunt working hand in hand with the intimacy of it all has you welcoming it with open arms.

Your hips are moving on their own, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you start thrusting into Sana. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into Sana in a mindless, slow fashion, relishing the  feel of her skin in your palms, the look on her face, the soft moans that are slowly slipping from her ever so slightly opened lips. Then your ability to think slowly returns, and you’re thinking like a damn neanderthal—tight, wet, hot, so fucking good—as your grip on her waist tightens. Your shaft glistens in the light of the changing room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her slick, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weak. Sana cups your cheek, lifts your head, and it’s now that you see how her eyes have been completely glazed over with lust and want. Her face, her figure down to the sounds she’s making; everything about her, about this, is the phantasmagoria of a wet dream.

If you were being completely true to yourself right now: You couldn’t care less if you got caught. 

And as if on cue, the voices approach as soon as you finish that train of thought. 

“Do you provide altercation services?” It’s the voice of a man, closely followed by that of the store assistant: Of course sir. After you try on the suit, you can note how you’d like it to be altered to your liking. 

A shadow of feet appears at the base of the door. Sana cups a hand over her mouth as the door rattles—the customer trying to open it. You stop your movements, breath caught in your throat as the store assistant tells him to use the other fitting room. Sana’s breath is loud in your ears as a second set of footsteps approach, followed by a female voice that asks, “Is my husband in there?” 

Yes ma’am, is the assistant’s reply. Of course, this is hardly the end of it.

Now, as the woman engages the store assistant in conversation right outside your door, Sana lets the hand on her mouth drop. She flushes herself against you as the store assistant answers, and she whispers, “Keep going”.

Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.

The logical part of you warns you against doing as she says. Sadly, there’s not much room for logic in your head in the given circumstances, not when your balls-deep inside your girlfriend in a changing room. There’s barely enough room for dilemma to occur; Sana’s the sole occupant of your mind, rent-free, free-hold, and really: she’s the only thing that matters right now. 

She almost, just almost, lets out a cry when you spear yourself back inside her. You didn't expect to start so soon, and neither did she. However, catching her by surprise is a novelty to you, and you relish in that brief rush of smugness before you restart your movements. Her mouth is frozen in a silent scream, but her eyes say all that she wants to: smug asshole, I’ll kill you later. You reply by letting your index and forefinger slip into her still-open mouth. 

“Personally, I enjoy the Italian selection more…” The store assistant’s voice is barely audible to you over Sana’s small, muffled moans that manage to skirt your fingers and Sana’s closed lips, and as the lady starts talking about trench coats, Sana coats your fingers with a fresh layer of saliva, turning your fingers slick and slimy with her tongue as she looks you dead in the eye, as if challenging you: Is this the best you can do? Is this the riskiest you can be?

Every question from her deserves an answer, and your’s is to remove your saliva-slicked fingers out of her mouth, draw a circle with her spit just above her collarbone, then whisper right into her ear: I’m gonna mark you right there. The involuntary gasp that she lets out tugs the corner of your lips up into a perverse smile. Slowly your lips drift down to the glistening spot, and you wait just a moment to build up that sweet-sweet suspense. It’s a split second, but it’s a second too much for her to bear—the way her body tenses when you finally make contact is the clearest indication you will ever receive. And when you start sucking, God does she almost drive you over the edge: she tightens, she gasps, she starts twitching; she loves it, every second your lips stay locked around that sweet spot of skin is bliss to her.

You can hear the door to the other fitting room unlock, and you hear the man’s heavy footsteps as he walks out, no doubt in that suit he had earlier. The compulsory question comes: how do I look?

There’s a brief moment of silence, and you’re almost fearful of the fact that maybe, just maybe, their ears are picking up on the ragged breathing and slightly audible squelching coming from the other fitting room. All consternation dissipates when the woman starts to comment on how she looks, but Sana seems to have an answer to his question as well: So good. So fucking good. Harder, let me feel all of you, fuck me harder. Oh fuck, you’re so fucking deep. 

You look dashing honey. The pitch of the woman’s reply harmonises with Sana’s soft whine as your lips leave her skin, the same patch where you’ve left your purple artwork on. I think we can afford to alter the pants—

Sana crushes your lips against hers, hot breath filling your mouth as you feel her lift her leg. You hold the back of her knee (like the gentleman you are), bring it to your side, hold it there. She bites your lower lip, hard enough for her to pull and tug it as you start losing yourself in her: her scent, her breath, her skin—all of it’s so deliciously addicting. You can’t get enough.

Then she’s going straight to moaning into your mouth, letting those muffled cries permeate in the small space and hopefully not outside the fitting room. She’s wet, she’s tight, she’s everything you need right now. You want, so badly, to pull her apart, ruin her till you can’t put her back together, get her begging at the top of her lungs for you to fuck her harder and harder. 

And you’re almost on the verge of calling her a slut. There’s no need for that though, she knows what she’s made of herself.

—so that they’re a little shorter. I think we could also try—

Sana’s figured out the best way to moan: straight into your ear. She’s not letting up with them, and she’s giving you one hell of an array of sounds. There’s the common ah, the not so common, oh, and the very common shit, fuck, fuck me and so good. Her phonics are so loosely strung together that they’re just a jumbled mess, and you're perfectly ensconced with that; you love hearing those lazy, sloppy cries, and they only seem even more melodic at this volume, at this moment. Fuck, record them and play them as white noise as you sleep.

—changing the colours of the buttons? Ooh! Maybe we could even change the stitching around—

She tilts her head back, and you’re peppering her neck with kisses. She loves it, you know she loves it; all this attention, all this adrenaline, all this carnality she’s invoking—all of it for her. Each time you grunt, she knows that she’s the damn reason for it. Every time your fingers dig into her thigh a little more, she knows it’s because of her. Every kiss on her neck, every inch of her pussy you fill with your rock-hard meat, all of it’s for her. She isn’t vain, nor is she a pick me girl, but she sure as hell knows how to make you treat her like she’s the only girl in the fucking world, and you’re more than happy to give her what she wants.

Because it’s always like this with Sana: if she wants it badly enough, she’ll formulate a stratagem to get it, nip her cravings in the bud before they turn into desires that she can’t control. Mind you, she’s not dissolute; she’s just “riding the highs of life” as she calls it. Pretty bullshit and circumlocutory, but you always let her off the hook.

—the pocket area? That’s my two cents. What do you think darling?

Another moment of silence follows, and Sana seizes the opportunity to nibble on your earlobe. Her leg’s sweaty, slowly slipping from your grasp and trembling from the pleasure that’s giving her voice this lilt when she says: Carry me. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Pleasure, coursing through your veins, makes you comply in an almost servile manner. It’s precipitous, even fatuous to pull such a stunt in a fitting room of all places, but when your hands are supporting her by her ass and her legs lock around your waist, there’s no turning back.

And as the man starts going off on his own preferences, Sana’s wrapping her arms around your neck, letting you get a look at those bouncing breasts as you reach new depths inside of those slick, warm walls. If she could cry out, she would, but those damn customers outside are placing her in a box here, and it’s clearly frustrating her. If you were at your place, her hands gripping your sheets and her juices messing up your quilt, she could moan, mewl, cry and cuss however loud she wanted. In a way, it was funny to watch her hold back, but at the same time: you so badly want to make her scream, undo her right here and now and make her a mess in your arms, but you’ll settle for what you have right now. What the two of you have created is controlled chaos, and should it be released past that damn changing room door, God knows what will happen.

Now it’s the store assistant’s turn to speak, and she’s giving them a rundown of the pricings. Outside, they’re talking about the possibility of a discount; inside, Sana’s talking about how deep you feel inside of. Outside, the man’s trying to guilt-trip the store assistant by saying how exorbitant the price is; inside, Sana’s exclaiming and pleading in a hushed voice—Own me. For the love of God, fucking o-own me!—as each thrust you make into her pussy sends her further and further down this rabbit hole of pleasure. It takes guts to fuck in a fitting room, but it takes the guts of Minatozaki Sana to be this needy while fucking in a fitting room. The risks of being caught are high, the risk of being heard even higher, but neither of those affect her ardour. At a controlled volume, she’s pleading for you to fuck her harder, faster, unravel every single bit of her being while she tries to keep herself together. It’s one hell of a show, and it’s one hell of an experience too. 

(The sight of her perfect body flushed against yours as she’s fucked in the air, the smell of her sickly sweet perfume, the feeling of that divinely tight pussy wrapped snugly around your shaft like a damned glove, the way those sonorously soft moans filter into your ears. Add these together with the fact that the people outside could hear you at any second, and you’ve got one hell of a recipe for a voyeurist’s wet dream. You’re no voyeurist, but everything about this moment is making you feel like one.

Right now, this is everything to Sana. Having you this close to her, feeling that cool Prada air conditioning against her bare body, listening to you grunt and sigh as you piston yourself in and out of that slick, wet slit… All her needs are being fulfilled, all of her senses heightened and primed, aware of every movement you make inside of her pussy. Sometimes, you feel so good and oh fuck, or maybe even oh god isn’t enough to convey how she feels, so she just opts to let out this strained, strangled gasps that tells you everything you need to know—a maelstrom of emotions and expressions compressed and compacted into one simple “hngh” is enough for you to know that you’re doing something right.)

“You like this Sana?” you find yourself whispering. “You like being fucked like a damn slut with people just outside, don’t you? You like everything about this, don’t you?”

Right now, she doesn’t have that capacity to reply. Of course, you know this, which makes you feel all the more smug as you watch, watching as she slips into a state of complete, utter bliss: her mouth hangs open, her eyes are unfocused, she’s barely holding on to you. The purple mark that your lips have left on her neck sears itself into your sight, and it’s joined by the breathtaking view of her breasts loosely bouncing each time you drive yourself into her. Loose strands of hair are flying, neither of you have any hands free to fix them. Her legs are quaking around your waist, neither of you want to stop just so that she can be back down on the floor. Her eyes are closing, you can feel her heartbeat in her pussy, she’s begging, pleading, fucking imploring you to keep going. 

Christ. You want her to moan as loud as she can for you.

It’s hard not to get turned on by the sight of it, and it’s even harder to keep yourself controlled under the rapidly tightening grip of her cunt. Her breaths are shallow, her head is almost completely limp. She may not seem to be aware of it, but you sure as hell are more than cognizant of the fact that the both of you are about to hit that peak that you’ve been chasing for the past God-knows-how-many minutes.

“Sana.” Uttering her name is all that’s needed to bring her back to the real world. When you have her attention, you give her the sentence that she’s been waiting to hear for so damn long: I’m gonna fucking fill you, and It’s like the air gets heavier when she softly whispers, pleads for you to fulfill her new desire; cum with me. I need it so bad. 

Controlled orgasm would take strength to pull off, and you silently pray that you have that strength as you send one final thrust between her shaking legs. Your cock twitches, spasms and the first rope of your warm seed that’s sent into her waiting walls is enough to send her over the edge. She bites down on your shoulder, quick enough to muffle the cry that escapes her throat. The tightening of her walls seem to coordinate with each spasm of your cock, and they sync up, working together to get every last drop of cum out of you and into her. She lets a soft moan escape her lips with each spurt, as though welcoming it, as though each one were something she long wanted and needed. You let out a single, soft grunt, as though thanking her, as though every twitch of her walls that sends a shock down your cock is a treasure to be relished.

So the scarf that she brought in to try is no longer just an ornament like the rest of the outfits. Even after adjusting her outfit, the fabric still can't seem to cover that hickey you left on her collarbone. The simple solution: Sana waits there, you buy the scarf, hand it to her, she puts it on and the both of you walk out of the store like nothing happened, like the both of you really were in there to try on some clothes, then leave. 

It’s unsuspecting, it’s smooth. The store assistant wishes you a good day, and Sana smiles and waves to her, looking exactly like she did when she entered, plus a scarf. The only difference in Sana’s entrance and exit from the Prada store is the load between her legs.

But that’s a secret for the two of you.

*

“Hey. Could I talk to you about something?”

In your two years of dating Sana, never have you heard her this nervous in your life. The fact that your client isn’t responding to you a day before his trial plagues you no more, and your laptop is shut before she can close the door. 

Your posture—arms crossed atop the desk and back straight—is all she needs. The message is implicit: I’m here, all ears, and she smiles softly as she walks over to the bed. The frame creaks a little as she settles down.

“My uh… My Dad is organising another one of those damned Balls again.” The way she intonates her words tells you that the Ball is the least of her concerns at the moment. “It’s gonna be at the usual time.. Usual place… Not like we can move it anyway.”

You offer her a chuckle to assuage her, diffuse the tension a little. She manages a half-forced giggle at her own joke. Is this a transitional opening? Or is this legitimately the subject of her conversation? you’re thinking, and as you sip from your cup, that subtle shift in her posture is shifting the atmosphere of the room. 

She’s scared, but of what?

“I was wondering,” she drums her nails against her knees, “could I… Introduce you to him tomorrow? M-My Dad I mean.”

And now you suddenly understand why she’s on edge. She’s not scared for herself; she’s scared for you. The head of the Minatozaki clan, Sana’s father—you heard much about him, partly because of the stories that Sana tells you and partly from the things you heard through the grapevine at work. In your firm, there’s a whole box dedicated to storing suits that have been opened by him on the intern’s table (it’s a hilariously off-putting thing to say out loud), and from what you’ve heard: there’s another two in the storage room. Personally, you’ve assisted a colleague in one of his lawsuits, and the emails you billed weren’t pretty. You’d be throwing out a fib if you ever couched that you never once thought: It’s a pretty bad first impression of the man, could he maybe… You know… Stop suing people? Please? but you’re not going to let a mere few boxes and one night of reading through emails determine your perception of Sana’s father. 

And hopefully, he won’t judge a book by its cover too.

“I have a trial tomorrow Sha,” you remind her, but it’s not like you actually expected her to remember this; you whispered it to her while cuddling on the couch a solid week ago. “I don’t know when I’ll end. It might be a little tight for me.”

It's undeniable that she sighs in relief. The blush that follows the breath is a clear indication. She’s glad, too glad. You can't help but ask: What’s up? Think I’ll flub everything when I meet him?

Sana does that thing where she wants to answer, but doesn’t know how to: her mouth opens, closes, opens again—longer this time, then closes again. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about; what your father will think of your partner is never not a touchy matter. All touchy matters should be discussed in comfort (Sana knows that you strongly believe in this, that’s why she’s situated herself on the bed), and you join her on the mattress. 

“WIll he feel that I’m not enough for you?” You’re prodding, all while you gently reach for her hand and grasp it in your own. It’s cold, really cold. You’ll warm it up with your palms, keep them there while she replies, “it’s not that… I know that you’re more than enough for me, that’s what matters to him… At least I think so.”

She’s staring down at her hand, the one that’s slowly heating up via the warmth of your hand. Then what’s making you so worried? you’re asking. She folds her bottom in, past her front teeth. You rub her knuckle with your thumb.

“Yea I… I don’t know what’s making me so worried either,” she finally muses. “Guess I’m just… New to this practice. Never had to do it before...”

Because all the men that have tried to win you over have never lasted for more than a week, you complete in your head, smiling as she lays her other hand over yours. It’s cold too—that won’t do.

And as you set another hand atop hers, she’s asking you for a kiss. Luckily for her, obliging her wants is your specialty, and your lips are quickly travelling that small gap between the two of you. Connection is made, and you physically feel her relax. You know. You know that she belides a truth that she’s not ready to divulge. It’s in her kiss, it’s in her hands, and that’s fine with you. You can infer that it’s not something that’s going to be detrimental to your relationship, and whenever she’s ready to speak about it, you’ll always be available.

Now the kiss is done, she’s asking for fried chicken. You counter-ask if the kiss was to soften you up so that she could ask for her Famichiki. Of course, you get a classic Sana reply: a “maybe”, followed by that mischievous grin. You rise from the bed to grab your coat. 

You're glad that the Konbini is just next to your apartment. Sana’s glad that she gets to be close to you as you walk through the snowy street.

“You know,” she’s whispering, “I really won’t mind if you propose to me one of these days.”

You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead. 

In your head: you note to start looking for a nice ring.

*

Money can get you to places, but it can also get you a private soundproof karaoke room in a club. Three and a half years of dating—that’s all you need to know: you can bet your left kidney that Sana is taking full advantage of that room.

The bottle of Whisky that she opened to get the room is hardly the main event; Sana, slowly slipping out of that tight black dress she’s wearing, foreground to the default music that’s on the TV, has your unwavering attention. The smile on her face could've been mistaken for a sweet one if it weren’t for the fact that she’s getting naked, and the lack of a bra really doesn’t help with her case either.

“There isn’t a time limit to the use of this room, right?” You know the answer to that is no, the lady at the counter told you so. The question is more of a gauge, an instrument that’s helping you assess her plans for the night.

“If you’re trying to know how long we’ll be here for,” she slings her dress onto the couch next to you, and in her stockings and panties, saunters over with a sultry sway in her hips, “my answer is a secret.”

“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”

“Too bad. Call in sick.”

She picks up the glass of Whisky, raises it to her lips. When she drinks, she lets some of that amber liquid trickle out past her lips, down past her chin and onto her tits. In the light, her wet skin glistens and shimmers, and you once again find yourself in absolute awe with the woman before you. And as she straddles you, glass in hand, the way she uses her fingers to tilt your face up to the light tells you that she’s in control. She takes a sip of the amber liquid, swallows it, then brings it to your lips.

“Be a good boy,” she’s tipping the glass as she speaks, a strong way to convey that there’s no room for disobedience, “say ‘ahh’ for me baby.” 

The glass is cold against your lips, the liquor even colder on your tongue as it flows into your mouth at a manageable rate. When she stops pouring, you take the cue, and you swallow all of it in one gulp. The burn in your throat is oddly rewarding, probably because Sana’s smiling down at you, stroking your hair and telling you how obedient you are as you swallow. Then she makes you open your mouth again, pours another portion down the hatch. 

How does it taste, she’s asking, cupping your right cheek as she swirls the glass. You give her a short honest review of it: It’s good. The answer pleases her, and she sets down the glass in her hand to pick up the bottle from the table next to you. 

“Yamazaki, 12 year old single Malt.” She’s letting you see the bottle under the light, though you have to admit that her tits right next to the bottle are a horrible distraction. “My personal favourite.”

She unscrews the cap and takes a swig straight from the bottle, swallows it without even flinching. She’s always been able to hold her alcohol well, and you know for a fact that she can probably outdrink 5 of your colleagues and maybe, just maybe, your boss too. But you’ll never have a fair gauge on how well she can drink in comparison to your peers; she only drinks around you. 

Your face is back in her hand, and she’s got some more things to say—Drink it neat, on the rocks, add it to another drink, it tastes great no matter what—as she starts to lightly grind herself over your throbbing shaft in your pants. But you know what the best way to drink it is, she asks you. She’s not looking for an answer from you, just finding a way to transition from the Whisky to whatever it is she has in mind—you can tell because she leans down to capture lips right after she throws out the inquiry, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. The smell of Whisky is so damn strong on her breath, and the only thing hotter than the burning sensation in your throat is the fact that she’s using one hand to play with herself, the bottle of Whisky in the other. You can hear it slosh next to your ear as she raises it. 

And as she breaks the kiss, the thin strand of saliva connecting the two of you doesn’t stop her from providing the answer to her question—it tastes the best when you drink it right off my body—as she straightens herself. The next second, still playing with herself, she’s bringing the bottle to her lips, tipping it just before it touches those red-tinted lips to let the golden liquid flow down her chest and breasts. There's no time to admire; you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. Her skin glistens with the Whisky on it. It looks like gold in the snow. She smells like lavender and lust.

Your tongue, saturated with Whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Sana gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples—roughly, hungrily. You could say that she’s wasted some perfectly good Whisky, but you say that she’s added complex flavours to an already exquisite meal. The blend of alcohol and Sana’s skin is not something you never knew you needed, but now you do. The novelty of it, the sheer lust she’s emanating, all of it makes her tits taste better than ever, and you find yourself leaving marks on her cleavage, the right side of her left breast, the left side of her right breast; every centimetre of skin that can be reached is marked and tasted—your attempt at dipping your toes in a little control in this karaoke room that is Sana’s domain.

Maybe you’re a little over-indulgent in her, maybe you’re just unaware, but you certainly can’t feel her slipping your tie off your neck. By the time you’re aware of the sudden feeling of freedom at your throat, she’s already wrapping your wrists, securing them together with an intricate knot. You know damn well that even the boy scouts couldn’t untie this one, even if they sent their best member. The theory is only enforced when Sana asks you to try pulling your wrists apart, and it feels like they’ve been superglued together. Satisfied, she feeds you some more Whisky off her body, then it’s time for her fun.

Palm flat against your chest, eyes flaring, wicked smile; Sana pushed you back against the couch with graceful authority—something that only she is capable of. Then it’s onto your shirt, and he’s unbuttoning it with practised dexterity: unfastening, pulling—motions so fast that she has your reverence for mastering the art. She takes a moment, parts the fabric covering your chest and runs a fingernail down the centre of your torso. The nail—painted black with little Sakura flowers adorning it—stops at your belt. It isn’t hesitance that keeps her finger there; it’s the innate cheekiness that makes her linger there a little longer, that makes her smile softly as the other hand joins in and starts undoing the clasp of your belt. Not a word is uttered as she pulls apart your belt, then goes straight for the buckle of your belt. 

Then it’s back to kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing as she runs her fingers through your hair. The Whisky on both of your breaths mingle. Admittedly, you’re feeling a little floaty, engendering a pleasant tingle on your skin as she starts placing kisses on your cheek, then on your jaw. Next thing you know, she’s sucking hard at the nape of your neck, marking you with those lovely lips, as if she’s placing a wax seal on you, declaring: you are mine and mine alone. And when she successfully sears the shape of her lips onto your skin, she traces the slick outline with a finger, whispers softly, You have no idea how much I want to own you right now. 

The excitement is palpable, the tension even more so. She’s whispering all sorts of things to you—most of them entailing what she’s about to do with your cock—all while she starts to slip your briefs off of your legs. Your cock springs out of your pants, slaps against her ass and twitches on the rotund flesh. The smile grows wider, devilish dimples appear. And for the record: no, she’s not gonna blow you. She’s gonna make herself cum before anything else happens, and she’s going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. 

She slides off you, gets back up on her feet. With her back turned to you, she bends forward at the waist, shaking her ass while she uses her thumbs to hook onto the waistband of her panties. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. Her pussy glistens in the light, flushed pink and folds tantalising as ever puffy and swollen with excitement.

She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.

She wiggles her ass at you, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“Bet you wished,” she gets on her back, spreads her legs to get the spotlight on her slit, “that you could absolutely own me like this right now, don’t you?”

She’s so cocksure. It’s driving you crazy. You swallow, your voice barely audible as you utter her name. She crawls to you, sits up, her face in front of yours, so close, so hot. Her hand touches the back of your head, her voice barely a whisper as she grips the base of your cock—but you can’t, and it’s so damn frustrating, isn’t it?—and rubs your tip between her dripping folds, lathering her juices all over your head and smiling all the way through. 

And when you least expect it, she turns and sinks down on your cock.

You throw your head back, groan, the sound of her wetness as she takes your cock into her pussy loud and clear over the music. Your head falls forward again, watching her sink further and further, taking more and more of your cock inside her with every passing moment as she lets a long, drawn-out moan float through the air. When her crotch meets yours and you are fully embedded inside her, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure that leaves open lips. You meet it with a sigh of your own, somehow tearing open your own shut eyes to watch the expression on her beautiful face as you fill her. 

Christ, fuck and god—just some of the words that you want to cry out as she starts to slowly grind herself against you. The ride she’s about to take is one that’s of perverse nature; it’s not going to be a slow, pleasant ride. Naturally, her habit of jumping straight into things leaves her unprepared for what she’s about to experience, so now she has to slowly slowly adjust to your size, like striking the flint over and over next to the fireplace as you hope to get a flame going. Usually, this would be a time where you’d caress that beautiful body, run your hands over that unblemished white skin and pepper kisses all over the places that she loves to be kissed. But she’s not in the mood for that, not when she has this room and you at her disposal. 

Then the fire ignites, and it is merciless, a force of nature—untameable, unrelenting. In your bonds you are unable to resist. You never would’ve in the first place. She begins to move, her pussy tight and slick around your cock. She rides you like she was made to do this, like a pro. She rides you fiercely, roughly, taking you in and out of her tight wet heat, caring little for your comfort or much of anything aside from stuffing herself over and over with thick, hard meat. Throughout it all she is digging into your thigh, crying out like her life depends on it as she goes up, down, up, down—a lewd seat on a merry go round.

Yes, yes, yes—she throws her head back, auburn hair flying like streamers in the wind as she has her way with you—o-oh fuck I need this! I need this so fucking bad! The rhythmic, repetitive motion, her unbridled desire to be filled, it sends you reeling. The pressure on your leg is forgotten, the slight discomfort in your arms pushed out of the way. You can do nothing but watch her ride you. You can do nothing but marvel at how good you feel inside her, how the tightness of her pussy massages your shaft, how the way she takes you so completely into her folds, how you stretch her and make her quiver and quake.

A part of you wishes the mirror were visible from your current position, so that you could watch as Sana impales herself over and over on your cock. You want to watch the expression of pleasure wrangle her cute features, want to watch her full, round breasts bounce up and down, want to watch every muscle of her long, perfectly shaped legs work to throw her body again and again against your cock. But you’ll have to content yourself with the almost equally alluring view of her sweaty back (not that it was a particularly difficult position to enjoy. How could you call it “bad” with the view of her round, full ass as she slams it down against your crotch?). It’s not like you can change anything about this anyway. No—the only thing you can do is sit back, watch, and savour how her ass jiggles as it crashes against your crotch.

Oh fuck, oh yes! I’m so fucking full! I’m so stuffed with this cock!

You lose yourself to the sound of her voice, the feeling of her pussy as it swallows up your cock, the sight of her back arching and her hands shaking. As much as you try, you find yourself unable to move, as though your own pleasure has been drained out of your body, and you are just an observer. You watch as she pushes herself down further on your cock, impaling herself with every thrust of her hips, her voice growing louder and louder as she gets into that dangerous rhythm, the rhythm that makes you think she’s on Acid. Well-formed breasts bounce, you see them past her slender figure. Her shapely, luscious ass ripples. Long legs work overtime, cooperating with the stamina of the girl who is using them to drive herself over the edge like it’s her be-all and end-all. It’s exhilarating. It’s thrilling. 

It’s so fucking hot. 

Oh god. You’re stretching me out so good. This cock feels so damn good!

Two things are getting you at the moment: (1) The sweat glistening that’s building up on her back. (2) The fact that she’s pushing your thighs apart to get more of you inside her. The former sight is a breathtaking process really: beady moisture on that well built back, pooling at all the best places and making her skin glow as some of it slowly trickles down her spine. The latter’s no grain of sand either mind you, maybe even hotter than Sana’s sweaty back if you dare say. Freshly done nails sit just outside the insides of your thighs, the palms that they’re connected to pushing down against the flesh beneath them. They’re indenting the muscles of your thighs, it’s uncomfortable, but only for a second at a time. 

I don’t wanna stop. I don’t wanna fucking stop!

In your restraints, your hands grasp at the flesh that’s so close yet so far, the skin that’s rippling and slapping against yours. Her ass taunts you, tempts you, teases you. It’s so frustrating yet so erotic; you aren’t sure if you should welcome this mix of emotions or reject it before it folds its wings and nestles itself in your chest. The mix of desire and vexation, exasperation and ecstasy—any two emotions that shouldn’t go together are mixing, blending, forming these bubbles in your chest that you can’t explain. 

One woman; innumerable sensations.

You need more. More of everything. More of her.

You wish you could touch her.

You wish you could fuck her.

But all you can do is watch, watch as she starts going down harder, crying out even louder. 

Her body, so flawlessly feminine, is in deadly motion, working you over from the inside like you’ve never experienced. The air is filled with the wet, lewd sounds of her pussy sucking you in your hips slapping against her ass, her moans and groans, her curses that seem to go on perennially, blending in perfectly with that shitty synth in the background.

And you’re just along for the ride.

You have no idea… How good this is.. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And she wants you to see it, she wants you to watch her—it is exactly that kind of attention that she is basking in. So you watch. You watch her, the way she looks back at you, the way her eyes flare as she takes you in, the way her hands claw at your leg. The way she's moaning with that lilt back in her voice. Everything about this spectacle seems like it’s been scripted for some porno, and her body is certainly making you feel like you’re in one. The only grasp on reality that this situation offers is… Well, nothing. And it’s not that there really isn’t anything for you to root yourself in this real world, rather you’re choosing not to make that mental effort to do so; every little corner of your mind is being bled with whatever colour the image of Sana bouncing on your cock is. There’s no room for reality, and it's addicting, enthralling.

Fuck. You can't get enough of her, and you probably never will.

So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!

Your breath is ragged, and it takes every bit of control you have left in you to not cum right then and there. It takes every ounce of focus not to simply give in to her, not to simply melt into the couch, not to lose your mind to the sensation of her tight, wet slick as it swallows you in, pushes you out; fucking itself over and over and over again on your rock hard shaft. You don't know how much longer you can hold out for, and as if she can tell, Sana starts to move faster, her movements getting even more aggressive. The slaps of her ass against your crotch are louder now, and the wet smacking sound of her pussy's getting faster and faster. Her fingers are digging into your leg, her moans more frequent and more desperate. You can feel her tightening around you, the way her walls clamp down, the way her legs are trembling, the way her voice is going up in pitch. 

(It’s the moments of privacy that really get her going; the moments where she can scream and cuss and moan like there’s no tomorrow are everything to her. 

Yes, she likes fucking in public spaces for the thrill of it, but she likes it better when she can hold you freely as you fill her, not having to care for the fact that the way her body’s positioned engenders any discomfort or risk of being heard.

Yes, she likes it when there’s the chance that someone can walk in on the two of you, but the prospect of being able to own your cock, uninterrupted and unheard, thrills her like nothing else in the damn world.

Yes, she likes to see if she can hold in her cries while you’re rearranging her insides in a bathroom stall, but she prefers it much more when she can slam herself down on your cock—be loud and be proud of the fact that she loves every inch of meat that fills her till she can barely breathe. 

Bottom line: she likes chasing that thrill of being caught, but she loves those moments where she’s alone with you in private even more. Now is one of those times, and God… She’s barely herself anymore.

She is a storm of pure, unfiltered lust. And you must say: it’s fucking sublime.)

Then the game changing sentence comes from her, and it's beautiful. 

"I'm fucking cumming!"

The words ring out, clear and loud. And she doesn't stop; she keeps riding you, taking you into her wet hole and milking your cock, using you to bring herself off. It's not until the final second that she slows down, her back arching as she lets out the most satisfying scream that you have ever heard in your entire life. It is all that you can do to watch as she slumps forward, breaths ragged and body twitching as you hold yourself back. It takes everything—every fibre, every cell and every last bit of will—to not cum in her right there and then. And when the final spasm has passed and the shuddering has subsided, when Sana has collapsed against you, your cock still buried inside her, she turns to you.

There are no words spoken, just a mutual understanding of what comes next. She slips off the couch, takes your slick shaft in her hands. A few pumps are delivered, and they’re considerate and slow; she’s good at building tension.

“You’ve already marked my tits. Might as well cum on them.” She’s still got some cheekiness left in her, and that smile is really doing everything for you. 

“Fuck, Sana, I—” “Do it. Paint me.”

You feel the semen gather in your balls before coursing up your shaft and erupting from its tip, landing in thick, wet, warm ropes upon Sana’s creamy skin. Your tip is directed between her cleavage, and the first spurt of cum shoots itself between those wonderful mounds. It’s quickly followed by a second rope, and the third lands on her upper chest. With grace, she manages to direct your spurting cock by the base so the fourth and fifth ropes cover the front of her tits, then the rest don’t matter anymore.

The last ropes of thick, warm semen land upon her face, staining her soft, blushing features with creamy white cum. Some of it lands on her cheeks, on her forehead and onto her open mouth and the thirsty tongue within it. When you finally open eyes you hadn’t known had closed, the picture of Minatozaki Sana, face and chest painted with your warm, thick cum, is one you never want to forget. And as she scoops up your seed with her fingers, she’s got a thing or two to say.

“Excellent load,” she whispers, watching as the cum slithers down her palm. “Plus two to you.”

Just two? Is your reply of false bewilderment. Sana chortles. 

Maybe if you can give me a load up my ass, I’ll consider adding another three points.

*

Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket. 

Sana’s father seems more imposing than he should for a man his size, and looking at the Yamazaki bottle on the desk, you can tell that Sana gets her liking for Whisky from him. 

“I’ve never met you in my life,” he begins, “and now you come here like a friend, asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Sana’s head is bowed. In the corner of the office she sits, hands clasped over one another as she listens in silently. No amount of trials or oral submissions could ever prepare you for this tension.

“Mr Minatozaki… I understand that all of this is sudden,” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a raised hand.

“You know boy… You sure do talk like you know everything about the situation.” His voice is nowhere near threatening as he speaks, and it’s absolutely terrifying. “For a lawyer, you sure do sound quite the fool. Guess I shouldn’t have been expecting much considering your background.”

And it’s that very statement that has you on tenterhooks. You’ve never met him, never even seen his face, yet he knows your occupation which you never even touched on, and from the sound of it, knows what went down in your family. Sana’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she watches her father produce a file from under his desk. 

“It’s not the suddenness,” the air quotations he uses hold more weight than they really should, “that doesn’t sit well with me dear boy. No, no… It’s more than that.”

The broad leather chair in his office grows constricting. As he rises from his seat, the foam that holds your butt up seems to depress. And as he begins—if you sauntered in here as just a lawyer, I would’ve let you take my daughter in a heartbeat!—his explanation of what’s grinding his gears, you start feeling uneasy. For context on the severity of this feeling: the last time you felt like this was when you first met his daughter.

But you’re not just a lawyer—he’s opening the file in his hands, flipping through its contents—you’re a disgrace to this very world. You shouldn’t even be in this damn house right now. 

Into the file his hand reaches, and out from it: two mugshots. You bristle; Sana gasps (and it’s not that she didn’t know, rather because she was shocked that her father knew.)

So it’s the next sentence that seals your fate. Frankly, you kind of expected it, but it still doesn’t take away from the sheer bedlam that goes down in your head when Mr Minatozaki waves the mugshots of your parents before your face and shrieks at the top of his lungs. 

This isn’t the way you pictured this going. 

Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.

 “Do you seriously think for a second that I’d let the son of two druggies—two disgraceful, repugnant, filthy, druggies—marry my daughter?”

*

It’s hard to forget what she told you over the phone after your talk with her father (if you can even call it that): we’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out. 

Money can get you a nice fancy Ball, some nice Whisky and a private Karaoke room. Naturally, it can grant you a means to keep the son of two convicted drug abusers that hung themselves in their cells away from your daughter. 

So not even 12 hours after that fate-sealing conversation did you get a phone call from your boss. Next thing you know, you’re uprooted from your workplace in Osaka, transferred to the branch in Nagoya; Sana’s number mysteriously changes itself, none of your letters ever reach her. 

It’s over the payphone, months after all of this, that Sana finally reaches you, and she’s ugly crying over the phone. 

We can fix this, we’ll figure something out. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out. 

In a way, she ended up being right. 

And in your suit, you smile as you watch her walk down the aisle. She’s beautiful as ever, and you feel like that white veil over her face is doing her the biggest disservice ever. The little boy carrying the wedding rings seems a little confused, but it only adds to his adorable aura as he stumbles behind Sana. The flower petals are being scattered, the crowd’s on their feet. They’re clapping; you’re crying. Have you mentioned that she looks beautiful?

Oh? You have? Odd…

But just in case it slips your mind, you tell her how beautiful she is in your head, all while she walks right past you and continues to the stage. It feels like the ring boy’s acting stupid to taunt you for being the fool here. 

In a way, she ended up being right. If “We” referred to Sana’s father and that man on the stage, “We” did indeed end up figuring things out. The invite broke you, and this wedding is breaking you even more. You know that this invite wasn’t sent by Sana—she isn’t cruel. This has the fingerprints of her father all over it: the seat close to the aisle, your wristband to authorise your access to the venue holding the same serial code as your father’s prisoner ID… All of it is him. 

But there’s not much you can do about it is there? You chose to come, you chose this for yourself. There was the option to not come, to tear the invite up and go cry in your apartment in Nagoya, but you bought the Shinkansen ticket here, didn’t you? You walked through the doors of this damn place and took your seat, didn’t you?

And the Yamazaki doesn’t taste as good as it should, and the Spring air is sharper than it should be at the afterparty. They’re over there, congratulating the newly weds and wishing them all the best; you’re over here, sipping on your neat Whisky behind a bush as the music roars on.

It really shouldn’t be a question on how she finds you; she knows you too well to know where you’d go at a place like this. And in her wedding gown, she stands where she is, this look of a god-knows-what mix of emotions simmering on her face. You rub your nose with a thumb, sip on the bitter Whisky as your remedy. No words are spoken, not even a “hey” or “how have you been”—both of you know that there’s no use in starting a conversation here. It’ll go sob, fast, and this isn’t the place for it.

There will never be a place for it.

So why not substitute words with actions? 

So in her bare feet, she hikes up her gown, runs over to you, lunges to close those years of separation between you two to hug you like she used to. The Whisky is knocked out of your hands; you’re knocked off your feet. And in the grass, she buries her head into your shoulder and weeps. 

You always thought that only death would make you cry, but now as you hold her for what may very well be the last time, you realise: you're not as tough as you think.

Like a Lemon, the realisation that comes is bitter, and it has you bawling.

Cause maybe in a world that wasn’t so cruel, you could’ve been the one on that stage.

(Then the two of you could be in love, happier than ever.)

[immortalmrwavell]

Adam and Mr Wavell

(Written for @transformee) (Original story posted September 27th 2021) This story has been significantly Updated!

It’d started like any other normal day for Adam. He got up out of bed. Got himself some breakfast. Headed out for work. The usual routine that he’d long since gotten used to. Being an engineer certainly wasn’t the worst job in the world. In fact Adam found it rather rewarding sometimes and the pay was decent enough. If anyone were to ask, Adam would say he was satisfied with his life. And that was half true. Sure he was content with the life he had now. He couldn’t exactly complain about having a stable job that allowed him to live somewhat comfortably. Yet despite that Adam always kinda wished his lifestyle was a tad bit… different.

Each and every day when Adam opened one of his social media’s, his feed would practically be flooded with men who were smoking hot and jacked as fuck. And most of these men pretty much got paid just for looking as incredible as they do. Whether that be as a personal trainer, model, an actor or even in porn! These men got paid to look sexy as fuck and show it off. It sounded like a dream!

In all honesty It was that sort of lifestyle Adam wished he would have strived for instead. He wasn't a bad looking dude by any means. He believed he was pretty handsome, just a little out of shape was all. Mostly due to how he was never able to really push himself into working out or dieting properly. And for the longest time Adam thought he was okay with that. Deep down however, part of him always wished he’d led the same lifestyle as those fit hunks he saw online.

Being in his thirties now Adam had started to believe that perhaps a lifestyle like that just wasn’t for him. Since then he’d tried to just make peace with the fact that he was just an average looking dude working a normal job. That was until he arrived home later that evening and everything changed.

Adam unlocked the front door before stepping into his home. Letting out a long sigh of relief as he closed it behind him.

“Home at last I see.”

Adam almost jumped out his skin as he whipped around to see a man sat in a chair across the room.

“W-WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE!?” Adam bellowed at the man in a panic. His brain was already cycling at a hundred miles a minute trying to think of the best course of action. Grab a weapon? Call the police? And yet while Adam was freaking out, the gentleman sitting in his house seemed completely unfazed.

With a smirk the man stood up from his seat, allowing Adam to get a better look at him. From what Adam could tell, the man looked to be in his early forties, late thirties at the youngest. He had short brown hair along with a nicely trimmed beard to match, the latter of which had a few flecks of silver running through it. As for his body, he looked to be just about 6 feet tall, if a tiny bit less. In terms of his build, the man seemed relatively lean with very little fat or muscle. As for his clothes, he wore a navy blue suit jacket over a white button up shirt along with a navy dotted tie. These were contrasted by a pair of tan khaki pants which were held firmly in place by a brown belt. Lastly his feet were clad in a fairly large pair of dark brown dress shoes along with a pair of black dress socks. An ordinary business casual look but this man seemed to be anything but ordinary.

(Original Version of Mr Wavell here)

“You don’t need to be afraid Adam. I’m here to help you.” The mysterious man claimed in a way that probably sounded more ominous than intended. Despite it he began to step towards Adam.

“N-no… how do you know my name? I don’t know you!” Adam panicked as he moved backwards to keep his distance until his back was against the front door. He was about to reach for the handle and run outside until suddenly… he felt calm? Safe even? It was as if all of his natural danger sense had turned themselves off in favor of wanting to trust the stranger before him.

“No you don’t know me. But I know you Adam. I’ve been watching you for a little while now. Looking into your mind. Reading your desires.” The suited stranger’s voice was oddly soothing, so much so that Adam hardly even noticed his eyes glowing deep purple for a moment. “You may refer to as Mr Wavell” He revealed, the very name sending shivers up Adam’s spine for reasons unknown. “And for what I’m doing here? Well… I’m just looking for entertainment I suppose.” Wavell shrugged nonchalantly.

He went on to explain that he had… abilities. Abilities that allowed him to do things thought to be impossible. Despite the inexplicable wave of calm and trust that’d washed him moments ago, Adam couldn’t bring his rational mind to believe the man. Afterall he was talking about having magical powers like some kind of wizard! But before Adam had a chance to protest, he found himself frozen in both wonder and fear as Mr Wavell began to float off the ground.

“I must reiterate that I’m here to help, not hurt you.” Wavell said, noting the bewildered look on Adam’s face. “I can give you any life that you desire. Allow you to become whoever you choose. What do you say?” He boldly claimed, floating down until he stood directly beside Adam, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Adam was still frozen stiff. Was he dreaming? Was this actually real??

“Oh come on. You know this is a privilege right? It’s not everyday that I actually reveal my physical self to the people I help.” Wavell said, leaning forwards with a small smirk. That of course only left more questions in Adam’s mind.

The mysterious man went on to explain in further detail what exactly he could do for Adam. He could alter reality to change Adam’s past choices in order to create a new and better present. He could transform Adam’s body right here on the spot into anything Adam desired. Muscle growth, increase of height, bigger dick? All things that Adam’s rational mind wouldn’t have believed to be possible had it not been for the obvious display of real magic he’d just witnessed. However there was one option that caught Adam’s ear. Stealing the life and body of someone else. As confused and scared as Adam was right now, he couldn’t help but be curious and even slightly aroused at the mere idea of it.

“O-okay…” Adam mumbled meekly. “I want your help…”

Wavell clapped his hands together with a large grin. “Perfect! Now there are many different ways I can do this.” He began, sounding almost a little too enthusiastic about it all. “I can switch your soul with another person. Your soul in their body and theirs in your body. I could transform you and this other person into one another. You transform into him and vice versa. You get it.” Wavell laid out the options as if he were about to have Adam choose one. “However I’ve already picked out another more interesting method for you. So all I want you to do is pick someone.”

Adam thought for a moment. If this was real then this could be one of the biggest decisions of his life. But surely there was some kind of monkey‘s paw right? “What’s the catch?” He asked, finally putting on a brave face.

The magical imbued stranger raised an eyebrow to Adam. “There isn’t one. You don’t owe me a thing. Honestly!” Wavell stepped back and put his hands up. “I’m doing this because I love it. It’s what I do. Hopefully once it’s all over you’ll enjoy it just as much as I.” Wavell lowered his hands before placing them on his hips. “Now. Is there anybody you have in mind who perhaps you’d like to become?”

Adam thought for a moment. He wasn't sure. This was just so surreal it made it hard to think. Like a fog clouding his thoughts. “I don’t… know?”

“Don’t worry. I get you’re probably still trying to wrap your mind around all this so I’ll do you a favor.” Wavell gently placed a hand on Adam's head and closed his eyes. Immediately Adam felt strange. As if he could feel this man’s fingers shuffling through his mind. Feeling out his wants and desires until Wavell got a decent idea of the kind of body to put Adam in. He took his hand away from Adam’s head. “I think I know just the guy but he’s not exactly close. He lives up in Virginia while you’re here in Georgia. How would you feel about a little change of scenery?”

“What do yo—“ before Adam could finish, the world around him spun and shifted.

———

Chris found himself standing alone in the locker room at his local gym. It was just about closing time now and he was the last guy remaining other than staff. He wiped away the sweat that’d been dripping down his face with a towel as he grabbed his stuff out of the locker. It’d been another tough workout for him today but it was always worth it to feel that pump and admire the physique he’d been able to build thanks to all his hard work. Unbeknownst to him however, a certain two individuals watched on behind a veil of magic that cloaked them both from sight..

Moments prior, Adam and Wavell arrived at the gym via the latter’s unique abilities. In a gust of purple smoke, Adam went from standing by his front door to now finding himself standing inside a gym locker room that didn’t seem at all familiar.

“H-H-Hoolyyy… FUCK! What just HAPPENED!?” Adam shouted hysterically.

“Basic teleport.” Wavell replied swiftly and bluntly as if that should’ve been common knowledge. “Don’t worry about that. Look.” Wavell nodded towards the entrance to the locker room, prompting Adam to look as well.

Mere seconds after, a sweaty muscular man wearing a tight tank top and shorts entered. He was in phenomenal shape. Far better than Adam was. Not only did he look sculpted with thick muscle from head to toe, but this hunk even had one of the most handsome faces to go along with it. Yet despite all the starring Adam and Wavell were doing, the jock seemed to pay no mind to either of them. Not even a glance. Like he didn’t even know they existed!

“I’ve made us invisible to him. He can neither see nor hear us.” Mr Wavell confirms to Adam. Right on cue this man they now seem to be spying on walked directly past them both without a clue. As he does Adam gets a good whiff of the stud's powerful post workout scent, turning the semi he got just from looking at the man into a full hard on. The pair continued to watch as the man opened up his locker and pulled out a towel to wipe himself down with.

“His name is Chris. He’s twenty eight years old and has been working out most of his life. Hence the gorgeous physique. And to top it off he’s quite the looker. Needless to say his body and looks have awarded him a lot. Modeling opportunities. A large following on social media. An army of men and women alike drooling over him and eager to throw money at him. He’s one lucky bastard.” The warlock explained, seeming to possess a bottomless well of knowledge. “I’d ask how you feel about him but I think I already know the answer.” Wavell sniggered as he glanced down at the bulge in Adams pants.

Adam’s face turned a bright shade of red as he tried to hide his growing arousal with little success. He couldn’t help it as his eyes traced over the glistening sweaty physique of the hunky god before him. Watching intently as the man removed his tank top to reveal the muscle that’d been hidden underneath.

“So… are you gonna turn me into… him?” Adam gulped, trying his best not to drool at the mere thought of it as he watched the man peel off the tank top. His cock getting even more excited at the reveal of Chris’ muscled upper body.

Wavell simply nodded.

“Does that mean you’re gonna turn him into me?” Adam wondered.

Wavell crossed his arms and hummed. “Not exactly. Normally I would but I’ve got something different in mind today.” Wavell confessed as the blank look on his face slowly turned to a sadistic looking grin that left Adam feeling a bit nervous for Chris’ fate. But the magical being was quick to notice this, his look softening again to one of reassurance. “And before you ask, no I’m not going to kill him or anything like that. He’ll be perfectly fine.”

Hearing that set Adam’s mind at ease. That said he was however rather curious to see what Wavell was planning. What exactly was he gonna do to this Chris guy?

It was then that Wavell’s eyes glowed that bright purple once more. At first Adam didn’t realise what Wavell had done until…

“Hey… Where the hell did you guys come from?” Chris asked as he turned to see two men staring at him from across the locker room. It was like they’d just appeared out of thin air.

Wavell stepped forward, straightening his tie as he did “Oh I just know you’re gonna enjoy this body Adam.” He declared, running his gaze up and down Chris’ body. Lingering on those enormous thighs and juicy pecs.

At this point Chris was getting super creeped out and understandably so. “What the fuck are talking about dude!? Are you trying to hit on me or something?” He questioned, quickly getting annoyed at how this dude was eyeing him up like a piece of meat.

It was then in the blink of an eye that Wavell stood inches away from Chris. It seeing a real life glitch as Wavell instantly moved from halfway across the room to his face being less than a ruler's length away from Chris. He barely had time to think let alone act before Wavell grabbed one of his boulder-like shoulders. Suddenly Chris was completely immobilised thanks to Wavell’s magic. And with that the aforementioned wizard slipped his other hand down in Chris’ gym shorts before cupping his crotch. Loving how Chris’ cock and balls pressed tightly against the pair of white compression shorts he wore underneath.

“Don’t worry big guy. I promise you won’t even feel a thing.” An ominously reassuring smile spread across Wavell’s face as his eyes glowed once more. It was then that a bright flash of light enveloped both him and Chris, forcing Adam to cover his eyes. It only lasted a couple of seconds but when the light dissipated, Chris was nowhere to be seen. The only things left of the hunk were his clothes as the gym shorts he’d been wearing fell to the floor atop of the now empty pair of socks and trainers. Meanwhile those white compression shorts Chris had been wearing were still in Wavell’s hand, the warlock holding them gently now as he inspected them for whatever reason.

Chris had no idea what just happened. That weird middle aged looking dude just grabbed him and now all of a sudden he felt so light and… hollow? The first thing he saw was the smirking face of that dude again only now it was from a lower angle, as if he were being held by the man and looked down upon. Yet as bizarre as that was, he couldn’t ignore the strong smell that seemed identical to his own crotch. Only now it surrounded him completely. Somehow Chris was able to shift his gaze in order to look down at himself and what he saw was unreal. Not just unreal, it was impossible and terrifying! No longer did he see the thick muscular body he was used to seeing. In fact he didn’t see a human body at all! He’d been turned into the very same pair of white compression shorts he’d been wearing! He could even feel the creepy dude’s hand against the fabric of the compression shorts as if it were his own skin! He wanted the scream in horror but nothing came out thanks to his lack of a face. It was only thanks to magic that he could still see and hear.

“This’ll do just fine.” Wavell said before turning to Adam who was still looking on in confusion. “I’ve trapped him inside these shorts he was wearing. I’ve made it so he can still see, hear, feel, taste and smell with his spiritual senses in there but besides that he’s completely helpless.” Wavell explained with a tad too much enjoyment. “Now all you’ve got to do is put him on and everything he had will become yours.”

Wavell instructed Adam to strip down. The latter hesitated for a moment but did but nervously did as he was asked. Afterwards not being able to help feeling a little embarrassed with how exposed he felt but Wavell didn’t seem to mind. The warlock handed the enchanted compression shorts over to Adam with a mischievous smile, clearly excited to see what was to come.

Chris was unsurprisingly freaking the fuck out as Adam took the shorts. Between what’s happened to him and hearing what Wavell had just said, he was having a complete meltdown. He didn’t want this Adam guy to take over his life!? Unfortunately his cries fell on deaf ears. He was powerless to stop it. Unable to do a single thing as Adam gently slipped his legs into the compression shorts one at a time before pulling them up. Chris protested all he could but it made no difference as Adam pulled Chris’ hollow fabric body over his ass and crotch.

As insane as this whole situation was, Adam couldn’t help shivering with delight. Knowing he was not only wearing compression shorts that belonged to such a hunk but also that same hunk was trapped inside them! He knew it was wrong and twisted of him to get satisfaction out of this but he couldn’t help it! Even though the shorts were a bit ill fitting on him, just having that jock’s musk surrounding his own crotch was turning him on like hell!

“So, how long will it ta-aaaakeeeuuuuaahhhhhhh” Adam’s question quickly devolved into a long groan thanks to an unfamiliar sensation that began racing through his body! Flooding every vein in his body with levels of magical energy his brain found difficult to comprehend. And then it began.

Before anything else the energy began to focus on Adam’s glutes. His groans became even louder as his ass cheeks started to tone and expand with muscle until it had ballooned into a thick muscle ass that filled out the backside of his new compression shorts perfectly. The feeling of which had Adam’s already hard cock leaking pre-cum that stained the front of said shorts. And yet despite it being at full mast, Adam could feel his cock somehow growing longer and fatter too! His bulge grew even more obvious by the second while his balls swelled larger as well to accommodate. His nuts now churned with the very same cum Chris once had.

Through all his groaning Adam was able to look down at his crotch and over his shoulder to see that he now had Chris’ cock and ass! And as his hips resized, the haunted compression shorts now fit him like a glove. Meanwhile Chris himself was soaring through a flurry of emotions as he begged to wake up from whatever nightmare he was trapped in. He could feel himself being stretched out across his out muscle butt while the taste of cum soaked into his fabric. Unfortunately for him, this was very very real.

From there the transformation continued to spread outwards and it progressed both up and down Adam’s body. His quads and hamstrings found themselves bulking up significantly, causing a soft grunt to escape Adam’s lips as he grew a set of meaty thunderous thighs. Simultaneously his eyes widened with disbelief as the fat on his belly started to melt away before his eyes, replacing itself with pure muscle mass in the form of strong thick abs. The kind Adam could’ve only dreamed of having. Every part of him wanted to stop and admire his new bulky thighs and abs but the transformation was far too impatient to give him the time.

Next up were his calves. He could feel them pulsing as they swelled with power to match his thighs. But they weren’t the real show. How could they be when Adam was far too absorbed into watching his flabby chest transform into a huge pair of pecs! It was something he’d always dreamed of. Being able to look down and see a hulking pair of muscle tits. And now it's finally becoming a reality! Adam’s eyes lit up with a mixture of joy and lust as he watched his chest begin to protrude outwards. His engorged cock growing more excited than ever as his pecs inflated into two gorgeous watermelons. He already wanted nothing more than to grope them and if he hadn’t felt the transformation beginning to surge through his arms, he would’ve.

But before his arms could have their glory, his shoulders exploded with mass first. Growing in an almost cartoony fashion as they transformed into cannonballs while his traps made sure to follow suit. With that, Adam’s biceps couldn’t wait any longer. He flexed them with a long moan as ballooned under the pressure, swelling to massive proportions with unthinkable strength. Soon after his forearms followed the same example as veins began popping like crazy across his bulging arms.

What came next however felt distinctly different from everything else. His hands and feet. They were a totally different experience but still painless nonetheless. His feet were the first to change. Increasing size after size at a rapid rate that certainly would’ve made his shoes feel tighter had he not taken them off. His hands weren’t far behind though as they too grew slightly. The more noticeable change however was how much rougher and calloused they became.

At last Adam’s body seemed complete but there was one last thing to change. As soon as the transformation had spread up his neck, causing it to thicken and his voice to deepen, his head was all that was left.

Adam gritted his teeth and scrunched his face as his features began to twist and alter themselves. Immediately he started to look younger than before as he regressed from his mid thirties back to his late twenties. His face quickly brgan taking on a much more jockish look as he started to look less and less like himself and more like Chris. To top it off his hair morphed into Chris’ messy brown style while his eyes shifted more towards Chris’ soft yet still masculine ones. Finishing things off by having Chris’ short brown beard sprout across Adam’s now much sharper jawline.

At last the intense sensation subsided. Adam was finally able to catch his breath as sweat dripped down his transformed physique. He looked down at himself in disbelief. It didn’t seem real but… he now owned the body of a total fucking hunk! He simply couldn’t help himself as he flexed his new massive guns, taking turns feeling them with each hand. Feeling the power flowing through his biceps as he flexed them was something else entirely. And of course he couldn’t ignore the huge new muscle titties that sat on his chest now. He was groping and flexing them too in no time. It’d be a crime not to worship them. With the excitement of it all, Adam also couldn’t help but dig his nose into his new sweaty pits to get a good whiff of that post workout scent he’d adopted from Chris.

“See. I always know what’s best for my clients.” Wavell sniggered. Adam was so enthralled by his new body that he’d almost forgotten Wavell was there.

“Clients?” Adam questioned, a little shocked by the sound of his new voice.

“Well… ‘clients’ sounds better than ‘subjects’.” The warlock admitted cheekily. “Now! I’m sure you’ve already got questions and I’m pretty certain I know the first one. Are you gonna turn back to normal if you take those compression shorts off? Well allow me to reassure you in saying no.” Wavell confirmed what Adam was bound to ask. “When I trapped Chris inside those shorts, I also sealed his physical essence inside them. Now that you’ve worn them however, that physical essence is inside you. Permanently. So you’ll never have to worry about losing your new body. By all means it belongs to you now. Besides… I’m sure you want to get a better look at what’s underneath.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows while glancing down at the obscene bulge in Adam’s shorts.

Adam turned and strutted over to one of the many locker room mirrors, cock bouncing awkwardly as he did. Immediately upon seeing his reflection Adam was awestruck. He was in love. With himself!! He just couldn’t help admiring his muscles some more before eventually grabbing the waistband and pulling down his haunted shorts. The real Chris screams in protest as he finds himself dropping to this imposter's ankles.

“Oh… Fuuuuuuuccck…” Adam muttered as his new cock flopped out before him in all its glory. His hand practically gravitated towards it before wrapping around the girthy shaft. God it was massive. He was almost afraid to start pumping it since after all that transforming, it felt like it was ready to blow at any second! The sensitivity on it was just through the roof! But Adam couldn’t help himself and ended up giving it a few tugs. In turn he found himself letting out a deep manly groan before, allowing the monster to buck involuntarily for a moment.

Before he ended up busting a nut, Adam’s decided he wanted to get a better look at his new glutes first as he turned his backside to the mirror. He just loved how big and bubbly his cheeks looked. When he flexed them they were as hard as steel but relaxed they felt squishy and jiggly. Part of him wished he could stuff his face into his own ass with how good it looked. That’s when another thought sprung to mind. Adam gently reached back towards his ass, squeezing it a little before slipping a finger between his cheeks as a way to test something. And it was just as he thought. The moment his finger came anywhere near his new asshole it immediately tightened on instinct. The reflex was so strong that it pretty much confirmed Chris used to be straight. Well not anymore. This ass was far too hot to go to waste.

As much as he wanted to tease his virgin ass a little more, Adam just couldn’t ignore his cock any longer. It was pulsing and begging for release at this point. He needed to grab it! He needed to jerk it! He needed to bust a fuckin nut bro! As Chris would say anyway. But before he could begin pumping, Wavell chirped up yet again.

“How about you let me take care of that for you. Just think of it as your way of thanking me.” Wavell licked his lips as sauntered over towards Adam before kneeling in front of that massive cock. Wavell opened his mouth before wrapping his lips around Adam’s meaty dick and began sucking like a pro.

“Oouh-ooooh… ooauhh… Oohhhhuuu!” Adam was completely taken aback as he was forced to let out disjointed moans once again. All the while his new voice echoed through the locker rooms. Just the view of being able to look down and now only see such a hot jock body as his own but also seeing this hot older man sucking him off was beyond sexy. Wavell swiftly bobbed his head up and down on the cock, somehow taking Adam’s entire length without even the slightest gag. Whoever the hell this Mr Wavell guy was, he certainly knew how to work those bearded lips of his around a huge cock. That’s for fucking for sure.

“Fuuuuuck!! I’m gonna… OOOAAUUHHH!!“ Adam Could feel it already. A tsunami of cum getting ready to spew from his dick. Before he’d even laughed Wavell was already grabbing onto Adam’s ass to make sure he didn’t try and pull away. But of course Adam had no plans on doing as his dick finally let loose torrents of hot cum that down Wavell’s throat. The older man gulped it all down greedily, sucking every last drop of cum out of Adam’s cock before finally pulling off it, a bit of cum dribbling down his beard.

“Ahhhhhhhh…” Wavell leaned back with a look of pure satisfaction crossing his face. “Now that was refreshing. I can confirm that your new cum tastes absolutely delicious.” Wavell confessed as he got back up onto his feet. He dusted himself off a little before readjusting his suit and tie. “Well it seems my work here is done. Chris’ memories should start to kick in for you in about 10 minutes from now. You’ll then know everything you need to know about his life. Where your new home is, how he earns money, what kinds of friends he keeps. And whatever else you need to play out his life as if it were your own.” Wavell looked down at the tight compression shorts Adam had begun pulling back up. “And the real Chris gets to watch everything from between your legs… or from the laundry basket.” He chuckled.

With that Wavell began to levitate off the ground once again. “I’m off to have some more fun. Enjoy that hunky new body of yours Adam. Or should I call you Chris? That is your new name now after all.” Mr Wavell grinned knowing just how much the real Chris was begging to be set free. “Keep your eyes open though. I might come back and visit you again some day just to check in.” And just like that the magical man seemingly disappeared into thin air, leaving Adam alone.

Finally alone at last, Adam looked down at the compression shorts that now cling tightly to his hulking body. “Enjoying yourself down there? Being pressed against your own dick and balls?” Adam teased somewhat cruelly, enjoying this a little more than he probably should be right now. Going as far as to reach down and grope his crotch to really rub the scent in.

This whole time Chris had been screaming and protesting as this body snatcher groped his body and even more so when he’d got his dick sucked by another dude! But now as the scent of his former cock and balls mixed with cum and sweat started to mess with Chris’ fragile mind, he was starting to give in at last. His thoughts grew foggier while his fabric body continued to absorb the powerful smell. He looked up only to see his own handsome face smirking down at him. No. It wasn’t his face anymore. There was no going back. Now he was nothing more than a pair of compression shorts for his master to wear.

Meanwhile Adam decided to open the bag that’d been in Chris’s locker only to pull out a pair of clean grey t-shirt and a cap. Without hesitation he slipped both of them on, loving how the large shirt hugged his muscular frame in all the right places. After which he grabbed and pulled on the black gym shorts Chris had been wearing earlier before tugging on Chris’ gym socks and trainers. All of it fitting him like a glove. At last turning to the trusty mirror once again, he couldn’t help but whistle at how fucking sexy he looked! So much so that he started turning to inspect his body for all different angles. God he just couldn’t get enough of those bulky legs. As much as he adored his arms and pecs, he was starting to think his legs may actually be his best asset afterall.

He couldn’t help grabbing Chris’ phone and taking a few quick photos of himself to savour the moment. Pictures he’d surely look back on in the future to remember the day when he stole this body. And to jerk off too of course. Maybe he’d even post them to one of his new socials later.

Now all he had to do was wait for these memories to kick in. That Mr Wavell dude said they were gonna come any second and when they did Adam was truly going to become Chris inside and out. And once he’d settled into his new life he was gonna see if he could find some dudes eager to fuck his muscle ass get railed by his enormous new cock. With a body like this he was bound to have stamina for hours.

Then it hit him. All at once. Adam let out a thunderous roar as his mind flooded with memories from Chris’ life. Most of them being delegated to the back of his consciousness to pull on when needed while others came straight to the forefront. Immediately he knew everything there was to know about Chris. He even felt some of Chris’ personality traits starting to take root. That cocky gym bro attitude was starting to settle in comfortably. He might’ve still remembered everything from when he was Adam, but that wasn’t who he was anymore. That was a mere shell that the real him had finally emerged from.

Chris strode confidently out of the Gym and towards his car. He just couldn’t wait to get home so he could strip down and take as many nudes as possible of himself. His new life was about to be absolutely incredible.

[neocitycafe]

Home After the Holidays (Mark)

♡ genre: hot cocoa - fluff, sweet and steamy hehe; a bit smutty with too many thoughts; i guess "new year’s time pensive cheese" is a theme for me (here’s haechan’s version from last year) ✎ words: 2.1k ✓ summary/notes: busy idol husband Mark finally returns home :’) and you’ve missed each other. a trope that i love lots. @d-nghy-ck to bronwyn, here’s a slice of pensive cheese(cake), especially for you! this cafe would probably not be here if not for this first customer who came by and said hi! wishing you all the love in the world~

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It’s that awkward time in late January when you’re not sure whether it’s still socially appropriate to include “Happy New Year” in your greetings. Mark had told you not to come to the airport. The weather was frigid all week and it’d be way past midnight by the time he got out of customs, and then there was the long cab ride home.

But he missed you. 

Closing the front door gently, he looks down to find his old lace-ups where he usually left them, as if he were home this whole time. Your favorite pair is set neatly next to his, and a smaller set of shoes next to those. Ones with velcro and lights that he bought a couple months back, but it felt much longer ago so quickly. You’d replaced the original laces with neon green ones, and all of Mark’s teammates cooed at how cute that was. 

The lights are dimmed and Mark finds you on the couch in a pile of blankets, where you cozied up while waiting. His heart suddenly aches thinking of you with only a little cup of chamomile tea to warm yourself and get to bed. 

He had been so busy working lately, loving what he did, creating music, making crazy new connections, show after show, press conferences, collaborations. Had he done anything for you lately? His mind races.

From where you’d dozed off, you find Mark frozen by the door. After years of knowing him, you could see his raised brows and the running thoughts behind them. His lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes shifting to the side meant self-doubt. You want to erase those worries and pour love into all the spaces where he thought he was not enough. 

“I wanted to get you flowers.” His voice cracks and you get up to close the distance between you.

“Oh Mark... I have you now.” The cold from outside has clung on to his coat, but you ignore it and wrap your arms around him more tightly. “It’s the middle of the night, silly. I don’t need flowers.”

You feel him shake his head against you, “And I wanted to be home for the holidays,” he says with a bit of a whine. 

“You’re here now.”

Looking into his eyes, you brush the hair away from his forehead and peck him on the nose. The end of the year meant holiday tour stops, special shows, concerts, and awards nights. The holidays meant the opposite of holidays for entertainers like Mark. It meant he couldn’t really be with family until afterwards. He follows you into the kitchen where you set your mug in the sink. 

“Did you miss me?” You turn when he wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You’re momentarily caught off guard by his boyish smile and a pang of longing wells up, an emptiness in your chest that had been there behind your smiles when he had video called. The answer is a thousand times yes, but you bite back the truth in favor of not worrying him. You shake your head playfully. “I don’t have to. I get to see your features in our son’s face every day.”

Mark breaks into a grin that you can’t help but match. “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, but he sure begged to stay up! He can be a little headstrong sometimes. Like someone.” You give Mark a long look and he pouts in response. “But he finally fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being my home.”

“You’re sappy, Mark Lee.” Nonetheless, you’re more than willing when he tilts your head for a deeper kiss. He runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them to let him taste you. A familiar heat stirs in your belly, and you reach your hands up to tangle them in his hair and pull him closer. He groans into your mouth and presses you back into the kitchen counter. From this position, he places pressure where your bodies are connected, where you want it. He rocks against you once, twice, slowly, fluidly, and you pull him even closer. 

Mark’s hands knock into the stacked pots and pans behind you on the drying rack, and you’re grateful for your husband’s quick reflexes. He steadies a pan, preventing what would’ve been a huge clatter. You both freeze for a moment. 

“Easy, tiger,” you tease while throwing him a wink. “Or baby lion or cheetah or whatever small big cat you are.” 

He responds with a playful growl that is both adorable and sexy, his nose scrunching up. 

A delicious thrill runs through you as his gaze locks on you again. Knocking your legs apart and then lifting you onto the counter, Mark reminds you of how he wanted you everywhere when you were newlyweds. A tender bite between your neck and shoulder reminds you of how he wants you now. You make a mental note to call Jaemin for some babysitting this coming weekend, because you wouldn’t mind some more alone time like this. 

You tug on Mark’s hand and he knows what you mean. You slip off the counter and try not to trip over each other as you eagerly make your way to the bedroom. It’s a familiar but exhilarating path, like a choreography that your bodies move to automatically once the music starts playing.

When he finds a towel already laid out on the bed, he raises a seagull of a brow, and you can’t help but laugh. He teases, “Oooh, so you were prepared!”

You lean in to whisper in his ear, feeling cheeky and bold, “Well, my husband gets messy.”

The look in his eyes and how he kisses you next is the response you were hoping for. When you fall back into bed, it’s easy and slow. You take your time wriggling out of your clothes, and you laugh at his cute shimmy while pulling his jeans off. The both of you sigh in content when his body is above yours, skin to skin. 

Mark’s fingertips trail patterns along your sides, his left hand’s calluses from guitar playing are a little rough, but soothingly so. You map out the constellation connecting the mole on his neck, on his cheek, the tiny one on the corner of his mouth. He spends his time with his lips on your neck where you crave them, wet kisses with a slight bite that have you feeling hot all over and in want, and then you’re grateful they’re chasing paths over the crests and valleys of your body. 

Mark travels down until his face is settled between your thighs, his warm breath causing you to shiver in anticipation. He takes your hand and kisses your wrist, your palm, your fingertips, slowly and thoughtfully. He moves to do the same with your other hand. The love in his gaze staring up at you is too much for you to handle, so you close your eyes and lay your head back. And then he’s lacing your fingers together, holding your hands as his perfect mouth dives in eagerly. 

Mark isn’t shy about playing with your wetness and giving you what you crave. He laps at you with the intent of pushing you to the edge, like there’s nothing else he wants but for you to feel good, and you can’t help but arch up towards him. 

When he tires, he keeps stroking your clit with his fingers, keeping the contact consistent and insistent, and then switches back to working you with his tongue. He keeps going even when you cry out his name, your thighs close around his head, and your hips lift off the mattress as you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure.  

When he comes back up to face you, he’s surprised to find the tears falling down your cheeks and into your hair. You don’t notice it yourself until he starts worrying. 

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head. “No, that was amazing.”

He rolls to his side and pulls you into his chest carefully. His eyes search your face.

The words are tumbling out before you can stop them: “I missed you. Mark… I missed you.”

You finally let yourself go.

Going to your son’s first winter concert at his school alone. You’d even saved a seat for Mark, but his filming schedule got delayed that evening. Opening holiday presents with Mark’s parents at their home, without him there. Counting down to the new year by yourself while his team celebrated their album of the year win. How you never wanted to burden him. How you understood his career and wanted to be his steady support, and yet... “I missed you so much.”

“You know you can tell me that. I’m not afraid of how you feel.” He pauses to dry your tears with gentle hands and a kiss on your cheek. “I want to know. I want to love you better.” He holds you tighter, as if capturing every bit of the emotion pouring out of you. It’s like Mark knew the exact words you needed to hear. While being laid bare and vulnerable, you feel safe and known, and now, ever grateful that your relationship is one you are both committed to growing and working out together. “Let’s talk more in the morning after some rest, yeah?”

“Thank you, Mark.” You gaze up into his shining eyes. 

“For what?”

“For being home.”

“Look who’s being cheesy now,” he teases back. 

You tug on him beneath the covers in response and Mark lets out a surprised moan. 

“Mmm, in the morning’s okay too… ah, babe. I mean, do you still want to make love now?”

You nod against his chest and laugh at his insistence on calling it lovemaking rather than sex or anything else. “Do you?”

He nods too and the boyish grin you love so much is back. You push at his shoulders and move so you’re seated above him, your thighs settled over his.

I love you, I love you, I love you. He seems to say, and you feel it in your soul. 

When you sink down onto him, you fill his presence with your closeness, as he fills yours with his. And it’s like the time and space between you disappears. All you hear is Mark, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he loses himself in loving you, and you him. He aids with your rhythm with his hands holding your hips, and then makes the switch so you’re under him. 

There’s the softness of the sheets, his lips, your fingertips, the moonlight shining in, the sound of rustling and sighs pulled from deep within. The flush of his cheeks, your parted lips, the thrum of beating hearts, and later, the patterns slowing steadily into dreams together.

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You’re gladly surprised by the warmth in your bed when you wake up in the morning. Mark kicked off his side of the covers in the middle of the night as usual, leaving a mountain of blankets on top of you, so you pull them up to cover his bare chest. You probably should have showered after last night, but it was too comfortable being cuddled up. Mark’s discarded shirt is closest, so you pull it on, mind reveling in everything for a moment: his scent, his return, his closeness, your shared love. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. Little hands, messy morning bed head, and eyes shining as they peer in. (You’d have to remind your son about knocking on the door again.)

He’s quick to spot the lump next to you under the blankets. “Dada!”

You smile and hold a finger to your lips. 

“Mm-hmm, yes dear, come here.” You sit up better and he clambers into your lap. “Shhh. He’s sleeping.”

His eyes are wide and he whispers rather loudly, “He’s snoring.” You cast a wistful gaze over the relaxed expression on Mark’s face, not knowing when the last time it was that he slept well. 

“Let’s let him sleep more.” You ready yourself to sneak out of bed. Your son was really getting too heavy to carry. He’s squirmy and ticklish, and of course he starts giggling almost immediately when you try to lift him, the sound bubbling out uncontrollably. Someone else you knew laughed just like that. You’re trying to get up quickly when you feel Mark’s arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Come back....”

The way he holds you tickles, and the added weight of your son makes you lose balance, so you fall back onto Mark’s chest, effectively making your family a little sandwich. Mark lets out a small grunt from the weight but he doesn’t really mind. His heart is as light as can be. His eyes are bright and his smile mischievous. He wriggles around and declares, “Love attack!!!”

There are lots of kisses and shared silliness, and you laugh until there are tears in the corners of your eyes, little crystals breathlessly kissed away too in the moment. 

—

"And at last, I open my arms wide again to give you warmth. I'll do anything to make it right. Those stars are shining on us. I'll cherish this moment, all of it, my baby. I’m gonna love you… Love doesn't come easy, girl, but loving you is easy.  Every day without you feels hollow. Because our memories refine even our imperfect moments into treasured times, I reflect, calling love a beauty."

[outsideratheart]

Snippet - Anyone But You (Alexia Putellas x reader)

It was the most important night in football as players all around the globe gathered in Paris for the prestigious Balon d’Or ceremony. Despite being one of the front runners you really didn’t want to be there have just played the last game in the international break. This was now the third time you have been ranked high but having just lost out in the previous two years, last year’s being to Alexia Putellas. 

The moment your name is called though all irritated feelings disappear and proudness replaces them. You look into the audience and connect eyes with your sister Leah who was hands down your biggest fan, you could ask her and she would say the same thing. Even though Alexia had just lost, she too stood and applauded you with a grin on her face. You can only nod your head as your own sign of respect.

A couple of hours pass by and your social battery is all put empty. When Leah is having a little photoshoot with your trophy you see it as a perfect time to leave given that your younger sister is else wise occupied.

There was a chill in the air are you wait for your car service to arrive. Out the corner of your eye you see Alexia who is also waiting for her getaway car only she has a look a frustration on her face.

“¿Esta todo bien?” You took the small of amounts of steps so that you were by her side. Alexia sends you a soft smile as you make the effort to speak her language.

“I wanted to leave but the car is for the team and they are still in there” Alexia points back to the building.

“You’re staying at Le Grand Mazarin, right?” The Spaniard nods her head “Me too. You can share my car if you want” 

Alexia thanks you many times and by the time she is done your car is pulling up. 

Both of you watch the streets of Paris pass by you. The car journey is taking a little while longer due to traffic but neither of you seem to mind. You do find yourself stealing glances at the blonde, choosing to take in the sights of her instead of the french architecture.

Truth is you found her extremely attractive and looked forward to these awards shows because you knew she would also be in attendance.

It is when the car comes to a complete standstill for the fourth time that you decide to make a move.

You place your hand gently on her thigh as a way to get her attention.

“Do you want to walk the rest of the way?”

Alexia glances down at her shoes before asking you how far away you were. When you tell her that it’s only an half hour walk she accepts your invite whilst butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Yes, the hotel was only a short distance but somehow you are both walking the streets of Paris two hours later. You both talk about the pressures of your career, the love you have for your families and the kind of things regular people would talk about on their first date.

When you get back to your hotel Alexia invites you for a night cap in her hotel room. It is an invite that you do not decline. She, like you, had a room with a balcony that overlooked the Eiffel Tower. You never saw Paris as the city of love but with Alexia standing beside you, your outlook began to change.

“Can you believe that this is our lives?” Alexia asks you the unintentionally heavy question.

“Do you ever think about living a different life? Like you are destined for something more?” You answer her question with another question.

“We are Balon d’Or winning football players. What more are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You are living your dream at Barcelona”

“And you are at Arsenal. It is your club just as Barcelona is mine”

But what if I don’t want it to be my club anymore? 

You don’t say that or at least you didn’t think you did.

“I cannot imagine you in anything but an Arsenal shirt” Alexia response lets you know that you did in fact say it out loud.

“I can’t either and that’s the problem” you shake your head as you rid you mind of the thoughts “Forget I said anything”

“I can make you forget about it” Alexia closes the space between you, her hand comes to your cheek before leaning in to kiss you.

She did in fact make you forget about football and the stresses you were feeling. 

When you wake up several hours later you do so with her arm wrapped securely around your waist. You feel vulnerable and exposed so you do what you think is best; you leave.

The walk from Alexia’s room to the elevator felt much longer than it did the night before and it makes you realise that you are making a mistake. You have an incredible night with the Barcelona Captain, the best night you have had in a long long while. You are filled with regret as you all but run back to her room only you find the door slightly ajar.

“You never do this Alexia. You slept with Y/N Williamson and she is-“

“It was a mistake. You know how these nights are and I used her as a distraction. It was nothing, a mistake and it shouldn’t have happened”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Last night you felt a connection with Alexia but clearly she didn’t feel the same thing. 

Paris wasn’t the city of love. Paris was the city of lust and severe disappointment.

[latenightdaydreams]

Please can you write about ex boyfriend Konig can't moved on from reader. He sneaked in her house and raped her. She resist him at first but then he just dicks her down.

You Can't Leave Me (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, rape, stalking, toxic ex, p in v, oral

1.8k word count

🚫

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It’s now been eight months since you’ve broken up with König. When you found out about the trackers he put on your phone and car, it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Since then, you’ve moved into your own apartment an hour away from König. Your phone number has been changed along with all social media deactivated.

The last several months have been hard, but you’ve been pushing through so well. Too well, actually. König never lost track of you. He knows your new address, phone number, job, and schedule. You changed your scenery, but not who you are. So, when you left one day, he knew where to look.

Of course, you move to your favorite city. You know König hates the city. He never wanted to move here. You move into the apartment that is only ten minutes from a bookstore, one that you become a frequent customer of quickly. König knows you like the back of his hand. There is no escaping him.

One thing he didn’t expect was you finding someone so quickly. It’s only been eight months. You were together for five years. It should take you longer to move on before realizing there is no one else for you. What the fuck is this?

König walks behind you at a distance as you walk to your date. Wearing a yellow summer dress compliments your body, paired with white sandals. Is that…make-up? That’s not right, you don’t wear make-up; you don’t need it. You’re so naturally beautiful. 

He watches you walk into a café. A very handsome brunette man stands and hugs you. His hand resting above your ass, comfortable with your body as if he’s touched it already. When did he miss this? He glares at the two of you before walking away and going to your apartment.

While you’re out on your nice little date, König breaks into your apartment. Not really breaking in when he finds your spare and uses it, right? He enters your apartment for the first time, taking a deep breath. It smells just like you.

König walks throughout your home, looking at the new photos on the wall of your city friends. One of you with this new guy. He knocks it over. He continues on to your bedroom, seeing your bed is messy; you never make it. His eyes drift to the floor where he sees a pair of black underwear. With little thought, he stands and walks to them. A little white stain, you were aroused? By what? Who?

König lifts the underwear under his mask and to his nose, taking in a deep breath. Exquisite. He shoves the underwear into his pocket and keeps looking. Stepping into your bathroom, he turns the light on. His eyes fall to a little purple case near the sink. It can’t be. Is his little Schatz on birth control?

A sharp stinging feeling deep in his gut travels up to his heart. The mental image of that pathetic worthless man going raw into his Kleine Perle disgust him. You’re whoring yourself out, he knew you’d be lost without him.

He turns the light off and sits on the toilet, pulling out your panties to sniff while he waits for you. An hour passes and he began to grow worried that maybe you went back home with that loser. Right as he was going to check his phone, he hears your keys in the door.

You enter your apartment while on the phone. For safety, you always call a friend while walking.

“Yeah, I’m home now though. I love you, Ann. I’ll see you Tuesday.” Once you hang up, you kick your shoes off and place your purse on the hook.

As you pass your photos in the living room, you notice the photo of you and Finn has been knocked over. A wave of anxiety rushes over you. You try to reason with yourself. It’s almost been a year and you’ve never seen König. He’s probably moved on the same way you have.

You enter your bedroom and turn the lights on. The door closes behind you as you take off your dress, tossing it into the hamper. You grab out a pair of pajamas, placing them on your bed. Reaching behind your back, you unhook your bra, tossing it aside. When you do, you look down at the floor and notice your black pair of underwear is missing.

Maybe you put it in the hamper? Slowly, you walk to the hamper and look inside. At that moment, your bathroom door opens. Your eyes go up and meet the dreadful pale blue eyes. Your heart beat sky rockets, your feet moving ahead of your brain as you turn to run.

König is fast. He reaches out and wraps his arms tightly around your stomach. Lifting you in the air as you kick and scream, slamming you down hard on the bed. The air leaves your lungs and your screaming stops. König pulls out your underwear from his pocket and shoves it into your mouth. He grabs your arms and pulls them behind your back, pulling off his belt with one hand and tying your hands together.

When you try to kick him to get away, but he just climbs on you, resting his weight on you. “Where are you trying to go, Hase?” He growls.

Your screams are muffles as you try to squirm away from König.

“I saw your birth control pills.” He grabs a fist full of your hair and pulls your head back. “That is still my pussy. You are still mine.”

You shake your head no and try to break free from his grasp. His 6 ’10 280 lb body is just too big to fight back against.

König’s hands begin to travel along your mostly naked body. Your skin is just as soft as he remembers. His finger hooks your panties and moves it down. You buck backwards like a horse and try to kick him. A heavy hand comes down and spanks your ass cheek, you whimper.

“Stay still. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” König finishes pulling your underwear off completely before standing off of your body and getting undressed.

“It’s a shame you thought that you could get away from me. Bigger shame you decided to give away my body to another man. You know I don’t like that.” You can hear his pants drop to the floor finally.

König walks to your body and drags you to the center of the bed. He joins you on the bed, spreading your ass cheeks and pushing his face between them, taking a deep breath.

“That’s still my fucking pussy.” He grabs your ass and jiggles them before climbing over you, one leg on either side of your thighs.

His heavy cock slaps against your cheeks. He spits in his hand and rubs it around the tip of his cock, rubbing the tip along your folds. The feeling of his cock being pressed up against your entrance makes you squirm your hips, but that doesn’t stop König.

König spreads your ass cheeks with his hands so he can have a clear view of your pussy. He looks down at you and pushes himself into you. You tense up, only making yourself tighter for him. A loud moan leaves his lips as he buries his cock deep inside of your pussy.

He doesn’t allow you any time to adjust to his enormous dick as he slams his hips into you. You shake your body, trying your best to break free of his belt around your hands. Eventually you manage to spit your underwear out.

“Stop!” You cry out as you kick your legs as you writhe under him.

“Just take my cock.” He groans.

One of his hands comes down on your head and pushes your face into the pillow, holding you there as he picks up his pace. He rams his cock hard enough to cause pain, forcing the full length of his cock into your tight cunt. Your cries are muffled.

König yanks his head back and forces your head up. “What? You can’t handle my cock anymore?”

“Fuck you! Get off of me!”

“What? You don’t like my cock anymore?” He asks in a condescending tone.

“No!”

“Shut up.”  He pulls his cock out of your pussy, grabbing you by your hair and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

König puts you on your back and slaps his cock on your lips, rubbing it back and forth. You try to turn your head but he grabs your jaw and forces you to stay still. The tip of his cock presses against your lips pressed tightly together.

“Open.” He lightly taps the side of your face.

Your mouth opens and König shoves himself inside. He forces his way into your throat, finger tracing the outline of his cock appearing. You gag, causing spit to come out of your mouth and on to your face. König keeps pressing in until his balls are resting on your face. Not being about to breathe, you kick and arch your body.

“Shhhh, calm down. You can take it.” He pushes even further.

König begins to rock his hips, fucking your throat. His heavy balls hitting your face over and over. This causes you to gag again and you throw up, turning your head to the side and vomiting on the floor. He laughs, “Are you going to be a good girl or should I keep going?”

“I’ll be good.” You pant with tears in your eyes.

“Gut.” König growls as he walks to the other side of the bed, joining you.

He lays behind you, lifting one of your legs and tells you to hold it. His hand covered in your spit handles his cock as he slips it into your pussy. Your gummy cunt welcomes him back. König grabs your face and turns your face to his.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Mine.”

“Say it, Schatz.” His voice trembling as he bullies his cock deep inside of you.

You try to suppress the orgasmic feeling his cock gives you. As much as you like Finn, his cock is nothing compared to König’s. No matter how toxic König is, you can’t help but to miss him.

“Yours.” You moan out bashfully, hating yourself.

“What was that?” A grin crosses König’s lips.

“It’s yours!” You angrily moan.

“Fuck yes!” König rolls his body on top of yours, your leg pushed over as he grasps your hip and thigh. As he thrust into you, he pulls your back to meet his thrust.

Pitiful mewls freely leave your lips; a mixture of shame and euphoria consumes your whole body. You look back at him, your eyes meeting, as you see the same possessive glare in his eyes as he always has. Will you ever escape this man?

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡

Obsessive!Choso who swore his obsession for you was just a small crush. Defending his actions to nobody but himself, assuring himself that his excessive staring was fine, it's not like it hurt you, right? Only ever watching you from a distance, at least 4 rows of students between you and the gaze that never left you. Doubting himself anytime he thought of complimenting you on his way out of class. Opening his mouth to speak as you walked passed by him, but no words leaving his lips. Wanting to ask you for your social media, even if he had already found them. Knowing that if he did, you'd at least have to acknowledge him. Even if you said no to him. 

Obsessive!Choso who watched the back of your head throughout the entire class, ignoring what the teacher projected onto the board. His eyes scan the side of your face when you'd turn it to look over at your friend. Smile creeping to his face when he sees your smile. Knowing that he'd have to retake this useless course again next semester. Secretly hoping that you'd have to retake it with him. Never spoke a word to you, but he knew that if you gave him the time of day, you'd see that he was the one for you. 

Obsessive!Choso who scrolls through your instagram nightly from a burner account. Watching your stories of you with your friends, seeing you post pictures of the food you ordered from a restaurant. Making a mental note that your plate had pieces of mushroom pushed to the side. Thinking how cute it was that you probably didn't like mushrooms. Smile on his lips whenever you post a screenshot of a song you'd be listening to, feeling his heart swell when he knew the song you were playing. And if he didn't recognize it, he'd listen to it. Studying the lyrics as though you had posted it just for him. 

Obsessive!Choso who purposefully asked for a different class midway through the semester, just to have a chance of having another class with you. Cursing the admins from the office when his request was denied. Feeling like he was too far away from you, sitting two rows closer. Choosing a seat that gave him a clear view of your papers, and your laptop while he watched. Seeing you doodle onto stray pieces of paper, small drawings that he wished you'd leave behind just for him. Being close enough for your friend to notice him staring, shoving their elbow into your arm and pointing their eyes to him. His heart dropped as you furrowed your eyebrows. Turning around to look at him. His lips parted when he felt your eyes on his face, seeing you give him a warm smile before turning around. Shoving your friend who was silently laughing, mumbling a quiet ‘shut up’ before looking back down at your paper.

Obsessive!Choso who knew he wasn't the kind of guy you typically go for, dark eyeshadow around his eyes. Heavy platform shoes that make him look taller and intimidating and heavily pierced ears. But seeing you smile at him anyway, before telling your friend to ‘shut up’ when they laughed at him. Made him think that maybe, just maybe he had a chance with you. 

Obsessive!Choso whose heart almost burst in anxiety when the TA announced that there'd be pairs for an upcoming project. Hearing that the pairings would be posted in the online classroom later tonight. Sitting in his bedroom, laptop on his thigh as he kept refreshing the page. Fingers crossed he'd finally have an excuse to speak to you. Mentally chanting ‘Please, please, please.’ as he refreshed once more, seeing the link to the list pop up. Scrolling down swiftly as his eyes skimmed the list. His heart practically broke when he read he was paired with someone else. His eyes almost tearing up when he saw that you were paired with the chick that was assigned to the seat next to him. Knowing that if the TA miss clicked by a few pixels, he'd be assigned to work with you. 

Obsessive!Choso who was over the moon when he received an email a week later that his assigned partner caught a vicious flu, and he had to be paired with someone else. Crossing his fingers when he heard that your assigned partner was out of town on a family emergency, hoping that the TA would tell him he was your new partner. Laying on his stomach as he refreshed the page, the new updated list almost made him kick his feet while trying not to giggle as he read his name next to yours. Knowing that the next time he'll see you, he would have to say something. 

Obsessive!Choso who got to class early and sat in his secluded seat, learning from his mistakes when he sat a little too closely to you. Earphone in his ear when he saw a shadow above his notebook. Looking up to see you, smiling at him before you introduced yourself. Your voice was full of confidence as he tried his hardest not to smile. “Could I sit?” you asked him, placing your hand onto the back of the rolling chair next to Choso. Seeing him let out a quiet 'mhm' before looking down to his shoes. Taking a seat and turning the chair to look at him, knowing there was a few more minutes before class, you asked him. “Are you busy later today?” he closed his eyes at hearing your sweet voice. He looked up to meet your eyes, before looking away again. “No, I'm not.” he croaked, you felt a chill run down your spine at how deep his voice was. “We could meet up at the library? We’re already so behind.” You laughed, seeing his eyes look anywhere but at you. Choso felt his heart skip a beat at hearing you refer to him and yourself as ‘we’. He murmured a low “Okay.” Before the doors to the classroom opened, the overworked TA walked in and set up at the front. “Kay, I'll see you around 5? Is that fine?” you asked, standing from the chair and looking down at him. Hearing a small ‘Mhm’ from him before you pushed the chair back to where it was. Walking down the steps of the classroom, down to your seat. Hearing your friend ask you what you were doing, “He's my new partner.” you whispered, sitting down as your friend made fun of you. Closing his eyes to restrain himself from cracking a smile. You defending him only fueled his delusions, making him think that you were taking a liking to him.

-

pt 2 here

mmmmmm I wrote this rq, I couldn't get it out of my head. obsessive crush to stalker pipeline coming up:D anddd I am trying to make shorter posts, pump out more content so my head isnt full all the time. 1k words at most. wrote this while listening to 'Vampire Empire- Big Thief'