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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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A Crime Against Fashion

Charles Leclerc x fashion designer!Reader

Summary: you love Charles more than life itself, but everyone has a breaking point … and yours is those damn pants

You stride into the spacious open-concept living room of the luxury apartment you share with your boyfriend, tossing your leather tote onto the couch with a huff. Another long day of design meetings and fittings for your upcoming spring collection has left you completely drained.

But your frustration isn’t just from work stress this time. No, it’s those blasted pants again.

As if on cue, Charles emerges from the bedroom wearing the dreaded blue and white tie-dye atrocities that have been your nemesis for weeks now. You can’t hold back a small groan of exasperation.

“What’s wrong, mon cœur?” Charles asks with his trademark lopsided smile, those warm emerald-colored eyes crinkling at the corners.

You gesture helplessly at the offending garment. “Charles … those pants. They’re just … how can I put this delicately? A crime against fashion.”

He glances down at the loose-fitting psychedelic nightmares, seemingly oblivious to their ugliness. “What do you mean? I think they’re kind of funky.”

“Funky?” You echo incredulously. “That’s one word for them, I suppose. Hideously unstylish is another.”

Charles pouts, sticking out his full lower lip in that irresistible way he knows gets you flustered. “But chérie, I really like them. They’re so comfy and casual.”

You shake your head adamantly, trying not to get distracted by how criminally attractive he looks even in those ridiculous pants. “No, nope. As your girlfriend and a designer, I simply cannot allow you to go out in public wearing those any longer. It’s a matter of principle!”

He raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? And just what do you plan to do about it, hmm?”

A mischievous grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Well, I do have a few ideas …” You lunge toward him playfully.

With a yelp of surprise, Charles dodges out of the way, those long legs carrying him across the living room as you give chase. You laugh breathlessly, finally managing to catch him and wrap your arms around his slender waist from behind.

“Quit running away from me, Leclerc!” You tease, nuzzling against the back of his neck. “You know this is for your own good.”

Charles twists around in your arms until you’re face to face. His expression is one of feigned indignation but you can see his warm green eyes are dancing with amusement. “I will not be bullied about my clothing choices by you, Y/N Y/L/N! These pants are staying and that’s final!”

You answer by promptly planting a line of teasing kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, making him shiver. “Is that so? We’ll see about that, pretty boy.”

That evening, you make a point to avoid looking at or even acknowledging the offensive pants for the rest of the night. At one point, Charles good-naturedly tries to get a rise out of you by draping the tie-dyed nightmares over the back of the couch right in your line of sight. But you simply turn your nose up with an overdramatic harrumph, refusing to take the bait.

“Very mature,” Charles chuckles from beside you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours in that casual yet intimate way.

You shoot him a pointed look from the corner of your eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m simply refusing to lend any credibility to those … those …” You wave a hand vaguely in the direction of the pants hanging over the couch.

“You mean my pants?” Charles supplies helpfully, that infuriatingly charming grin stretching across his full lips.

“Ugh, don’t even call them that! Actual pants deserve more respect.” You lean your head against the back of the couch in exasperation.

Charles scoots closer until his side is flush against yours. He cups your jaw in one of those large, calloused racing hands and gently turns your face until you’re meeting his molten gaze. “You’re just jealous that I look better in them than you ever could, mon amour.”

His teasing words further ignite the spark of competitive spirit smoldering in your chest. With a surge of determination, you press a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Challenge accepted, Leclerc.”

Two nights later, as Charles arrives back at the apartment after a grueling day of training, he immediately notices that something is … off.

He pads through the living room toward the bedroom, brow furrowed in confusion at the odd scattering of fabric scraps and loose threads on the floor. Your sewing machine is set up on the dining table, various rattles and clanks echoing from the bedroom.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly. “Everything okay in there?”

You poke your head out from around the bedroom doorway, cheeks flushed and hair slightly askew. But your eyes are bright with mischief. “Charles! You’re home, perfect. Come in here for a second?”

With a shrug, he follows you into the bedroom. Only to stop dead in his tracks, jaw dropping almost comically. There on the floor in a tattered, unrecognizable heap of fabric are … his beloved tie-dye pants. The ones you had so vehemently loathed.

“Y/N, what … how … why …” he splutters, seemingly at a loss for words as he crouches down and gingerly runs a finger over the ragged remnants.

Resting your hands on your hips, you try not to look too triumphant. “What can I say? The cat got to them.”

Charles’ brows knit together in confusion. “We don’t have a cat, mon ange.”

Oops. Think fast.

“Well, uh, I was actually cat-sitting for Max today! You know how crazy Jimmy and Sassy can be. Those little balls of fluff must have gotten a hold of your pants and just went to town on them.”

You shrug innocently, the very picture of wide-eyed virtue. “Who can blame them, really? I warned you those pants were a crime against nature itself.”

For a long beat, Charles simply stares at the remains of his pants, then at you, eyes narrowed. You can practically see the realization dawning on his stupidly handsome face. Before he can call you out, you pivot on your heel.

“Anyway!” You clear your throat. “Since those pants were so adamantly beloved by you, I decided to give the fabric a little … redesign. Just to prove my point.” You turn back toward him, dropping the robe you had wrapped around yourself, to reveal your new creation. “What do you think?”

Charles’ breath seems to catch in his throat as you reveal the vibrant blue and white tie-dye fabric, repurposed into a sleek mini-skirt that hugs your curves in all the right ways. You punctuate the look by posing with one hand on your cocked hip, letting the skirt’s flirty hem swish teasingly.

“Well?” You raise an eyebrow challengingly, unable to keep the triumphant smirk from tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I believe you said something about looking better in those pants than me?”

To Charles’ credit, he recovers his powers of speech relatively quickly, running one hand through those tousled chestnut curls. “Y/N, you … you look …” He seems to struggle to find the words, green eyes raking over your figure appreciatively. "Incroyable. Magnifique."

You feel your cheeks warming at his praise, suddenly grateful for your impromptu redesign. “So I’ll take that as a point proven then?” You prod teasingly.

Charles finally tears his heated gaze from your body to meet your eyes, crossing the room in a few long strides until he’s crowding into your personal space. You catch your breath as his calloused hands settle on the curve of your waist, fingers brushing tantalizingly over the tie-dye fabric.

“More than proven, mon amour,” he rumbles in that low, gravelly tone that never fails to make your pulse kick up a notch. “I stand corrected — this fabric was absolutely meant for you and you alone.”

Before you can react with more than a breathless giggle, he dips his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you dizzy and melting against the hard planes of his chest.

As you slowly break away trying to catch your breath, a wicked grin curves your lips. Placing your palms flat against Charles’ chest, you lean back just enough to meet his lidded, lust-blown gaze.

“You know …” you murmur, trailing a fingertip down the taut line of his throat and relishing the way his eyes darken further. “Now that I’ve refashioned those pants into this skirt, I believe that means they’re officially off-limits for you to wear. Unless …”

You bite your lower lip coyly, letting the implication hang in the air. Charles cocks an eyebrow, a rakish smirk of his own playing about those full lips as he catches your meaning.

“Unless what, ma belle?” His voice is thick with undisguised longing as he pulls you flush against him once more.

Stretching up on your tiptoes, you brush a feather-light kiss to that sharp, stubbly jawline. “Unless you’d fancy giving this skirt a spin for me sometime, Mr. Leclerc,” you practically purr into the heated space between your bodies. “Because I can absolutely get behind that look on you.”

Charles throws back his head with a rich peal of laughter, the sound reverberating through you. As his hands roam possessively over the tie-dye fabric now molded to your curves, you decide you’ll have to put in a request to see that particular fashion show very soon.

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machveil · 2 months ago

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CoD Headcanon: Fashion

let me info dump on how I think the CoD men would dress, pretty puh-lease? Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price, Gary “Roach” Sanderson, Keegan Russ, and König

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

actually wanted to make this post because of him, “Thank you, Kyle.”, we all say in unison

I oh so desperately think he dresses so casually it looks clean as fuck. he’s definitely the best dressed out of the 141, in my opinion. going for groceries? meeting up at a pub? Kyle looks great! also, bottom left photo? holding true to the board, I firmly believe Kyle has totes - different colors, some with logos, a couple well used and loved. totes and caps, Kyle has a nice collection

my fun little headcanon is that Kyle will match his outfits to whatever hat or tote he plans on using for the day. and he has a wardrobe to match - t-shirts, button ups, jumpers, turtlenecks, Kyle has variety. a lot of them are gifts from his family (who have his fashion sense down to a science). his aunts and uncles definitely pay the most attention to what Kyle’s wearing whenever they see him, they never miss when buying him new jeans or shoes

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

as fearsome and intimidating as Ghost is, draped in military gear and holsters, Simon prefers to be comfortable. a majority of his civvies are for his comfort, soft and warm jumpers that bag a little. he keeps it simple, his signature black clothes are really the only thing that carries over from service. that said, I think he’d look good in brown too. still a noticeably darker color compared to most, but it gives a nice contrast to his usual monotone look

it might seem counterintuitive to wear long sleeves when he’s had all this tattoo work done on his arms - fair enough - but I don’t think Simon necessarily cares to show them off. he has his fair share of t-shirts, but he really only wears them when it’s exceptionally warm out. that, or Simon has them on as an undershirt at the gym, hidden beneath his black hoodies. does the 141 poke fun at him for dressing nearly all black every time they see him? yes they do, does Simon care? no, he’s a sucker for a dark aesthetic

John “Soap” MacTavish:

Johnny dresses like he’s ready to go to the gym, but it’s why we love him. I swear, it could be freezing outside and Johnny would be wearing short, he’s definitely one of those people, “Hm? Nah, m’not cold.”, he’s actively trying to not let his teeth chatter. Johnny loves a good hoodie, especially if they have drawstrings - this man has an oral fixation, let him chew on those strings, damnit! oftentimes the drawstrings on his hoodies are fucked up and thready because he’ll absentmindedly nosh on them

I’m not afraid to say he’s the closest on this whole headcanon post to dressing like Adam Sandler - there’s definitely been times he wore the rattiest clothes ever outside and people mistook him for being homeless. the nicest thing he’ll consider wearing out is a t-shirt, zip-up hoodie, and jeans. I think Johnny’s a little nose blind to his own scent, sometimes he’ll think a hoodie is clean but he forgot he sweated his ass off in it two days ago at the gym. puts it on because… well, it just smells like him, surely it doesn’t reek

John Price:

I had such a hard time finding photos that matched my thoughts, but when I found them? oh, these matched. I’d like to call Price’s look “blue collar husband comes home after work” - do we get that vibe? simple man, he likes his blue jeans and a plain shirt. has a wide variety of nice, leather belts though, the only bit of his wardrobe he really splurges on. the simplest out of the 141, but he cleans up nicely with just a shirt and some jeans that hug his thighs just right

he’s a fan of t-shirts, the fact they show off his biceps is purely coincidence. he low-key dresses like a dad, but he rocks the look. he’s definitely the type to have vintage leather jackets, beat up, brown coats that are durable. they’ve seen better days, were new and shiny once, but John likes them a little weathered and worn. he’s not beating the bucket hat allegations

Gary “Roach” Sanderson:

I’d love to say ‘I don’t make the rules’, but I do. I’m putting my foot down and saying Gary dresses like this. he always wears a white t-shirt, is it the same one? does he have dozens? who knows! he’ll causally swap between pants and shorts, whichever is appropriate for the weather. button ups, he owns so many. never buttons them, just wears them open over his t-shirts. it’s casual, but the simplicity of it unironically makes his outfit look super clean

Gary will dress this way until the day he dies. it’s just how he dresses, no variation unless there’s an important event - holidays, an army shindig, I dunno, a wedding (if he could, he’d show up in his usual civvies). you would have to beg Gary to try a different style, he’s silently stubborn about it. he doesn’t make a fuss if you buy him a hoodie or sweater, just know he’ll throw a quiet strike by tucking it into the back of his closet

Keegan Russ:

biblically accurate Keegan Russ is a biker, what can I say. two words: leather jackets. he likes the aesthetic, owns a handful - hand-me-downs, thrifted, vintage, new. a majority of his wardrobe is black, I personally think his favorite color is blue, but he enjoys wearing black more. he likes wearing t-shirts, purposefully showing off his well-trained arms. he really only owns jeans, maybe a pair of nice slacks

you know what? gonna be honest, not much to add on, I just think Keegan is hot and would wear this haha. it’s nothing flashy, but if you’re into bikers it’s definitely eye catching. on another note, I think he’d paint his nails matte black. do I have any reasoning? no, I just think he would, or maybe just a clear coat. that, and he definitely wears silver rings. not all the time, but he does wear them on occasion

König:

if König isn’t in fatigues he still looks blatantly military. now, I didn’t include it in the board, but he has way too many pairs of khaki cargo pants. like an absurd amount - imagine a reasonable number of cargo pants and then add ten more pairs. back to the board, man cannot escape camouflage and green in general. whether it’s pants, shirts, or sweaters, König has it in some shade of green

otherwise, he actually enjoys itchy, scratchy sweaters. you know the kind that makes your skin red after wearing it a little too long? König eats that up, for whatever reason it feels nice to him. course, he does have standard, comfortable sweaters and hoodies. it’s a bit of a hassle to find clothes in his size though, sure they make them big, but König would appreciate if they were more fit to his build than overly baggy. lucky for him, his mama was a seamstress and taught him how to sew - he adjusts his clothing as he sees fit (he’ll still grumble about it though)

manifesting just one CoD man into being so I can play dress up with them🎀✨pretty please, I just wanna make him look so good - Soap and Roach might put up a fight though…

thanks for reading my behemoth of a post<3 hugs and kiss🌸✨

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scealaiscoite · 4 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹��⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷��⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

#enjoy my prettiessss #another instalment of trio prompts on the way!!#prompts #paired prompts #aesthetic prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #otp prompts #soft prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #drabble prompts #drabble meme #writing inspiration #writing inspo

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

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Could you do a little something for exploring a graveyard with Eddie??? It’s something I genuinely really enjoy doing but haven’t gotten to do a lot and I just feel like Eddie would like it to. Maybe Eddie and reader make a little game out of it where they try to find the oldest headstone?

Thanks bug! I love your writing. ♥️

ty lovie! this sort of pre-date, but let me know if you want smth different!! — eddie picks you up to take you on a graveyard date, which is strange, 'cause you're basically a ball of sunshine (established relationship, fluff, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie comes to pick you up from Family Video, and you’re beaming like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him.

You’re all smiles when the front door dings open, ushering in the crisp smell of autumn and the cig he’d smoked on the way over — ‘cause he doesn’t like to do it around you much. You too quickly abandon whatever you’d been rambling about to an only halfway understanding Steve. It doesn’t feel very important anymore.

“Eds!” you blurt, excited and loud with it. You light up the store with ease. The grey mood is suddenly aglow with a mixture of vivid hues, sparkling pinks and blues and yellows. Eddie’s almost convinced he never saw color until he met you.

But he tries to be all cool about it. Metal.

He waltzes in with his leather jacket and tight jeans and boyish hubris because that’s what he thinks he has to do.

He’s the bad boy. The guy with the band and the wild hair. Sometimes, he thinks he only got you because he was like no one you’d ever met before — the complete and utter opposite of you.

But then you bound off the counter and rush to him, sheer tights rubbing and flouncy skirt swishing, and he’s grinning just like you are. Big and rosy and almost aching. Bright enough to illuminate a galaxy.

“You look pretty,” he compliments in place of a greeting, laughing into your hair when he wraps you in his arms.

His clothes are cold from the outside weather, but he’s somehow still warm. His arms curl intently around you, palms settling wide on your spine. It’s all cologne and leave-in conditioner, nicotine and the minty gum he tried to cover it up with. You could drown in it, happily.

“You look prettier,” you tell him, though it’s mostly muffled into his neck.

His chin juts back when he pulls away from you. He keeps a gentle hold of you, though, just moves far enough back to see you more. The smile he looks at you with makes your stomach do backflips.

“Ready to go?”

You nod, wide-eyed and rapid. “I’ve been ready to go since I got here this morning!”

Eddie chuckles when you rise on the tips of your toes to smack a kiss to his cheek. He’s cold and milky white, but glowing warm and soft pink the second you pull away.

“Hey!” Steve grouses from where he leans over the counter, arms crossed and brows pinched.

Robin shares a similar pout, sitting ahead of him in the swivel chair. Her arms are folded over the table, and her chin is propped on her wrist. It bobs against her hands when she complains with her usual grittiness. “Rude.”

You wince when you walk by them, unbuttoning the clasps of your mandated Family Video vest. Your arms shuffle awkwardly as you try to tug it over your fluffy sweater. “Sorry…” you grimace sincerely. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

They already knew that, though. Because you never do. Sometimes, you can sound a little cruel, but you never truly mean to be. You’re very honest in your gentleness, a bit brute when you’re trying to be coy.

To Eddie, it’s the hottest thing since seeing you in his clothes for the first time.

You’re gone for no longer than a minute. Just enough to hang up your vest on the rack in the break room and grab your tote bag from your locker. It’s a simple, beige canvas thing you painted the Hellfire logo on top of — because you wanted to rep your boyfriend and everything, but the club tees clashed too heavily with your outfits.

You can hear Steve and Eddie bickering back and forth down the hall.

“—I’m taking her on a date, actually,” you hear your boy say, a smile evident in his voice. “You still know what these are, right? Or have you forgotten after your decade of abstinence?”

Steve scoffs. “Okay, for your information, I go on plenty of dates—”

“Yeah, it’s the aggression that’s so convincing.” Eddie tries his best not to laugh through his sarcasm. You vaguely hear Robin let out a poorly muted snort.

“—And I’m not abstinent, alright?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ask your mom.”

“She’s dead, you dick.”

A beat of silence passes. Steve’s grows quieter, much more gentle. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Eddie doesn’t verbally accept his apology. He doesn’t need to. It’s unsaid by now. That’s their whole thing — they just argue back and forth until one of them makes a bigger dumbass out of themself. Steve loses, most of the time.

“Where are you guys even going?” Robin wonders aloud, if only to stop the meaningless bickering.

You appear from the back then, out of your uniform and ready to leave the wretched nine-hour shift behind. You’re practically the personification of autumn — chunky vinyl boots, sheer tights, plaid skirt, and oversized fluffy turtleneck.

And Eddie’s just… Eddie.

“A graveyard!” you answer, smiling a bit too brightly.

She blinks at you in return, like she must’ve heard you wrong. “Excuse me— a what?”

“A cemetery! The one by Forest Hills— did you know it’s one of the oldest cemeteries in the state? I’m pretty sure it was built in, like, the 1800s or something! We’re gonna see if we can find the oldest headstone!”

At a loss of how to respond to you and your sparkling optimism, Steve just nods. “Wow. The eighteen hundreds, huh? That’s, like, at least a decade ago, right?”

“Try twenty of ‘em, Harrington,” Eddie jokes as he wraps a heavy arm around your shoulder.

The brunette boy scoffs. “Cool it, Eighty-Six.”

“Are you two gonna keep flirting, or are you gonna take your girlfriend to the graveyard date?” Robin monotones with playfully squinted eyes.

“I’d answer you, but I wouldn’t wanna give Harrington a complex.” Eddie bends his arm to pull you closer. He brushes a fleeting peck to your temple and turns on his heel to walk towards the entrance, inevitably pulling you with him.

“Keep your hands to yourself while you’re ghost hunting, creeps!” Steve calls to the two of you. “Public indecency is a serious crime!”

The front door dings again. An autumn breeze takes your breath away. Everything is blue and orange and yellow, colors vivid enough to taste.

Eddie wraps his fingers around the metal handle, keeping the entrance open for you as you walk through it. He flashes his friends a crooked smile over his shoulder. “I don’t plan on being publicly indecent in front of a bunch of ghosts, but I am gonna kiss her stupid before the night’s over.”

Steve’s chiseled features scrunch with disdain. You’re practically the personification of sunshine; it’s hard for him to imagine you as anything but pure — harder to imagine you sucking face with Eddie Munson. Or just you and Eddie Munson at all.

The door thuds shut behind you. Steve and Robin watch silently as Eddie leads you to his van. You wrap both your arms around one of his, smiling up at him and mouthing something they can’t quite make out.

He opens the passenger seat door for you. You smack a kiss on his cheek before you get inside. Eddie’s blushing something fierce while he rounds the hood.

“She’s super funny, she’s pretty — way too pretty for Munson, and now she’s going to a cemetery. With him,” Steve gripes, mostly to himself, completely and utterly dumbfounded. If there was ever a time to believe the swirling rumors about Eddie Munson and his devil magic, it’d be right now.

“Yeah…” Robin hums, voice quiet and far away.

“How the hell did he manage that?”

“I don’t know… But I think I’m in love with her.”

Steve takes his eyes off the parting van and flashes his best friend an incredulous gape.

It knocks Robin from her daze. Her ocean eyes widen as she rambles in a useless attempt to defend herself. “What? She plays with my hair when I get headaches and lets me talk about shit I like, even though I know she has zero idea what I’m talking about! That’s, like, my top two languages, Steve!”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

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ninibeingdelulu · 6 months ago

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“I should’ve bought you flowers…”

plot- you run into Leon, your ex boyfriend CLICK ME

A bitterly crisp autumn breeze whistled down the empty cobblestone streets of the sleepy rural marketplace, rustling scarlet and amber leaves scuttling across Leon's boots.

He dug both leather-clad hands deeper into his jacket pockets while hunching further into the insulated collar turned up against the biting chill as he strode purposefully onwards.

Mid-afternoon foot traffic always remained relatively scant throughout town - most of the local shops and farmstands having already packed up for the day once their fresh harvests sold through.

All except for the lone family grocer tucked away on the far corner where Leon typically grabbed essentials for the upcoming week.

Just the way he preferred it - in and out quickly with minimal interactions beyond terse polite nods at the shopkeep ringing up his basket.

Today, however...

The distinct figure standing alone beside the open-air produce section instantly seized Leon's attention like an icy fist clenching vice-tight around his ribcage.

That unmistakable silhouette he'd know from a thousand lonely city blocks away no matter how many endless nights of haunted insomnia blurred his vision.

Even from behind, every perfectly etched line of those slender shoulders and the elegant slope of that elegant neck remained scorched into his memory as if branded by a white-hot iron fresh from the forge.

Despite the crystalline sunlight glinting off your silken hair spilling in luxurious waves, Leon's pulse roared thunderously in his ears until all else fell abruptly silent.

As if the earth itself ground to a screeching halt on its axis to better amplify the way his heart stuttered at the mere sight of you for the first time in over a year.

Leon's first instinct was to pivot on his heel and retreat - retracing his steps back the way he came before you'd sensed his presence.

But something deep and inexplicable within kept rooting him to that frostbitten cobblestone, feet feeling as though they'd taken sudden root.

He watched through the hazy blur as you stepped minutely closer to the vendor's stall, slender fingers curling pensively around the handle of your tote as your head swiveled ever so slowly.

Until those wide soulful eyes he knew better than any remembered prayer swiveled to lock with his for one breathless moment suspended in amber streaks of morning light.

Your lips parted on a shocked inhale while recognition washed across those beloved features with the force of a tidal wave.

Leon remained frozen to the spot - a poor reconstruction of the suave federal agent and hardened hunter of biohazard evils crumbling away to expose the hollowed out shell he'd become in your absence.

All those tightly regimented walls built up over the past year came crashing down to lay the tattered remnants of his heart exposed as an open wound once more.

One side of his lips tugged upwards in a weak facsimile of a smile that never reached the enduring anguish flickering behind those shadowed steel-blue irises.

With supreme effort, Leon forced air into his lungs enough to grit out two words scorching like acid across his tongue:

"Hey...stranger."

It was all the unraveling threads of his frayed composure could muster without shattering completely.

He swallowed thickly while pivoting on his heel, boots scuffing against the cobblestone as he made to continue onwards.

Away from here...away from you. Before any deeper glimpses of vulnerability managed to slip through and reveal his soul's innermost hemorrhaging.

Leon only managed to make it a few paces before your tremulous voice calling out finally fractured what remained of his crumbling resolve.

"Leon...wait."

He halted obediently while squeezing his eyes shut against the ghostly caress of your honeyed syllables washing over him for the first time in far too long.

Drawing a harsh, shuddering inhale, Leon gradually turned back just enough to chance a sidelong glance over his shoulder without meeting your pleading gaze head-on.

It was all the restraint he could cling to not to fully whirl around and stare...to greedily drink you in after being denied that forbidden oasis for what felt like an eternity.

"I..." Your speech briefly faltered- words clearly failing to manifest the roiling ocean of emotions swirling across your expression before you visibly steadied yourself.

"What you said one year ago, about not being...enough...That's not true at all. You were always more than enough for me."

A bitter, mirthless chuckle rasped past Leon's lips - barely even audible over the keening winds.

"Yeah...and it took you one entire year to say it ? Why didn’t you said it back then, before disappearing ?"

Both of you recoiled in unison at the harsh self-loathing barb like physical blows.

Your dismayed features twisted immediately into anguished denial only to falter helplessly as he shook his head firmly, making an abortive motion as if to physically halt the reassurance already forming on your lips.

"Look, I'm...sorry. That wasn't fair of me."

Leon dragged his palm down the exhausted lines of his face while fixing that stormy azure gaze straight ahead.

Away from the irresistible temptation of your wounded eyes he knew would unravel the few stray threads of his composure still wound tight.

"I counted every minutes, every seconds…damn, y/n."

His adam's apple bobbed in a pronounced swallow against the tightening pressure rapidly constricting his throat.

"I missed you, but over the months I realized it was a mistake...Now, wherever the road led you from here after we parted ways, well..."

Leon swept one final glance over his shoulder then to convey everything his faltering speech couldn't accurately translate.

"I really do hope wherever it takes you next makes you happier than I ever could."

With one final rueful quirk of his lips, the former RPD survivor pivoted on his heel once again and simply walked away without looking back.

Only once those ramrod shoulders had disappeared entirely around the winding village path did Leon allow himself to sag boneless against the nearest building's stucco exterior.

He scrubbed both palms across his face to muffle the wrecked keen ripping itself from his very marrow as endless rivulets of searing pain left twin trails streaking each chiseled cheekbone...

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csuitebitches · 2 years ago

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Guide to Building a Classic Wardrobe

I was asked a long time ago by an anon for a guide to build a wardrobe. This style caters to someone mature, slightly conservative, NOT fashionnova-esque, something that will last a long time in all fashion seasons, provided you look after your items well. I live in a relatively hot climate and the coldest temperature I’ve experienced when living in a place is like 10 degree Celsius, so I will admit that I am not very well versed with living in cold climates for a prolonged period of time (I don’t think a 2 week trip to Switzerland in the summer counts as “cold”).

I have purposely built with keeping neutrals in mind. I’ve learned that its best to first build a neutral coloured wardrobe in mind, then start adding colour to it. You might find this wardrobe boring, but if you work in a corporate environment/ somewhere where you can’t showcase too much colour or creativity/ if you come from a relatively conservative/ high profile-but-not-entertainment /modest culture, you’ll find this useful.

ALWAYS keep an eye on the material of the item you are buying. If you have to buy a sweater and you live in a cold climate, buy cashmere. Yes, it will be expensive, but it will keep you warm and last longer. If you live in a hot climate, invest in tops and dresses made out of pure cotton. Material plays a huge role in the climate you live in.

I do not endorse fast fashion or over-consumerism but I understand that it is affordable. I would therefore recommend you to buy things carefully and with consideration, not just for the sake of the environment but for your wallet. It’s better to buy 1 quality item than 10 horribly made, short-lasting items.

Never mix more than 3 colours in your outfit at a time. That’s something my father taught me, and I recommend you stick to it, especially if you’re new to building a serious wardrobe.

Lastly, do not be enthralled by what influencers buy or wear. I can guarantee you that the clothes they wear on Instagram aren’t even theirs half the time. Don’t fall into the trap of micro trends.

(Pictures for this post have been sourced from Pinterest).

Underwear

Nude bra + thong/ undie

Black bra + thong/ undie

White bra + thong/ undie

Strapless bra (black)

Strapless bra (nude)

2 sexy bra sets (optional, I have these in red, pink, blue)

Nipple pads

Tops

White silk cami

Black silk cami

White plain tee

Black plain tee

White tank

Black tank

Beige tank (or whatever suits your complexion - brown/ nude)

White shirt

Black shirt (satin/ silk)

Blue shirt

Pants

Navy blue trousers

Wine/ red high waisted trousers

White trousers

Beige trousers

Black trousers

Straight leg jeans (blue)

Another pair of jeans (not ripped, blue)

White jeans, straight leg/ mom cut

Skirts

White

Black

Red

Beige (a checked print, like Burberry)

2 maxi skirts

1 pencil skirt in black (work appropriate)

Shorts

Denim (not distressed)

Tailored white shorts

Tailored blue shorts

Tailored black shorts

Formal attire

1 maxi dress - red/ black/ a neutral colour

White/ black vest and trouser set

Everyday dresses

Knit dress in black/ cream/ brown (long)

2 summer dresses, short

White peasant dress

Outer wear

Leather jacket in black/ brown

1 cardigan in black/ white

A shawl/ silk scarf

Denim jacket

Long trench coat in camel/ brown/ beige

Blazer in white/ navy blue/ black

Sweater in black/ white/ red

Shoes

Black/ white/ brown leather boots

White/ silver heels

Black heels

Gold heels

Mules in black

Home slippers

Running shoes

White sneakers

Accessories

1 brown/ black leather bag

1 tote bag

1 clutch for parties

Hair clips

Tights/ leggings - sheer and opaque in black

Socks

Jewellery

Diamond studs

Everyday pendant

2-3 simple bracelets/ bangles in silver/ gold

Signet rings in gold

Chunky hoops

Devices

Hair straightener

Hairdryer/ Blow brush (i prefer the blow dry brush)

30 mm curling wand (for long, big curls)

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #c suite aesthetic #working woman #empire #beauty #fashion #wardrobe #styling #capsule wardrobe #basic fashion #neutral #fashion guide

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tyxoxo · 2 years ago

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perv!jeno

fourth time trying to get this to show in the tags, i’m so sorry ㅠㅠ

warnings: dubious consent

milf!lover jeno who is such a perverted piece of shit, appears innocent on the outside as he attends his favorite class, just to see his favorite professor in question, you. but on the inside, he’s thought of the dirtiest fantasies, with no ounce of shame that you were twice his age. who could blame his desires, when you looked so fuckable in your professional attire.

the only reason he hasn’t failed physics is because of his attendance record. without your presence, he would surely have been sent to the Dean’s office for his negligence.

his chosen seat in the lecture room, elevated in the back, gave him just the right amount of obscurity to palm himself through his denim jeans as he watched you pace back and forth along the ground floor.

he actually felt sorry for you.

you seemed disheartened by the lack of enthusiasm in your students, their ambition thwarted from the harsh realities of university—student loans, terrible diet, and all the other vices that came with being a young adult.

jeno knew just the thing you needed. someone like him to destress your mind and body. someone like him that would ravage you beyond repair, so you no longer cared about the miniscule details.

fucked so hard that all you cared about was him, and his raging cock.

every day he prayed to whatever god just as vile as him, that the slit in your pencil skirt would grow a little taller. maybe even a hole would appear in your sheer pantyhose; he always loved the look of that.

if you were inquisitive enough to look past his nerdic qualities, you would never go back to men your age. jeno knew he was the entire package.

but jerking off in his dorm room just wasn’t fulfilling his needs anymore. and his roommate got tired of the constant, wet sounds of him beating his dick into oblivion every night out of the week. so much so that just last week the dorm RA held a “wellness meeting” per request of his roommate.

jeno shook his head free of that poor excuse of a therapy session in regards to his masturbation addiction. today was the day that he would approach you after the lecture.

with a hefty sigh, you said your usual,

“don’t forget the discussion post due tonight by 11pm! everyone have a good weekend!”

you knew your reminder wouldn’t hold much weight. there were only a few that would actually participate. but there was only so much you could do.

and it was a well known fact that physics was among the most-hated subjects here.

luckily, this was the last class of the day. and the weekend was just around the corner. you were excited to try out a new cookware set that your daughter brought you for Mother’s Day, even inviting her and her fiancé over for dinner tomorrow as a show of thanks.

as you packed up your laptop, and planner into your leather tote bag, you were surprised to find that the lecture room wasn’t empty yet.

the last one, Jeno Lee, had just reached the final step along the walkway.

you paused on your gathering of items, deciding to give your undivided attention in case he had a question or concern.

the only concern you had, was the hard-on poking past his light blue denim jeans.

it was painfully obvious, and quite intimidating considering his slim stature.

“is everything okay Mr. Lee?”

you tried your hardest to keep your eyes focused on his face, even deciding to zero in on his browline glasses to distract you from his groin.

“yeah everything’s fine.”

he stood in front of you like nothing was amiss, casually hooking the single backpack strap on his left shoulder, his other hand resting in his right pocket.

“if that’s the case, i’ll go ahead and have my leave now. have a good weekend.”

you failed at making it less obvious that you were dying to get out of the lecture hall. it wasn’t out of distaste, far from it.

rather, you felt disgusting for liking what you saw. everything down to the simple plain white tee, loose-fitting jeans, and light blue Jordans made you rub your thighs together as you stood there. even the veins that tensed along his forearm as he clutched his backpack strap was enough to make your breath hitch deep inside your chest.

fortunate enough for you, your phone buzzed with a notification from your daughter as you made your way to the exit.

bringing the phone up to get a clearer view of the message proved futile, as you felt his warm hand snatch your wrist, causing your phone to flail out onto the linoleum floor.

he waited until your back was turned, like the coward he truly was, to go in for the kill. your entire body swung back to face him, with a single yelp escaping your lips as you tried to fight against the whirlwind that was your student.

you winced as he escorted you back to your desk, back arching from the sharp strike to your spine. chest pressed firmly against his own as he let his backpack slip off his shoulders and onto the floor. the third button to your white dress shirt had popped open upon impact, revealing a lacy black bra that was waiting to be ripped apart, much to his liking.

you were overly sensitive to the stimuli he forced upon you; wrist beginning to sting from his harsh hold, waist feeling singed down to the bone as he gripped you there with his other hand.

upon opening your eyes, you were met with a being that surely dreamed of this moment. to watch as you felt his dick prod at the middle of your skirt, licking his upper lip in concentration as grinded upwards into your clothed heat.

his blissful expression soon turned to disappointment as your pencil skirt provided too much of a barrier between his swollen cock.

he would have to take care of that soon.

despite letting up on your waist, all of your thoughts of an escape were in vain as you heard the familiar unclasp of a belt buckle, yet somehow you couldn’t forge a call for help, not when his lips were millimeters away from your own.

your eyes trailed from his blown pupils to his mouth as he spoke, nowhere near prepared for the filth that fell from his lips.

“i hope you don’t mind that i give you another one, since you’re already a mom…”

#jeno smut #lee jeno smut #jeno hard hours #nct dream smut #FOURTH TIMES THE CHARM???

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femininenachos · 9 months ago

Note

Hello lovely. I’ve been thinking about vacation au. Please tell me Clarke runs into Lexa swimming in some crystal clear Grecian water and wells has to close her mouth for her.

(Not quite, but close!)

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

By mid-morning the narrow streets near the harbour are already swarming with island hoppers fresh off the ferry. More line the quayside, waiting to board the day cruise that takes in the larger, more populous archipelago further down the coast. So-called ‘jewels of the Aegean’, they’re feted for being playgrounds of the rich and famous, boasting a slew of luxury resort hotels, designer boutiques and staggeringly expensive seafront restaurants.

For all its charm and scenic vistas, at least Polis has one foot in the real world. Here, craggy-faced fishermen and dock hands in scruffy overalls are hard at work unloading the morning’s catch, doing their best to ignore the clusters of tourists floating around, or at least tolerating their presence with stoic indifference.

And—it’s possible Clarke might be biased—Polis has Lexa, currently leading the charge like a woman on a mission. Clarke sticks close, her hand in Lexa’s sure grip, hurrying to match her loping strides as they make a beeline for the marina. Along the way they pass an assortment of small motorboats in all shapes and sizes, from dinghies and jet skis to skiffs and cabin cruisers and everything in between, until a gleaming white single-masted sailboat comes into view at last.

Clarke stops dead in her tracks on the cobblestones, fingers slipping from Lexa’s.

Her jaw drops.

“Is this yours?”

Lexa glances over and laughs at Clarke’s expression. “I make good tips, but not that much.”

She points to the modest vessel moored next to it, an open-top vintage deck boat with a walnut veneer interior and burnt orange leather upholstery that’s bleached from exposure to the sun and the salty sea air. ‘Spirit of Polis’ is written in blue cursive script on the hull.

“I mean, this one’s great too,” Clarke is quick to respond. She styles it out. “Not so flashy. Compact. Classic. Nice, uh, sleek lines.”

Lexa peers over the top of her sunglasses, lips subtly twisting to the side. “It belongs to my uncle, so you don’t have to worry about offending me or the boat.”

She puts down the cooler containing their provisions of cold drinks and extends a hand to help Clarke aboard. A little unsteady on her feet at first, Clarke holds on tightly for support while she finds her balance, shifting her weight to counteract the bobbing motion of the boat as water sloshes against the sides. Once she’s confident she isn’t going to fall flat on her face or, worse, into the harbour, she takes a few cautious steps to reach the small seating area at the rear. She shrugs off her tote bag to stow under the bench and situates herself, the sun-scorched leather burning hot against the backs of her thighs.

From this safe perch (and prime ogling spot), she watches Lexa collect the thick rope that tethers the boat, tossing it onto the deck before she gracefully hops across with the cooler and gets behind the controls. Full of poise at the helm, like it’s second nature to assume command, the signature pout in place as Lexa lifts her chin like she’s surveying her nautical domain.

It goes without saying that the whole preppy, boat-captain vibe is one hundred percent working in her favour.

Shades on. Hair spilling down her back in glossy chestnut waves, the ends getting whipped around by the wind. Appealing in her pale pink button-down worn over a snug white tank. Shirt open and catching the light breeze, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of muscle definition and the ink that encircles her bicep. Tight little navy blue shorts hug her hips and ass in ways that are about to cause a major international incident at sea, because Clarke is far from looking respectfully.

“Ready?”

When her eyes snap up, she spies the half-smile on Lexa’s side profile, as though she detects the unholy thirst emanating from mere feet away.

Clarke gives a slow, absentminded nod, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her eyes make another involuntary sweep down Lexa’s form.

“Clarke.”

She gets a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, and with it the spell is broken.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a resurgent wiggle of anticipation about this mystery adventure they’re about to embark on together. All Lexa was willing to divulge when they met is that it’s Polis’s best-kept secret, a spot known only to locals, unreachable except by boat, and so far unspoiled by tourists. Clarke had feigned offense on the last point, but soon dropped the act when Lexa tilted in for a kiss that went on and on and made her stomach clench. Each time Clarke started to retreat, Lexa would chase her mouth and draw her back in for more.

Her lips are still tingling.

(Both sets.)

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going?”

The enigmatic smirk that plays around Lexa’s mouth widens a fraction. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m also stubborn as hell and won’t take no for an answer, so jot that down.”

It earns a laugh, one Clarke is fast becoming enamoured with, and she can’t control the warm tingle that goes through her when she hears it or the rush of elation she gets from bringing a rare grin to Lexa’s face.

“Good to know,” Lexa says as she reaches for the ignition key. Her next words are almost lost to the splutter and chug of the engine before it roars to life. “I like a challenge.”

~*~

Within an hour, they reach a small, secluded cove surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs, the ancient rock sculpted by wind and waves, where sparse scatterings of tall, rugged pines sprout precariously from narrow ledges in defiance of the elements.

It appears like a mirage, shimmering into view: a bay of dreamy, pristine, white-gold sands and crystal clear turquoise waters, serene and inviting, and there isn’t a soul in sight. The closest thing they had to company was the pod of dolphins they spotted off the starboard (Clarke learned) side about twenty minutes ago. She’d gasped and clutched Lexa’s arm, bouncing on her heels in sheer delight. But it was the look they shared, brimming with joy and something unaccountably softer and fonder, that made it all the more magical, the moment already locked into Clarke’s memory.

“What do you think?” Lexa asks.

Lost for words, Clarke shakes her head in silent awe.

She turns to Lexa, and the smile Lexa directs at her, eyes bright and glowing in the sunlight, leaves her just as speechless. When Clarke finds her voice at last, it comes out thick, clogged with emotion; touched and amazed by the incredible beauty of what she sees—the place, and the woman who brought her here. So moved that she’s dangerously close to shedding a tear, her vision glazing over.

She blinks the moisture away.

“It’s…” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lifts her eyebrows. “Wow.”

She doesn’t second guess the impulse to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist, to plant a soft, grateful kiss on her jaw.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Full lips twitch at the corners. “My pleasure.”

With one hand resting on the wheel, Lexa drapes her free arm around Clarke’s shoulders. They remain like that, Clarke hugging Lexa’s side and taking in the spectacular scenery as Lexa guides the boat in at a steady rate of knots.

“I can’t believe this place has stayed under the radar. You’d think tour operators would be running excursions out here every hour until sunset.”

“Clarke.” Lexa grows serious all of a sudden, and that only makes Clarke want to kiss her again. Coax another smile. “You must promise not to tell anyone. It’s how we preserve it for future generations.”

Clarke schools her features, pretending to match Lexa’s gravity.

“Well… it’ll cost you. My silence doesn’t come cheap.”

The slight frown Lexa wears smooths out as soon as she catches on. A quizzical eyebrow flexes in a way that’s rudely attractive.

“Name your price, but don’t forget I work in hospitality.”

“I’m not interested in your money, Lexa. What I want” - Clarke trails her hand over Lexa’s hip and the perfect curve of her backside to give it a slow, purposeful squeeze, relishing Lexa’s intake of breath and the darkening of her gaze as she glances at Clarke’s lips - “is you.”

She meant to say “your body” but she doesn’t correct the verbal slip. Because, yeah, she does want to bend Lexa into all kinds of shapes like a pretzel, but she also has a deep desire to learn more about Lexa as a person, to find out what makes her tick, beyond what she likes to do in bed.

Lexa takes it in stride regardless, easing back into the confidence she has in spades.

Something about the slope of her smile signals she’s about to gain the upper hand.

She shrugs.

“Okay, deal.”

The enduring gleam in Lexa’s eyes before she turns her attention back to the sea gives Clarke palpitations. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the engine noise and the crash of the boat breaking the waves.

~*~

They drop anchor a short distance from the shore, an easy swim from the dazzling white sands. Not yet ready to take a dip, preferring to bake in the heat for a while first, Clarke spreads a large beach towel on the deck for sunbathing. She senses Lexa’s attention on her as she shimmies out of her shorts and shucks her loose tee to reveal the red halter neck two-piece that Octavia helped pick out after breakfast.

(“Hellooo, mama,” Octavia had drawled after Clarke emerged from the en suite and gave a reluctant twirl. She’d let out a low whistle as she ran her eyes up and down. “Almost wish I was tagging along just to watch Sexy Lexy’s head spin 360-degrees before it explodes. The twins ain’t playing.”)

At the time, Clarke had rolled her eyes and fought a blush but she’s glad she went with O’s suggestion.

Aware of her present captive audience, she proceeds to get comfortable on her back. One knee bent, an arm tucked behind her head as a pillow, showing off her best assets like a 1950s calendar pinup girl. Even behind the dark tinted lenses of her sunglasses, she sees Lexa’s eyes hungrily trace the shape of her body. Clarke basks in it, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she’s not just a snack, she’s the whole damn meal, and Lexa looks like she wants to devour every last crumb.

But Clarke’s smugness is short-lived, because in the next moment she’s the one left gawking when Lexa wordlessly strips down to the skimpiest pair of bikini bottoms and not a stitch else, brow quirking up as she peers over her shoulder then dives off the deck, slicing through the water with barely a splash.

Clarke quickly levers up onto her elbows to watch Lexa surface seconds later, hair slicked back and plastered to her skull, a sly little tilt to her lips as she treads water.

“Come on in. The temperature is perfect,” she calls out, looking every inch the siren that lures thirsty sapphic sailors to their deaths.

Clarke tries to cling on to the last vestiges of composure she has remaining.

“Gonna work on my tan for a little bit.”

The pout returns and she laughs, “Soon!”

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen from her nearby tote, she squeezes a large dollop into her palm. While Lexa does slow laps around the boat, Clarke liberally reapplies the lotion, slathering it on until all the exposed skin within reach is covered.

Before long, she hears Lexa climb the ladder onto the swim platform, accompanied by the rush of water cascading off her body as she rises out of the sea.

The soft slap of wet footfalls draws nearer.

“Lex?” Clarke twists around. “Could you do my—”

She stalls mid-sentence, only cognizant of her fingers closing hard around the tube in her hand when a spurt of lotion shoots out, splattering across her thigh and the towel.

She doesn’t even flinch.

All Clarke can do is gape and stare, watching rivulets of water run down the slope of Lexa’s bare chest. Eyes drawn inexorably to taut nipples and golden skin that glistens under the sun, to the long, lean lines of Lexa and the scrap of luminous orange fabric that sits low on her hips.

Clarke’s belly tightens, arousal flaring hot between her legs.

(A voice in her head that sounds disturbingly like Wells tells her to close her mouth.)

She has to remind herself to breathe.

Is thankful for the oversized shades that partially mask her expression, because she isn’t in control of what her face is doing right now. But if Lexa’s lip-bitten smile is any indication, it’s a lost cause anyway.

Casually wringing the water out of her hair as she approaches, Lexa glances at the milky white streak on Clarke’s inner thigh.

“Not the first time I’ve made a girl squirt.”

Clarke mutters a sarcastic “ha ha”, rubs the lotion into her skin, then wipes her hands on the edge of the towel before she reclines again. She fakes nonchalance when Lexa sinks down beside her, but it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies.

She rolls her shoulders and stares at the sky above, fixating on the solitary vapour trail that cuts across the endless blue.

“Speaking of previous liaisons... do you bring all your conquests here?” She’s mostly kidding, but there’s an undercurrent of needing to know too. She peers at Lexa. “Or am I one of the lucky few?”

A slow shake of Lexa’s head before she leans over on her elbow, closing in and partially blocking the sun, and Clarke’s skepticism must be plain to see, because Lexa looks so intensely sincere now, no trace of a smile or any disingenuousness when she says: “It’s the truth, I swear.”

Still, Clarke has her doubts. There’s no way Lexa isn’t tripping over hot women throwing themselves at her feet and this boat trip is too well-orchestrated not to be a tried and tested seduction technique.

Clarke peels off her shades to look Lexa square in the eye, and that frank, steady gaze pierces straight through her.

“I mean it, Clarke.”

The space between them shrinks.

Lexa’s pupils dilate as her focus shifts to parted lips. “You’re special.”

Water drips off the ends of Lexa’s hair onto Clarke’s shoulder and chest, and whatever rebuttal she had dies in her throat. She’s the one to reach out, gripping Lexa by the neck to tug her the rest of the way and kiss her like Clarke’s been dreaming of all morning.

As soon as Lexa throws a long leg over Clarke to straddle her, knees bracketing her hips, she needs no further convincing.

It’s on.

She dips her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth and slides both hands up Lexa’s rib cage to cup her breasts, a shiver running through Clarke when she feels the hard poke of nipples against her palms. She kneads, and the low, throaty noise it earns her sets her nerves alight, warm tingles suffusing her body.

They kiss deeply, greedily.

They kiss until Clarke has to drag her mouth away to gulp down some air, only to have the oxygen punched out of her lungs once again when Lexa uses the opportunity to shove her bikini bottoms off, scoop her mane of wet hair to one side and resettle against Clarke’s thigh. With her hands planted on either side of Clarke’s shoulders, Lexa holds herself up as she starts to work along the tensed muscle.

The slick, molten feel of Lexa, sliding against her skin, riding Clarke, makes her burn. She lurches up into the next kiss, hungrily reclaiming Lexa’s mouth, urging her on with a grip on her ass, and that shaky little hitch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat whenever the friction gets her just right succeeds in getting Clarke wetter and wetter too. At this rate, she might come before Lexa does, and the odds only increase when Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and guides it between her legs.

“Use your fingers.”

Another surge of heat floods through Clarke at the instruction, hearing the normally smooth, modulated tone of Lexa’s voice roughed by need.

Clarke studies Lexa’s face, watching for the tiny flickers of reaction as she runs her fingers lower, fascinated by each and every twitch and jolt and slight gasp as she explores. She dips in and drags the wetness up to swirl around Lexa’s clit and is rewarded by the sharp jerk of Lexa’s hips and quite possibly the dirtiest kiss of Clarke’s entire life. She needs no prompting to slide through slick heat to tease at Lexa’s entrance again, fingertips doing a couple of slow swirls before she pauses.

For a beat they remain suspended in a freeze frame of anticipation. Each holding still, a breath caught in their throats.

On the exhale Clarke pushes inside.

And fuck, she missed this. Touching yourself is great and all, empowering, fantastic for stress relief, et cetera. But nothing beats the sound another woman makes when you enter her for the first time, when you hear that shaky intake of breath and you feel her clench around your fingers.

“Good?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods, bottom lip held between her teeth as she looks down at Clarke with hooded eyes, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by black.

Part of Clarke can’t quite believe this is her reality. That she’s buried to the knuckles and Lexa is moving on her, rolling to meet the steady pump of her wrist.

She glances between their bodies and a groan escapes, another sharp twist of lust coiling in the pit of her stomach once her eyes fasten on her own two fingers coated with Lexa’s arousal, fucking into her. But Clarke pries her eyes away, roving over tight abdominals, taking in the curves of Lexa’s tits and the jut of her nipples, torn between wanting them in her mouth and watching her fingers disappear inside again.

It’s Lexa’s half-stifled whimper when Clarke’s thumb finds her clit that sharpens her focus.

Winding her arm around Lexa’s lower back, Clarke sits them upright and swiftly brings their lips together. The abrupt change of angle has Lexa gasping hotly into her mouth. Again, louder, when Clarke’s palm rubs in. Lexa grips her by the shoulder and the back of her neck, blunt nails digging in as Lexa grinds down harder, faster, speeding towards the climax—the first of many, if Clarke has her way—sucking in short, sharp gasps while Clarke keeps pace, despite it being hell on her wrist.

They’re hardly kissing at all now, mouths hanging slack and sharing the same air, noses pressing into cheeks as they pant against one another’s lips.

She soon feels the first flutters, the growing tension in Lexa’s form, the choppy motion of Lexa’s hips and the careless scratch of her nails at Clarke’s nape. She curls the tips of her fingers on each partial drag out then slams back in, lifting Lexa an inch off her lap with each thrust. Clarke keeps the heel of her palm tight against Lexa’s clit, the pressure firm and constant, and in the next collection of halting, rapid breaths, Lexa’s whole frame pulls taut. A ragged cry is torn from her throat and she clenches hard, coming in a hot spill around Clarke’s fingers. Lexa shudders through it, a tremble in her jaw when she catches Clarke’s mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss, licking into her with a groan that makes Clarke gush in turn.

They remain in a heavy lip lock long after the tremors subside, neither inclined to separate. Restless hands weave through Clarke’s hair then seek out her curves, roaming down her chest with purpose, pushing under the top half of her swimsuit. She gives a low hum of approval when Lexa’s thumbs roll over the tight tips of her nipples, the ache mirrored in the dull, pulsing emptiness between her legs.

She feels close to orgasm already, like if she got even the tiniest bit of friction she’d go off like a rocket. Just a small shift of her hand to grind against her own knuckles would do it. But the way Lexa is touching her breasts, palms running all over, teasing her nipples into stiff, hypersensitive points, might be enough to get Clarke there.

And all the while, she’s still inside Lexa. Fucking her lazily with slow presses of her fingers, incapable of much more vigour when her wrist is screaming. She’s debating what to do next, whether to withdraw and flip Lexa onto her back for round two or continue like this, when a distant droning noise intrudes, faintly audible above the gentle lap of water, the thick, wet squelch of Clarke’s hand working between Lexa’s thighs, and their combined heavy breathing.

Growing more distracted by the second, Clarke draws her mouth away. She squints at the horizon beneath the shade of her free hand while warm lips meander along her jaw and down her neck.

She ceases her movements, despite Lexa’s meaningful buck of her hips and the subsequent small growl of complaint when Clarke fails to take the hint.

“What’s—” Teeth nip at the fading hickey on her throat and she gasps, hand flying to tangle in Lexa’s damp, curling hair. But as the object begins to resolve itself, Clarke tenses for a different reason. “Is that a boat?”

Lexa abandons her sulk to look too.

A white shape is rapidly approaching, throwing up sea spray, sunlight glinting off the surface and the waves and making it difficult to discern from this distance until… oh. Oh, yeah.

Letting out a string of (presumably) expletives in her native tongue, Lexa scrambles off Clarke to scoop up the clothes strewn across the deck. She pulls on her tank top, yanks the shorts up her legs, and has just enough time to arrange herself into a casual pose beside Clarke before the other boat reaches them. The occupants are obnoxiously young; late teens or early twenties, as far as Clarke can tell from a distance; a bunch of bikini-clad girls and lanky guys in board shorts hanging off one another as music blasts.

She sighs inwardly. Grits her teeth and refrains from giving them the middle finger while they whoop and cheer in passing, beer bottles held aloft as they thunder towards the wooden jetty.

So much for the sexy beach idyll. Clearly, not everyone has such reverence for the tranquility of this spot.

“Shall we stay a while or…?” Clarke hedges.

Lexa purses her lips and casts her stormy gaze around, jaw working side to side in rotation, but a gentle touch on her leg pulls her focus back to Clarke.

Consternation softens into regret.

“You didn’t even get a chance to swim or feel the sand between your toes.”

“I’ll cope. Besides…” Clarke wets her lips and drops into a huskier register. “It wasn’t a total bust.”

Lexa’s mouth twitches, clearly fighting a smile, and to Clarke that’s a win.

“Come on, don’t let these pesky teens ruin our hot date,” she continues in a playful tone. “I bet you have a few aces up your sleeve; other favourite haunts to wow the ladies with.”

One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “We do have the boat for the rest of the day. I could take you somewhere else. For lunch, if you’re hungry yet?”

Clarke gives a noncommittal hum, lightly trailing her wet fingers along the soft skin of Lexa’s inner thigh. “I could eat.”

The suggestive undertone isn’t lost in translation. Their eyes meet and Clarke dares to make it explicit.

“But lunch wasn’t what I had in mind… unless we’re counting pussy as a food group.”

Lexa loses the battle against keeping her smile under control. The tips of her ears are tinged pink. “Are Americans always so forward?”

“Um, I don’t recall any shyness on your part two nights ago.”

Dainty little ears burn brightly while Lexa’s smile grows, becoming toothier, and Clarke just wants to smooch that perfect face all day long.

“Anyway, I prefer the term ‘go-getter.’ As in, I see someone I want and I go get her.”

A pained groan. “I should leave you stranded on the beach for that.”

“Hey!” Clarke swats at Lexa’s knee in retaliation, but Lexa catches her hand, holding it captive. Clarke sniffs for dramatic effect. “I was going to let you strip me out of this bathing suit later, but now I’m strongly reconsidering.”

“If it helps sway your decision, I’d definitely appreciate seeing you naked again.”

“And how would you show your gratitude?”

“Mm. At least three times, and maybe twice more with the strap if you’re into toys.”

God.

“Okay. Alright. Well, lucky for you, I’m kind of dying for you to fuck me so I guess that clinches it.”

It’s about as far from playing it cool as could be, but Clarke doesn’t care. The truth is she’s soaked, aching for relief, and she isn’t picky about whichever method Lexa might use to get her off, as long as it happens soon.

Eyes flashing dark, Lexa cups a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth to hers. Clarke reacts without thought, already opening up to accept the slide of Lexa’s tongue before her brain catches up and she remembers they’re not alone.

Cracking an eye open, she’s relieved to see nobody on the other boat appears to be paying them any attention. She attempts to evade the next kiss, only for Lexa to pursue it more doggedly, and that makes Clarke smile even as she lays a palm on Lexa’s chest to gently hold off her advance. The mini pout on Lexa’s face when they pull apart is a treat, and Clarke can’t conceal her enjoyment of it. Unable to resist the lure, she steals one final peck.

For a few indulgent seconds, she luxuriates in the softness of Lexa’s full bottom lip, until it dawns on her that an hour-long return journey stands between them and more orgasms, and she sighs.

“Why isn’t teleportation a real thing yet? Having to wait a full 60 minutes to get you under me is so unfair.”

Slowly, with the greatest delicacy and patience, Lexa brushes their noses together, one side then the other, nudging the tip before she withdraws. Despite the sun beating down on her back, it gives Clarke chills, shivers running down her neck and arms. For the duration she just holds still and melts while her stomach flips, and the butterflies that had lain dormant return in full force.

When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the slight, sloping smile on Lexa’s lips and her stomach does another somersault.

“I’m starting to think you’re only interested in me for sex,” Lexa says lightly.

Clarke lets out a small scoff. “You’re the one with a one-track mind. I was minding my own business, soaking up the rays, until you pounced.”

“Can you blame me?”

Lexa’s heated stare roves over several inches of cleavage before she forcibly drags her eyes back up.

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” She draws that plush bottom lip, still slightly swollen and red from kissing, between her teeth. “I dropped a tray of drinks at work yesterday because I had a flashback to you sitting on my face. Anya yelled at me and I didn’t even give a fuck that she deducted it from my tips.”

Heat rises in Clarke’s cheeks, triggered by her own vivid recollection of events. She won’t forget it in a hurry and she’s flattered to hear it was just as memorable for Lexa too. But also, it feels like a point of pride that she made Lexa’s cool girl veneer slip, even if she wasn’t there to witness it in person.

“Now I feel partly responsible for this tragic loss of earnings and broken glassware.”

“I said you were trouble.”

They inch closer, eyes glued to lips, their breath hot on one another’s faces.

“How can I make it up to you?” Clarke asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Her mind can’t help going to the aforementioned strap.

All smiles, they surrender to the magnetic pull. The world around them recedes. There’s only Lexa’s mouth on hers, soft yet urgent, and the tingles that erupt all over, Clarke’s pulse accelerating when long fingers thread into her hair again.

And it’s sublime.

Close to perfection.

She can almost hear the swell of imaginary violins soundtracking the moment—until a smattering of shrill wolf whistles pierces through the bliss.

The kiss breaks on a huff of shared, quiet laughter. Clarke’s eyes slide across to the jetty, where they’re being enthusiastically toasted by their neighbours. She groans and drops her forehead to Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the saltwater, sun-warmed scent of her before showing her face again.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Clarke says.

The long, lidded look Lexa favours her with, eyes shaded darker by desire and the hint of some deeper emotion that feels altogether too big, too soon to acknowledge, has Clarke battling the urge to launch herself at Lexa’s lips again, regardless of the unwanted spectators nearby.

“Keep that up, Lex, and they might really have something to holler about—and possibly livestream on the internet.”

A faint smile reappears. “What am I doing, Clarke?”

“Looking. Giving me those” - she gestures vaguely - “eyes.”

It loosens a small laugh. Lexa lowers her gaze and Clarke regrets mentioning it now, because it feels like the sun momentarily disappearing behind the clouds when Lexa’s thrilling, singular focus isn’t on her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Lexa looks up, and the restored eye contact makes Clarke’s blood pump faster.

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Maybe I like it more than I should, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Pragmatic; matter-of-fact. A reality check and a casual reminder they both need to hear before they throw themselves headlong into… whatever this thing is between them: it has an expiration date.

In the lull, Lexa scans every millimetre of Clarke’s face and she hopes the nerves don’t show through the front she’s putting on.

After a moment, the corner of Lexa’s mouth lifts into a smirk, but it seems slightly forced. Her eyes are more pebbly, neutral grey than green. “Then let’s make sure you have good memories to take home with you.”

#vacation au #cool for the summer #clexa fic #my fic

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jjarc4909 · 2 months ago

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Y/PROJECT BAGS

PARIS BEST SHOULDER BAG in CRACKLED WHITE MAXI WIRE CABAS BAG in ICE BLUE PARIS BEST TOTE BAG in DUSTY BEIGE PARIS BEST SHOULDER BAG in SILVER MINI WIRE BAG in BLACK MAXI WIRE CABAS BAG in BLACK MAXI WIRE CABAS BAG in DUSTY BEIGE WIRE CABAS BAG in LEATHER BLACK

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musubi-sama · 10 months ago

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“Classmates” Chapter 2

New town, new grad school, new friends, and your first time with a woman. A prequel to the previous chapter.

AN: I initially planned on a one shot, then just two chapters (this one and one more set the day before Ch 1), and now I have like an entire “plot” or at least a series of events over a few years of this couple’s life. It won’t be too deep or angsty, just fun and fluff.

Previous chapter | Next chapter

WC: 4.5k

Grad school was always a dream of yours. Getting in felt like a breeze. You found an adviser easily, the connections you had made in undergrad proved key. Same for the preparations to your initial proposal and interviews. You applied for several schools and programs, but you made it to your top choice.

That’s not to say you didn’t work hard; college wasn’t easy. But you thanked your lucky stars that one of your professors took you under their wing and offered to walk you through the process and be your key reference.

Today is orientation for your new lab. Meeting your adviser for the first time since spring of undergrad Senior year. You were joined by two new members and five returning students. You were the second to arrive, your other first-year lab mate immediately walking over to you, shaking your hand, and introducing themselves. You carry on friendly banter until you see another person walk in the door.

Shoko was wearing a simple blue cotton blouse, green tapered slacks, and classic black pumps. She carried a simple black leather tote on her shoulder. Her chestnut brown hair reached just past her shoulders, bangs swept across her forehead. She had simple makeup highlighting her face and a small freckle below her right eye.

But none of that really registered with you as the first thing you noticed was how her eyes looked directly into you, with a soft smile, and your heart skipped a beat while your stomach did somersaults. “Hey, calm down” you urge your brain.

She steps across the room to greet you. Because while normally you would at least try to take a few steps forward to meet a person halfway, your legs seem to have turned to jell o and your feet to concrete. You raise your arm in what feels like slow-motion as you extend a weak hand to Shoko and cough out a very weak “H-hi. It’s nice to me-eet you.”

“Aren’t you cute. Shoko Ieri. You must be new to town, haven’t seen you around before. At least, not in undergrad.”

“Oh, uh, no. I just arrived two days ago, I’m from the other side of the country, originally.”

And at that moment another few people entered them along with your adviser leaving your conversation clipped.

You spent the rest of the mixer mingling with your colleagues and getting to know them. By the end, you joined the lab’s Line chat group (which gives you access to Shoko’s contact. Not that you were going to send her any messages, you’re too paralyzed on what to say.)

As people started to leave, one of the PhD candidates invited everyone to a bar nearby for a post-gathering gathering. You manage to snag a seat next to Shoko who gives you a soft touch on your arm as you sit down. Goosebumps follow the touch and again your brain short circuits.

You spend the next two hours drinking cheap beer and easing out of your shell. Conversation flows particularly easily between the two of you as you share where you’re from and why you chose this university.

As people start to leave, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. When you return, you notice Shoko is missing and you feel a pang in your gut. You gather your bag to leave, giving those remaining a polite wave as you tell them you are looking forward to working with them starting next week.

As you exit, you see Shoko standing off to the side of the entrance smoking a cigarette, “Hi. Again.”

“Hi. Are you on your way out?” she pulls the cigarette away from her soft lips, blowing the smoke up and away from you.

“Yeah. Still not used to the time zone yet. See you on Monday!” you give a quick wave as you start walking down the street. You decide to walk the 30 minute trip home to clear your head.

After your first month of classes, you installed a few dating apps. When deciding on what types of potential partners you’d like to see, your finger hovers over the “gender” selections. You hesitate and wonder if you really are into women as a potential partner or are you just curious about what it’d be like in bed? You chicken out and choose “Male/AMAB”, sighing at your lack of confidence.

Once you’ve set up your profile, the app’s algorithm starts churning and you’re presented with options. You spend an hour swiping left on most profiles, although you find a few interesting potentials. You make a few matches, start chatting with one person you’re particularly interested in, and ultimately set up a coffee date.

During all of this, you’ve become friends with Shoko and she offers to sit across the coffee shop and keep an eye on things, to rescue you if it goes poorly. Fortunately it goes well, or at least, well enough that you agree to see him the following weekend for dinner. You give a quick wave as you leave, missing the small frown on her face.

It’s been six months and you’ve settled into a routine of research, classes, studying, seeing your boyfriend (typically just dinner at home and staying the night) a few days a week, and squeezing in coffee and dinner/TV/movies at Shoko’s. It’s a busy schedule, but you’ve managed to make things work.

As you’re approaching Spring Break, your adviser reminds you that there is no work expected to be done or deadlines immediately upon returning to classes. It’s a small gift for the first-year researchers. So to celebrate, one of your lab mates suggests a trip to the local bar to kick off a week of no academic responsibilities.

You send a text off to your boyfriend with the details. Agreeing to meet you at the bar since you were coming from two different directions, you lucked out and both arrived at the same time.

“Um, so, can we talk?” your boyfriend says as he approaches. You gulp at the uncomfortable and familiar line.

“Heyyyyy you made it!” one of your lab mates shouts as you enter the izakaya and approach the table. About two thirds of the lab is present, including Shoko. You light up seeing her as she takes a sip from her beer. You walk around the table and sit down with her. Shoko lifts an eyebrow and gives you a soft smile, “Glad you could make it, dear.”

The small pet name made your heart skip a beat. You were feeling a bit down because your boyfriend chose just before entering the izakaya today as the “perfect” moment to break up with you. The feelings were mutual, you weren’t a well-matched pair, but he was fine enough in bed, unoffensive, and was in the early stages of a good career. A smart, conservative choice for your future. But he was right, it just wasn’t going to work out.

“I realllllly need a giant beer.” you lean your head on Shoko’s shoulder and then quickly sit up. “Excuse me!” you shout as you try to flag down a waiter to take your order, placing your head back on her shoulder. Once the drink arrives, you lift your head off Shoko’s shoulder and take an impressively large swig.

“Let me guess…” Shoko trails off as she waits to see if you confirm her unspoken suspicions.

“I mean, the feelings are slightly mutual at least?” you take another large sip.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“You’re right. But I don’t like this feeling.” Gulp.

“I’m not going to tell you there’s some perfect husband-material guy that is sitting at this table, or will walk in the door here right now. But I will tell you that I am here for you as your friend. A shoulder to cry on, to vent at, and/or let out your frustrations and anger on. Plus I can ply you with beer.”— Shoko winks— “Anyways, the tab is being covered by Mei Mei tonight.” Shoko knocks her glass with yours and you both take a sip. She keeps looking down, finally eeking out a small smile from you.

You start to perk up on your second drink, and are feeling confident and invulnerable halfway into your third beer.

Making easy conversation with your colleagues through the evening, you kept stealing glances and soft touches on your arm and your back from Shoko. Each time your stomach did somersaults and your brain floated through the clouds. No, that had to be the beer.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, walking with a unique interpretation of steadiness. Upon returning, you sat down with all the grace of toddler.

“Let’s head out, yeah?” Shoko rests her hand on top of yours, giving your shoulder a nudge.

“Mmmm yeah. I want to just take a hot bath and collapse into bed.”

You start to drag yourself up and gather your belongings. Once outside, Shoko links her arm with yours as you both start walking in the direction of both apartments. The cool air helping you sober up. After a few blocks of comfortable silence…

“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? I’ve got wine.” Shoko reaches her free arm around to fully embrace your arm linked with hers.

“Oh. Are…you sure?” You lift your head up off her shoulder and give her a inquisitive look. Crashing on her couch isn’t unusual; but as a result of your inebriation, you miss a subtle nudge and squeeze of your arm when you perked up.

Shoko just gives you a smile and she leads you down a side street and you make it to her apartment. You knock your shoes off and fall onto the couch as Shoko heads off to the kitchen. She rustles through the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a pair of wine glasses, and a wine key.

“Becoming one with the couch, I like it” Shoko joins you on the couch, sitting the items on the table, beginning to open the bottle.

“Mmmmm my favorite.” You motion towards the bottle as Shoko pulls the cork out with a satisfying ‘pop.’

“Always for you, my dear.” she starts to pour a heavy pour for both of you. You take the offered glass and clink with a polite cheers. Taking a sip, you savor the taste while your eyes linger on Shoko’s neck as she leans back and takes a slow sip and swallow.

Shoko reaches for her phone to turn on some music. Lyrics you’ve never heard start playing, but you start to nod your head to the beats.

“So, tell me what happened tonight.” Shoko turns to look at you directly, one leg hanging off the couch, the other folded neatly under her. She puts a hand on your knee, and you turn to mirror her body.

“I don’t know why he picked now? I thought things were going so well. I mean, he wasn’t like amazing, but it was comfortable,” you take another sip. “Whatever. Honestly, it was too hard juggling everything.” you take another sip and finish off your glass.

Feeling lightheaded from the wine, you lean back against the arm of the couch. Shoko leans over and takes your glass and sets it on the table with hers. Returning to the couch, she places her hands on either side of your shoulders, leaning against the couch arm, knees next to your thighs, caging you in. You look up at her, spit catching in your throat as your stomach turns flips and releases a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Your brain short circuits when a pair of soft lips ghost against your own. They come back around, this time making full contact as they press against yours. You release a small moan as you drink in the aroma of the tannins on her lips. The softness yet gentle pressure of Shoko’s lips on yours sends a shock through your spine.

“May I?” she pulls away, looking at you with a hooded gaze. You just nod slowly as you bring your arms up to her waist, Shoko leaning in for a second kiss. This time with more urgency, sliding her tongue along your lips, a silent request for entry to your mouth. You open slightly and she presses her tongue in through the gap.

Gripping her waist more, you pull Shoko into you as you give yourself into the embrace. Shifting her weight, Shoko sits on your thighs and her hands slide to cup your chin as she pulls your face closer, tongue still mapping your mouth.

“What-“ you break away from the kiss momentarily. “I don’t-um…” you trail off.

Shoko slides one hand from your chin and laces with your hand at her side.

“Do you trust me?” Shoko says while squeezing your hand. Her eyes flicker between your eyes, your lips, and further down. You nod your head. Your brain is swimming in lingering beer, some wine, and the heavy lust clouds hovering around the two of you, “Then please just relax and lay back.”

You hum in acknowledgment as Shoko leans in and her free hand slides down your neck and cups your breast. At the same time, her lips begin to kiss down the column of your neck, sending shocks of pleasure down your spine. You arch your back at the sensations. Starting to feel tension in your cunt building from the tension.

Shoko kneads your breast for a moment before reaching down to the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. She also makes quick work of your bra.

Leaning back down, she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking lightly as her hand cups your breast at the base. She repeats with your other nipple, softly kissing a line between them as she moves over. A soft moan escapes your lips as you acquiesce to the touch.

You slide your hands up from Shoko’s waist along her sides and gingerly caress her covered tits, giving them a light squeeze. You feel a vibration at one of your nipples as Shoko releases a light chuckle and then moans into you. This jolt of pleasure joins the others zipping right down your spine into your core. Feeling your arousal continue to leak out, creating a pool in your panties.

You grind your hips to try and get some semblance of relief, but to no avail. Noticing your squirming, Shoko sits up, releasing your nipple with a light ‘pop’ and starts to loosen your pants.

“Is this okay?” she whispers as she works the button open and lowers the zipper.

“Please…” you whine.

Squeezing your thighs together in another attempt to relieve the building pressure. The fog is only building around you, threatening to suffocate your brain. You feel woozy, but in a wholly thrilling way. This is new, this is exciting, this is uncharted territory. You’ve wanted this, but you could never put the thoughts together to fully realize it.

Shoko lifts off of you to fully remove your pants and panties, leaving you fully exposed. “Come here” Shoko stands up and extends her arm to you. You grab it and stand up. She pulls you into her, wrapping her arms around you as your lips crash together, drinking in the lust. Shoko leads you to her bedroom in the back of her apartment. Not a molecule in your body wasn’t pushing you forward, craving more. More touch, more kissing, more unknown.

You fall backwards onto the plush duvet. The head of the bed covered in myriad pillows, both practical and decorative, you slide back so you are sinking into the soft pillows, somewhat propped up.

“Don’t blink,” Shoko bites her lip as she reaches for the hem of her shirt, rucking it up from her waist letting it pop over the swell of her chest, tossing it to the side.

Then her pants, slowly unbuttoning them and shaking her hips back and forth as she pushes them down and steps out.

Next, she turns around so you can see her plump ass split and wrapped by a simple blue lacy thong. She looks over her shoulder as she unclasps her bra and slides the straps off her shoulders. She uses one hand to grasp the side of the bra and drops the other arm to her side as she tosses it to the foot of the bed near you.

And finally, she slips her thumbs into the sides of her thong and bends over, giving you a stunning display of her ass as she pulls off her thong. The middle of it sticking momentarily in her cunt as her own arousal created a sticky mess. She tosses it right next to your head, draped over the headboard.

Watching the show unfold in front of you, you can’t help but let a hand drift between your legs, dipping into your trimmed pussy, circling your aching clit. You let out a moan when Shoko presents her ass to you and gasp when the final article of clothing lands next to you. Looking up, you see Shoko kneeling on the bed at your feet, slowly climbing up your legs.

Shoko grabs hold of your wrist and removes it from your core, holding your wet fingers up to her mouth. Sticking out her tongue, she languishes over your fingers, cleaning off every bit of your arousal.

“Mmmm, sweet,” she places your wet hand on her breast as she drags a finger along your folds. You reactively squeeze, moving your hand to roll her nipple in your grasp.

With a smirk, Shoko slowly inserts her middle finger into your sopping wet cunt. At the same time, she uses her thumb to rub your clit gently. Not wanting to overwhelm you in what is clearly your first time with a woman, Shoko gently slides her finger in and out while circling your aching bud.

Your hand having abandoned it’s duties to falling beside you, you gasp at the pleasure. The knowing sensation of someone who is treating your body with measured precision. Reflecting the same pleasure she’d used her entire adult life on herself. You let yourself be consumed by the feelings, brain stopping all other functions. Giving in to the lust, drowning in the touch.

“Shoooookooooo oh god please,” you rattle off nonsensical exclamations as the speed picks up. Shoko lays down next to you on her side. She drapes one leg across yours, lightly grinding her cunt against your thigh. Shoko adds a second finger to the pistoning.

Pressing needy kisses into the side of your neck, you turn your head to the side to capture her lips on yours. The kiss is rough, it’s full of tongue and movement. You continue to grind against Shoko’s hand as you near your high. Whimpering into the continued embrace, your free hand shoots up to your hair.

“Ah! Fuck, please! I can’t—“ You throw your head back as you orgasm hard into Shoko’s hand. Letting out a whimper that sounds more like a shout, you ride your high with clouded vision. Your hand flies from your hair to Shoko’s hand, clasping it tight as you jut your hips erratically.

Breathing heavily, you finally turn your head to the side and Shoko kisses the corner of your mouth, and then kisses away the tears leaking from your eyes. Slowly removing her hand from your sensitive core, Shoko brings her hand up to lick off your orgasm.

Coming down from your high, you push Shoko’s leg off of you and roll her onto her back. Moving yourself to between her legs, you tentatively reach your hand down to cup her bare folds. You gasp at the wholly familiar, yet new feeling on your hand.

Going back for a second touch, Shoko leans up on her elbows, “Baby, please don’t be shy.”

You pause for a moment and then refocus your attention on Shoko’s clit, gently rolling it between your fingers. Shoko arches her back at the sensation, pussy glistening and leaking.

You are encouraged by her reaction, so you take your other hand and spread her pussy open and inserting a finger gingerly. Sliding in, you feel a tingle down your spine with another sense of familiarity. You add in a second finger and Shoko begins to roll her hips against your ministrations.

Feeling more confident, you start to slide your fingers in and out of Shoko’s tight pussy. Trying to mimic the motions you’ve used on yourself and reading her face to draw out the best reactions, you adjust the speed and angle of your fingers until just right.

The room is filled with heavy panting, whimpers, needy whines, and the thick scent of arousal. You’re no longer feeling the influence of alcohol on your brain, but instead getting drunk on lust. You lean down to press a messy kiss on Shoko’s neck as she arches her back and releases a loud shout while you feel her orgasm pulse around your fingers and leak around you.

After a few heady moments, you pull your hand out, spreading your fingers and see the wet strings of her sticky arousal coating your fingers and dripping into your palm. Taking your turn to clean up your hands, you savor the sweet and tangy essence, letting out a moan as you swallow.

Shoko reaches up to you, cupping the nape of your neck, pulling you into her in a warm, tight embrace.

“First time, eh?”

Your words lost in your throat, you just nod.

“I’ve been waiting for the right moment since the day I met you.”

You lift yourself up and look straight into her eyes, your own expression in disbelief, “Really?”

“Mmm.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t really know what to do, but I really did love it. I-I think I want—” You pause to bury your head in your hands. Shoko gently grabs your hands so she can see you. You sit back on your heels and she sits up and gently wraps her legs around you.

“Don’t, no, don’t apologize. There isn’t an instruction manual attached to everyone’s genitalia, and,” she pauses to kiss your neck, “we don’t need to figure out what we are or what this was or anything in this moment. Let’s go take a bath, yeah?”

“Oka-y. Okay. Yeah. That’ll be nice,” you start to get off the bed but you wobble a little as you stand up.

“My little Bambi…” Shoko stands up and links her arm with yours as she leads you to the bathroom.

She starts the water in the over-sized tub and then starts rustling through the cabinets for towels, soap, and bubbles. You sit down on the lid of the toilet, bringing your feet and knees up.

“Bubbles?” she asks you.

“Bubbles,” you giggle back at her as she adds a bubble bar to the bath. You watch it start to cover the top of the water making it more opaque as the tub fills up.

Shoko disappears out the door and returns with a tray she fits across the tub, the wine bottle, and two wine glasses refilled.

“Hmm I think that’s enough water,” Shoko turns off the tap and she motions for you to take her hand. She steps in ahead of you and holds your hand for balance as you dip in, giving a soft moan to the searing warmth of the water.

Siting at opposite ends facing each other, you take a soapy hand to reach out for a glass and again share a gentle clink and take a sip. You both settle into a comfortable silence, still coming down from your respective highs. Your brain still in an unfocused fog, you’re just enjoying the moment to relax. Legs twisted around each other as you face Shoko in the peaks and valleys of bubbles.

Enjoying the view, seeing the swell of her breasts hovering in the edge of the bubbles and water. Shoko catches your gaze and returns the look, taking in your exposed skin.

“Can we do this again?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

“A bath?”

“No. I mean, before that,” you start to blush, hoping it’s just from the wine and the hot water.

“Oh.” Shoko smirks, “I thought you’d be too tired tonight, but, sure.”

“I just meant like tomorrow or the next day or…” you trail off, blush deepening and spreading down to your exposed décolletage.

“You’re fun to mess with. I’d like to do it again, I’m sure we can find more time in the future.”

You hum in agreement and take a sip of your wine. You feel an overwhelming sense of relief that you felt were mutual. Back in undergrad, you were never sure if it was just a garden-variety crush on a celebrity (doesn’t everyone find them attractive?) or that your brain actually had an attraction to women and men.

You’ve never come out to your family or admitted any of this to them, never really receiving the emotional support you’ve wanted. But maybe Shoko could answer your questions once your brain solidified again.

But, you knew one thing. You were addicted. Your lust-drunk brain focused on the sensations from tonight and etched them into your memory. Maybe next time you’ll get that sweet nectar on your tongue right at the source. Maybe next time you’ll get smothered by her sitting on your face. Maybe next time you’d wrap your hands in her hair and—

You snap out of your daydream when you hear the tap of glass as Shoko pours more wine into her glass.

“Um, what are your plans for spring break?” you try to convincingly ask so as to divert your brain off it’s horny line of thoughts.

“Didn’t have any. Probably just watch trashy movies, drink wine, and pray my friends are charged up,” she knocks her leg into yours on the last statement.

“Huh?” you are caught off-guard at the insinuation of the likelihood of toys to play with. Maybe next time…?

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have any plans, didn’t want to go anywhere this year. Besides, I need to start prepping my med school applications. What about you? Going home?” Shoko continues sipping her wine.

“No, no plans. Going home is too much of a hassle and there isn’t much for me there anyways. I planned to just sleep and become one with my couch.”

“Stay here, with me. I’ve got a big couch, and I think it’s missing an impression of you sunken into it.”

You choke on your wine, but Shoko just chuckles and finishes her glass. She offers to refill as she empties the bottle. You continue to soak and enjoy each others’ company until the bubbles have all popped and the wine is all gone.

Getting out, you towel off and dig through Shoko’s skin care shelf to apply a few layers of product. She offers you a spare (new) toothbrush and you put on a borrowed over-sized t shirt.

Climbing into bed, you feel uncomfortable and unsure with just laying there until Shoko wraps an arm around you and nuzzles her head into your neck with a nip from her teeth. You have a feeling you won’t be going to sleep just yet.

#jen の stories #jjk smut #shoko x reader #shoko ieri #shoko smut #bisexual #“classmates”

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