#but it’s too hot for a tux

[shaun-evans-fanblog]

[too-antigonish]

I've been reliably informed that it's too hot today to put Morse into a tux.

Perhaps a t-shirt instead?

[chisungie]

.

[jackhues]

...but it's something stronger | oscar piastri

note: here's part 3 <3 this is the FINAL part so i hope you all enjoy it! reminder to read part one and two linked below BEFORE this so you understand

one || two

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader, logan x best friend!reader, one sided!enemies to lovers

faceclaim: various, from pinterest

youruser & oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, mclaren & others

youruser: your favs are back in vegas !!

user: stop the second pic

landonorris: again. photo creds? -> youruser: again. no.

landonorris: party in logan's room- be there by 9 -> youruser: what if i'm asleep at 9? -> landonorris: oscar get off of y/n's account -> logansargeant: well... i guess i'm hosting -> user: stop lando's friends with logan?? ahh i love this

user: awww i love them

user: girlie's trying too hard

user: nice to see she's finally coming to a race smh -> user: what is with y'all? a wag doesn't have a job- she's leeching off the man's money. a wag has a job and responsibilities and can't make it to a lot of races- she's unsupportive. like make up your mind gd

logansargeant: i have to see y'all being cute in person AND on my feed 😒😒 -> youruser: your fault -> oscarpiastri: you chose this life

y/bffsuser: imy bby <3 -> youruser: imym <33

--

Y/N WALKED HAND IN HAND WITH OSCAR, following the hotel signs to Logan's room. She was happier than she'd been in quite a while. She'd joined Oscar in Australia, where she met his family, getting along surprisingly well with them. They were great people, which made it really easy for her.

She turned the corner, seeing Lando and Logan standing outside of their room.

"Finally," Lando grinned, seeing them.

"It's 8:45," Oscar told him. "We're early, if anything."

"Why are you guys outside?" Y/N asked.

"We're going to this bar that Lando found last year during the Grand Prix," Logan explained. "He said they've got hot bartenders."

"I see why you two would be down for that," Oscar rolled his eyes.

"Good answer," Y/N grinned. She turned back to the other two, "Alright then, let's get drunk."

"Not too drunk," Oscar corrected. "I want to be in bed by midnight."

"What are you, Cinderella?" Y/N asked. "Oscar, you're in Vegas once a year. Enjoy it."

"I'd like to enjoy it in bed," he muttered. "Also, you're wearing insanely high heels. You're going to be begging me to take your shoes in like an hour."

"Okay fine," Y/N agreed. "Not too many drinks, and in bed by twelve. We can manage it, no problemo."

--

--

Y/N SMILED AT THE SIGHT OF OSCAR IN BED next to her, sleeping soundly. A slip of sunlight streamed through the curtains, covering him in a golden light. His hair was splayed over his forehead in an unruly manner, beckoning Y/N's hand closer.

She twirled one of the strands around her finger, taking a moment to admire him. He looked beautiful, even more every time she looked at him. She was almost blinded by how pretty she was.

It took a minute for her brain to catch up and realize his beauty wasn't blinding her, it was the sunlight glinting off the rock on her finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" she sat up, eye on the ring and trying to figure how the hell it got there.

Next to her, Oscar groaned.

"Shhhhhhh," he muttered. "My head hurts."

So did Y/N's. In fact, it was beginning to spin a little. Or maybe that was the room?

She turned back to Oscar, hoping to clear up why the fuck there was a hugeass engagement ring on her finger, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to wake up.

So she stole his blanket.

"Y/N!" Oscar groaned. "Give me my blanket! And turn the light off."

"Oscar, that's the sun," she told him. "Also, why are you in a cheap looking tux?"

"In a...?" He opened his eyes, surprised at the fact that he was actually wearing a tux — or at least parts of one. What he had on wasn't really nice, probably rented. Or secondhand bought? He looked back up at Y/N, tilting his head, "Uh... why are you in a wedding dress?"

"Huh?" Y/N looked down at her clothes, repressing the urge to scream at what she was wearing. It was a white minidress, not near anything she had planned to wear at her own wedding one day. "This isn't... it's not a wedding dress. It's a white mini dress."

"The veil falling out of your hair says otherwise," Oscar noted.

"The veil—" she reached up, pulling out what was indeed a veil. "Oh my God, I'm in a wedding dress. And I have an engagement ring on my finger. And you're in a tux. What the fuck happened?"

"Wait, you— you have an engagement ring... what?" Oscar sat up, his gaze finally falling on the ring she wore.

"Oh crap, I don't even know who it belongs to," she muttered in horror. "Where the hell am I supposed to return this? It must've cost a fortune..." she trailed off, eyes meeting Oscar's. Memories of the night before were coming back to her, or at least some of them were. "Oh my God, the Bahamas. You said you were going to propose then... but I— I was freaking out because there was no ring at the ceremony and you pulled this out."

"I was possibly going to propose at the Bahamas," he corrected. "I had it planned out, but just in case, I also had something for after the season."

"Can't say that wouldn't be a fucking dream," she shrugged.

"So you'd have said yes?" Oscar's eyes widened. "If I asked, I mean?"

"Oscar, I'm like 99% sure I married you while I was drunk out of my mind because of how much I love you," Y/N responded honestly. "I'd have said yes without a second thought."

"Well it's nice to know your response while sober," Oscar responded. "But... did we actually get married?"

"I... oh, I remember Logan began crying because—"

"Because you asked him to be your maid of honour," Oscar remembered. "And Lando appointed himself as my best man."

"And Elvis was standing funny while he was marrying us, and I kept trying to copy his stance, but it made my feet hurt," Y/N continued. "And... and you took my shoes off during the vows and said in your vow that you'd always carry my shoes after I did dumb things like try to copy Elvis."

"And in your vow you said you'll never let my life get boring, no matter how early I wanted to sleep," Oscar added. "You said... you said that you're so in love with me that you'd trust me with your heart."

"And that's when Lando started sobbing," Y/N remembered.

"No, he started crying after I took your shoe off," Oscar furrowed his brows.

"Oh my God, was Elvis crying at our wedding?"

"I gave him the tux jacket to wipe his eyes," Oscar remembered. "And he never gave it back."

"Oh yeah, he stalled the 'you may kiss the bride' part so much, I said it myself," Y/N muttered.

"Wait, so if we're married... where's the marriage certificate?"

AN HOUR LATER, the (probably) newlyweds had turned the room upside down, but still had no sign of the marriage certificate.

"Maybe we didn't actually get married?" Oscar wondered. "Like it was a faux?"

"Does that mean you're still proposing in the Bahamas?"

Before Oscar could answer, a knock sounded on the door, causing the two of them to freeze in their spots. The two of them looked at each other in their wedding clothes, then to the room, with clothes and belongings littered all around.

"Don't say a word," Oscar whispered. "They'll go away."

The two of them stayed silent and frozen for a while longer, but the knocking didn't stop.

"Guys, it's me and Lando," Logan said on the other side of the door. "Open up. We have your marriage certificate."

At that, Oscar ran to the door, dragging the two boys inside, before immediately shutting the door.

"What tornado came through here?" Lando asked, looking around.

"Tornado 'we were looking for our marriage certificate'," Y/N muttered, taking the certificate out of his hands. She read it three times, before silently passing it along to Oscar.

"Wow," he muttered, silently realizing the two of them were officially married.

"Congratulations," Lando grinned, pulling Y/N, Oscar, and Logan in for a group hug. "Oh, I'm so happy. When can I expect to be named the godfather?"

Oscar whipped his head to Y/N, eyes wide, "Was that why we got married? Was it a shotgun Vegas wedding?"

"Oscar, honey, if I was pregnant, I wouldn't have been drinking," she reminded him. "I'm not pregnant, okay? And Lando, quit scaring him like that. I think the wedding is more than enough for us to digest."

"Wait, you guys don't remember the wedding?" Logan looked between Y/N and Oscar.

"We do, but like random parts of it," Y/N explained. "Like I remember most of the ceremony, but why the fuck did we decide to get married?"

"How did the topic even come up?" Oscar added.

"Well, it all started after Y/N downed a shot without flinching," Lando reminded them. "And Oscar fell in love for the millionth time right then and there. Said he could marry her. A couple drinks later, you lightweights were out of it, and Oscar started telling everyone he was going to marry Y/N. Some guy at the bar recommended an Elvis guy, and Y/N was so excited to be married by Elvis that she agreed right then. And then you guys started going looking for 'something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue'."

"That's why I kept the heels on even though my feet were killing," Y/N muttered. "They were my something old."

"The ring was something new," Oscar added.

"What was something borrowed and something blue?" Y/N asked.

"Elvis' jacket," Logan supplied.

"What?"

"Elvis gave you his jacket because you said it'd be nice with the blue and borrowed. You're wearing his jacket in a lot of your wedding pictures," he explained.

"I'm sorry, wedding pictures?" Oscar asked. "Where the fuck did we find a photographer?"

"We're the photographers," Lando explained. "You sent us to buy some cameras while you guys did the something old and new. Logan got the polaroid, and I found a cute digital camera."

"At least you guys have the photos if not the memories," Logan grinned.

--

--

--

--

youruser & oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, mclaren & others

youruser: followed the queen of genovia's advice and ended up married to man who made my foot pop

oscarpiastri: i love you forever -> youruser: and ever and ever and ever and ever

oscarpiastri: looking beautiful as always mrs. piastri -> youruser: why thank you mr. piastri. you look lovely as well

user: THEY'RE MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!

user: MOM AND DAD MOM AND DAD

user: yeah they're a pr relationship 🙄

logansargeant: i love you guys 🤍 -> oscarpiastri: are you still drunk? -> logansargeant: a little. i might cry again -> youruser: check in on hungover lando, he'll make you laugh -> user: LANDO AND LOGAN AT THE Y/NOSCAR WEDDING THIS IS NOT A DRILLLL

landonorris: FINALLY!!! -> user: wdym finally?? they met like 7 months ago this comment thread has been deleted

landonorris: guys it's too early to be this cute, but i love you so i'll let it pass

mclaren: congratulations y/n and oscar!!!

user: logan and lando moh/best man ?? -> youruser: yeah they were -> user: I'M DEAD NO FUCKING WAYYY

user: they're married already?? this ain't lasting -> oscarpiastri: thanks for ur unwanted opinion

user: i love how down bad they are for each other -> user: nah fr tho

f1: congratulations guys!!

charles_leclerc: congratulations! welcome to the family y/n!

user: princess diaries reference i love that movie -> oscarpiastri: she made me watch it with her

user: guys... hear me out... what if they got married in vegas? -> user: homie those pics ain't vegas

yourmomsig: i love you guys i'm gonna cry again -> oscarpiastri: no don't cry mum -> user: MUM

--

--

--

YOUTUBE: WATCH - OSCAR PIASTRI POST QUALIFICATION INTERVIEW

INTERVIEWER: so first off oscar, congrats on the wedding

OSCAR: *smiles* thank you

I: we heard that the mrs. is actually here for the last race of the season, is that right? she had issues with her schedule, so you went for it all in her break, huh? vegas, a wedding, and now abu dhabi? in what, three weeks?

OP: yeah, she's here for this weekend. she was- well, she just partnered with another lawyer to actually open their law firm together, so she's actually going to have the rest of the year off, which we're both obviously excited about. but *laughs* i mean, once she said yes to marrying me, i didn't want to wait, you know? i'm just... you know, i'm really proud of her because everyone talks about the drivers and the media's always trying to diminish her, and the other partners' accomplishments, but it's absolutely insane all that she's done and all that she will do. it's great that i can stand next to her as her husband while she does all of it. i'm actually a little surprised that she even married me. marrying her's probably my biggest accomplishment.

--

A YEAR LATER

f1, mclaren & oscarpiastri

liked by y/npiastri, logansargeant, landonorris & others

f1: AND HE'S DONE IT! IN THE ENTERTAINMENT CAPITAL OF THE WORLD, OSCAR PIASTRI, HAS BECOME THE WORLD CHAMPION 🏆🎆🎊

user: stop he's so cute

user: i'm crying oscar's a championnnnn

user: did anyone else hear y/n scream while he was on the podium -> user: "that's my husband!" girlie put her whole chest in that

mclaren: OSCAR OUR GUYYY

y/npiastri: THAT'S MY HUSBANDDD -> oscarpiastri: THAT'S MY WIFEEE -> user: iconic

charles_leclerc: congratulations oscar!

maxverstappen1: congrats mate!

logansargeant: congratulations oscar! well deserved win! -> oscarpiastri: thanks mate -> user: GUYS LOOK LOSCAR CRUMBS -> user: nom nom nom

--

y/npiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, mclaren & others

y/npiastri: THAT'S MY HUSBANDDD HE'S THE WORLD CHAMPION RAHHHHHH 🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸

user: ain't he australian? -> y/npiastri: now he's american by association

oscarpiastri: THAT'S MY WIFEEEE SHE'S THE BEST HYPE WOMAN AND AN ABSOLUTE BOSS IN EVERYTHING -> y/npiastri: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH -> oscarpiastri: I LOVE YOU MORE -> y/npiastri: I LOVE YOU MORE THAN THAT -> oscarpiastri: I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE THAN THAT -> logansargeant: WHY ARE WE YELLING AT EACH OTHER?? -> landonorris: you're all sitting next to each other you realize that -> user: NOT A DRILL THE GREATEST GRID QUARTET IS TOGETHER IN VEGASSSS

y/bffsuser: RAHH 🇺🇸 REPRESENTTTT -> user: HE'S AUSTRALIAN 😭😭 -> y/npiastri: NOT ON MY INSTAGRAM PAGE TONIGHT 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

yourmomsig: congrats oscar 🤍 i'm so so proud of you! call me soon -> oscarpiastri: calling rn mum 🤍

user: stop the way he looks at her- i can't -> user: are you surprised? this the same man who said his biggest accomplishment is marrying her -> oscarpiastri: and it's still true!

--

oscarpiastri & y/npiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, f1 & others

oscarpiastri: maybe vegas is just lucky for us

tagged: y/npiastri

y/npiastri: i love you so much i'd marry you in vegas a million times -> oscarpiastri: i love you so much but please don't expect me to ever drink that much or stay up that late again

y/npiastri: GET READY LOSERSSS BABY PIASTRI ON THE WAYYYY -> y/npiastri: baby piastri's genes boutta clear all your try hard babies' genes -> user: honey you know you shouldn't drink while pregnant right? -> oscarpiastri: she's not drunk, she's just been like this the entire pregnancy -> y/npiastri: AND THERE'S STILL SIX MORE MONTHS TO GOOOOO

user: STFU THAT TWITTER USER WAS TELLING THE TRUTH??? -> user: OSCAR AND Y/N WERE THE ONES IN VEGAS?? I'M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND -> user: can't believe they kept the secret for that long loll -> user: lando almost slipped sm times 😭😭

user: okay but the bahamas wedding thingy afterwards was a smart decoy ngl -> logansargeant: thank you 😊 -> user: YOU KNEW??? -> y/npiastri: ofc he and lando knew, who else would be our moh/best man in vegas?

logansargeant: guys really? i just stopped crying -> landonorris: I HAVEN'T STOPPED YET -> user: stop i love them -> user: need them to be godparents frr -> y/npiastri: one for each twin ye -> user: TWIN????? -> y/npiastri: oops

f1: congrats y/n and oscar!

user: oscar a DILF now -> y/npiastri: homie i been knew. why y'all think i bagged him? -> user: i though he just had such a big crush on you, he didn't really realize you were the weird girl -> y/npiastri: why would you say that to a pregnant woman? -> user: ohmygosh, i'm so sorry! i really hope you're not crying- -> y/npiastri: nah idgaf it's just funny seeing ppl freak out -> user: GIRL YOU HAD ME STRESSED -> oscarpiastri: welcome to my life -> oscarpiastri: i love you wife 🩷 -> y/npiastri: nice save

--

--

THE END!!

i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! this is honestly one of my fav series, and don't forget to show some love and reblog if you enjoyed <3

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife , @urfavsgf , @mxdi0 , @lemon-lav , @lilipiggytails , @stinkyjax , @blckgrl-sunflower , @dreamsarebig , @k-pevensie28 , @themislovesf1 , @hellowgoodbye , @chezmardybum , @5sospenguinqueen , @stylestastic , @sie17136 , @2lsargeant , @softpiastri , @p1astrisgirl , @mavies-stuff , @littlemisssummer , @charlotte1697 , @styl1shl1v <33

[drabblesandsnippets]

Breathe

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “Really? Here?!” | [Someone Else’s House | Public Bathroom | Mile High Club] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) During a wedding reception, Bucky and his fiancée sneak off to have some fun.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Established relationship. Fluff. Wedding talk? Vague alluding to Bucky’s trauma/past. Bucky’s a switch? Pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart). Oral (both receiving)/swallowing. Fingering.

---------------------------

Bucky always looks good to her - whether he’s in jeans and a henley or nothing at all - but there’s something about seeing him dressed to the nines. The fitted tux, the styled hair, the neatly trimmed beard. She rarely gets to see him dressed up like this and she can’t keep her eyes off him, watching him from the across the room while he talks to their friends.

She’s still not entirely sure why they got roped into making an appearance at this wedding reception - none of them know the couple - but she’s not exactly questioning it at this specific moment, no matter how uncomfortable she feels in such a formal setting.

And while Bucky might feel just as out of place here as she does, it’s making her think about their own upcoming wedding. Their plans don’t include anything nearly as fancy as this black-tie event, but as she watches him readjust his cuffs, she’s starting to reconsider. 

She can’t help imagining all the things she’s going to let this man to do her on their wedding night and her inappropriate thoughts only intensify as her eyes drift from Bucky’s fingers to his mouth, watching him take a sip of his drink. Then the tip of his tongue licks the remaining drop of liquid off his lips and she’s flooded by images of their morning shower, heat immediately pooling between her thighs, making her wish it was time to go.

It’s been like this the past few weeks since Bucky proposed - even before that really, but they’ve been insatiable lately. Unable to keep their hands off each other, finding every excuse to cancel plans and stay home. It’s where they should be tonight, but they couldn’t get out of this. 

Just as a flush creeps up her chest, Bucky meets her gaze, the grin on his face making her feel like she can read her mind. With a quick glance at their friends, he takes his leave, his eyes not leaving hers again as makes his way back to their table, the look on his face not making it easy for her to think pure thoughts. 

They’ve only been apart for a couple minutes, but Bucky never needs an excuse to return to her, the magnetic pull to be as close to her as possible constantly driving him. And, as much as he wants to take her home right now, he can’t deny how much he’s enjoyed getting to show her off tonight. 

She may not feel like it, but she belongs here, the numerous eyes on her throughout the evening proving she fits right in. Her satin gown showing off her endless curves, the fabric dipping low enough to show just a hint of cleavage. 

The angle at which Bucky approaches the table gives him more than just a hint though, her seated position causing her breasts to almost spill out of her dress, immediately drawing his attention. And then she smiles that smile at him. The one that reminds him how lucky he is. 

Since the moment he met her, she’s brought nothing but sunshine and beauty to his life. Even during times like this - when he’s so out of his element, having to pretend to celebrate the nuptials of two people he doesn’t care about - she makes it all bearable.

His tux might feel too restricting, the bow tie secured around his neck making him feel like he can’t draw a deep breath, but it’s okay as long as he’s with her. As long as he can continue to look at her, feel her, breathe her in, he’s sure he can make it through the evening.

Bucky ignores the urge to reach up to pull at what essentially feels like a leash around his neck, and keeps his focus on his beautiful fiancee, once again overcome with the familiar need to be as close to her as possible. With his flirtatious smile growing, he sets his glass down on the table and offers out his hand to ask her, “May I have this dance?”

She’s never been much for dancing, but she can never resist Bucky, especially when he’s like this. Tonight’s been hard for him, but he still goes out of his way to be romantic, to try to make the evening about them, wanting her to feel like she belongs here. 

They’ve barely stepped foot on the dance floor before they’re in each others arms, both of them visibly relaxing the moment their bodies are touching. They allow themselves to get lost in the intimate moment, ignoring any responsibility they feel to socialize with the guests. They’d much rather socialize with each other anyway. 

After a tender kiss to her forehead, Bucky murmurs, “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” She didn’t have to come and he’s planning to show her how grateful he is when they get home tonight.

Her eyelashes flutter as she soaks in his affection and she gives him a warm smile, blaming the romantic atmosphere for her sappy reply of, “I’m always happy to be your plus one.”

The sound of his soft laughter makes her heart skip a beat, and her own laughter joins his when he tells her, “You're signing up for forever sweetheart, I’m going to hold you to that.”

“You should,” she grins, giving him a soft kiss, pulling away before he can deepen it. With a deliberate wiggle of her left ring finger, she continues, “There’s no getting rid of me now.”

The playfulness of Bucky’s smile fades slightly and his eyes darken, the look on his face causing her breath to quicken. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He closes the distance this time, his hand moving to the back of her neck to keep her against him as he kisses her, his tongue seeking entrance to taste her.

Despite being surrounded by hundreds of guests, most of which they don’t know, she has no desire to pull away and she grants him access, her lips parting at the first touch of his tongue He has a way of making her feel like they’re the only two people that exist, and soon she doesn’t care about anything except the feel of him against her, her skin growing warmer as Bucky’s hand slides lower, ghosting over the curve of her ass.

He’s too aware of their surroundings though, and as much as he’s enjoying showing his gorgeous fiancée off, he wants nothing more than to take her home and do unspeakable things to her. The thought has him kissing a trail along her jaw to whisper in her ear, “Surely it’s almost time to go.”

With her hands holding onto his shoulders, she gives him a reluctant shake of her head and lets out a slow breath, “We still have an hour.” They can’t leave until the newlyweds do - Bucky and a few of the other Avengers having agreed to be here to send the couple off in flourish with the other guests.

It’s like a bucket of water is thrown on him, his happy thoughts of their future fading into the frustrating memory that they’re here on business. That somehow the new couple’s donation to the city gained them a right to him.

He didn’t have to do this, but he had no reason to say no, and everyone else had already agreed, given how generous the couple will continue to be to numerous charities. All it’s costing Bucky is his time. And a little bit of his sanity.

The suffocating feeling starts to return and his right hand moves off her hip to fidget with his bow tie, a soft grimace appearing on his face as if it’s physically hurting him. There’s a reason he avoids wearing ties, and the fact that it wasn’t optional tonight makes it even worse.

“Baby,” she says softly, interrupting his thoughts with a gentle touch of her hand to stop him from making the tie any more crooked than it already is. He meets her eyes and just a simple look communicates so much, a reminder of her how hard tonight has been for him. She whispers her own reminder to him, gently telling him, “breathe,” as she adjusts the bow.

Bucky knows she means well, and admittedly, just her presence makes it easier for him to simply exist, but he’s not sure he’s going to make it another hour. “Kinda hard to do that with this damn thing around my neck,” he tells her with a slight shake of his head, but his tone remains gentle, a hint of vulnerability seeping out.

There’s no point in suggesting they cut out early - Bucky’s a man of his word and will stay until the end - so instead, with a slight tilt of her head, she offers, “Why don’t we take a walk?” They can kill some time before he needs to join everyone else for their last interaction of the night.  “I’m sure you already know the layout of this place.” 

Bucky laughs softly, appreciating her attempt to keep things light, and nods his head. “Course I do. You think I’m gonna take my woman somewhere without knowing all the exits and places to hide?” There’s not a single part of this manor that’s not etched into his mind. 

With just a bit of encouragement from her to use that to his advantage, he takes her hand in his and leads her away from the dancefloor, ignoring the curious looks from their friends. Bucky could be leading her anywhere, and she’d blindly follow, her trust in him unyielding. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel deserving of it, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he does. 

It doesn’t take him long to find their destination, Bucky leading her down a deserted hallway, passing just a couple of doors before he locates the one he’s looking for. As expected, the room is unlocked and the moment they’re in the unused dressing suite, his hand immediately reaches for his bow tie, not even giving her a chance to offer to help him.

After closing and locking the door behind them, she turns around to find him pulling at the offending silk around his collar, his growl of frustration meeting her ears as he inevitably makes the knot tighter. With a gentle touch of her hand, she stills his movements, and softly tells him, “Let me.”

He gives her an appreciative smile and uses the opportunity to touch her again, his hands seeking out her warmth through her dress. He feels compelled to minimize this, or offer up an explanation, but words aren’t needed here. She understands his aversion to ties - his aversion to anything that feels like a restraint. 

Well, other than the occasional moments Bucky allows her to be in control of his body. He never thought it’d be something he’d enjoy, but he’s been seeking out more of those moments with her lately. Damn, he needs to get her home.

With just a gentle pull of the ends of his bow tie, the first knot is released and Bucky gives her a smile that never fails to make her weak in the knees. The corner of her mouth ticks up into a grin of her own, her gaze drifting from his eyes, to his mouth, then back down to the bow-tie to finish helping him.

After hooking her finger underneath the remaining knot a quick tug leaves Bucky feeling like he can finally draw a deep breath again. He still can’t help but reach up to undo the top two buttons of his shirt, not missing how the quick work of his fingers makes her thoughts obviously stray to the same place his keeps drifting to.

He can’t help but lean close, a knowing grin on his face, as he asks, “Whatcha thinkin’ about, doll?” 

Even with her skin flushing, she has no problem admitting exactly what’s going through her mind right now. Her body presses closer to his, her fingers holding onto the lapels of his tux, and she tells him, “How good your fingers felt inside me this morning.”

Her admission is expected, but it still makes him groan and he pulls her into a kiss, his hand moving to her throat, his possessive touch never failing to make her heart flutter. The feel of her pulse against his fingers has him deepening the kiss, the taste of her not helping to lessen Bucky’s desire for her, nor is it helping him catch his breath.

His need for her outweighs any silly need for air in his lungs though, and for a moment, he refuses to pull away, even as he has to resist the urge to take this further. To undress her and touch her everywhere, to listen to her moan for him. Despite the thought of wanting her naked here, in this ridiculously expensive, lavish room, he tells himself they shouldn’t.

She’s having similar thoughts, but she definitely thinks they should. In fact, she thinks it’s a great way to spend the next few minutes. She wants nothing more than to help Bucky get his mind off of everything that’s been bothering him tonight.

The breathless moan she makes when she pulls away has him immediately reconsidering, but his old-fashioned sensibilities are telling him he can’t let her do this. That he should wait until they’re in the safety of their own home. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice giving away how much it pains him to remind her, “the party.” 

“We have time,” she whispers back, her lashes fluttering at the tender caress of his thumb across her throat. “I just want to make you feel good.” 

Her warm breath against his lips, the promise of more, makes him dizzy with need, but he’s still struggling to shed this last bit of hesitation. He’s not worried about anyone interrupting them, he just needs to be sure she’s truly okay with this. Because as adventurous as their sex life is, this is still a first for them.

She can sense his hesitation, and she doesn’t want to push him if this isn’t something he wants, but she can practically hear the thoughts running through his mind, and she knows how to quiet them. With a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, she asks him, “It’s hot to imagine, isn’t it? Me on my knees for you right here, with hundreds of people just down the hall.”

Bucky’s breath catches at her words, his body ablaze with desire, but he quickly lets out a laugh as she reminds him again to breathe. He loves these moments with her, how intense and passionate they can get while never losing their ability to have fun with each other. It has all his reservations quickly leaving him, his body welcoming her hand moving between them to seek out his erection.

Since doing his best to shed his past of the Winter Soldier, Bucky’s become more comfortable with letting her take charge, and right now the need for her to take charge is overwhelming. All he can think about as she quickly unbuttons his pants is how she’s never steered him wrong, and with just a few steps backwards, she’s guiding him to sit on one of the oversized armchairs.

A slight lift of his hips has her working his pants down far enough to pull his cock free and she eagerly wraps her hand around him, settling between his spread thighs ready to worship him. As much she wants to take her time, this moment doesn’t allow for it, and she doesn’t want to give him a second to rethink his decision to allow her to take care of him. 

There’s no going back now. Bucky can’t imagine being anywhere else, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s so breathtaking. Even when she brings her fingers to her mouth to gather saliva, all he can think about is how much she belongs here, surrounded by luxury and elegance. The sudden promising image of her on their wedding day has his cock twitching in her hand and it takes everything in him to keep his hands where they are, gripping the arms of the chair.

He wants to touch her, run his fingers through her hair, but she spent so long getting ready, just to keep him company tonight, and he refuses to risk messing up her hair or makeup. He continues watching her, letting her set the pace as she finally takes him into her mouth, the sudden wet heat surrounding him causing him to let out a breathless grunt of pleasure. “Fuck. I love you.”

She hums happily, glancing up to meet his gaze, the look on his face encouraging her to already take him deeper. She loves sucking his cock, the way he moans for her, the taste of him, the feel of him sliding into her throat. She’ll never get enough of it, and it’s not long before she speeds up her pace, desperate to feel him lose control.

Bucky’s lost in the pleasure, his hips occasionally lifting to meet her mouth, the knowledge of how much this is turning her on making it that much harder to focus. “God,” he breathes, his hands gripping the armchair harder, fingers digging into the upholstery. “Doll… Feel so good… Please…”

He can feel the vibrations of her moans each time his cock slides along her tongue and down her throat, and now he can smell her. It makes him want to taste her, to fuck her, to make her come with him. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her, the entire length of him is engulfed, her nose brushing against the soft curls at the base of his cock.

“Shit,” he gasps, his thighs tensing and his hand shoots out to grip her shoulder, the obscene noises of her throat gagging around his cock causing his balls to tighten. It’s more than enough to make him come, but he’s not ready yet. He wants more from her, and with a needy moan, he begs her to touch herself.

Without hesitation, her hand slides under the satin bunched around her knees, and she spreads her thighs wider as she slips the damp fabric of her panties aside, desperate to please him. The first pass of her fingers over her slick pussy makes her moan against him and both their hips start to move at the same time, Bucky fucking her mouth as she thrusts against her own hand.

He nearly loses it when she meets his gaze again, her lashes wet with tears, her mouth slick with saliva. He manages to hold back though, needing to watch her as she plays with herself, seeing the exact moment she fills herself with her fingers.

Her back arches and she nearly gags around his cock again, but she grips his cock with her left hand, stroking him in time with her mouth as she fucks herself, the heel of her hand pressed against her clit. She’s not even trying to make herself come, more focused on his pleasure, but she can feel the pressure building, her wetness coating her fingers.

Bucky’s senses are consumed by her, but it’s not enough, he wants to drown in her, to know nothing but the feel and smell and taste of her. “Please,” he says, his hand sliding along her shoulder, fingers caressing her skin. “Need… fuck… give me your fingers. Need to taste you.” 

She almost comes just from that alone, the walls of her pussy gripping her fingers, her wetness soaking her palm, but she’s eager to give him what he wants. The instant her hand moves from her underneath her dress, he’s grabbing her wrist, guiding her fingers to his hungry mouth.

With a loud groan, Bucky closes his lips close around her slick digits, the taste of her exploding on his tongue, causing his balls to tighten and pleasure to shoot down his spine. The slight tightening of his grip on her shoulder is the only warning he can give her as the tension builds to a breaking point.

He gasps and moans around her fingers, his tongue licking up every drop of her, the first wave hitting him with such intensity that his hips lift involuntarily. He watches her take all of him, her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking him as he comes down her throat, the force of his orgasm nearly causing him to collapse.

She swallows every drop, her body buzzing with pleasure as she sucks him dry, not a care in the world that she didn’t get to come with him. She refuses to let him go, prolonging his pleasure, until he can’t take anymore and his body finally starts to relax,  her fingers slipping from his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath before he’s pulling her up, careful not to mess up her dress as he meets her in a kiss, the combined taste of them on their tongues making them both moan. There’s not a chance he’s letting her leave this with room without getting to taste more of her.

He casually pulls his pants back over his hips, happily listening to her explain that this was all about him. And, the moment she’s finished insisting she only wanted to help him relax, he’s just as happy to reject her premise, telling her, “Making you come on my mouth will definitely relax me.”

The laugh she gives him tells him everything he needs to know and it’s his turn to take the lead, guiding her to the armchair he was just occupying. Before he has her sit, he reaches under the slit in her dress to take hold of her panties, not wasting any time to slide them down her legs, kneeling in front of her in the process.

She’s not sure how much time they have left, but she can’t imagine it’s going to take her very long. Not with the taste of him still in her mouth, and the way he’s looking up at her right now. With minimal encouragement, she settles back in the chair, careful not to mess up her hair, grinning as Bucky takes the same amount of care with her dress.

After lifting the soft material to her waist, and guiding her legs back, he takes a moment to appreciate the view of her on display, ready for the taking. Later tonight, when he’s fucking her in their bed, he plans to tell her again and again how pretty she looked tonight, but the words won’t come right now. His mouth only wants to be doing one thing, and it’s not talking.

With one last glance up at her, her hands already gripping the arms of the chair in preparation, he closes the distance, the smell of her immediately overwhelming his senses. She barely hears his soft groan of pleasure, but it’s hard to miss the way he deeply inhales her scent, his hands immediately coming up to keep her spread open for him.

At Bucky’s instructions, she forces herself to stay still, his playful reminder for her to breathe the only reason she’s taking any air into her lungs at all. She watches as he takes his time, the flat of his tongue licking her from her dripping entrance to her swollen clit, the contact making her legs shake and her eyes roll back.

She’s so sensitive, just a few swipes of his tongue building her towards the edge, but he refuses to rush this, taking his time to the savor the taste of her, fucking her slowly with his tongue. And whenever she starts to move or forgets to stop breathing, he’s right there reminding her what he needs her to do. “Relax. Breathe.” 

He’s not going to let her get flushed and sweaty, not when he knows how much harder it’ll make the rest of the evening for her. That’s why he keeps her in place, the cool metal of his vibranium thumb pressed against her clit making her slick walls pulsate around his tongue, the delicious taste of her making him hard yet again.

She keeps her head lifted, even when her eyes flutter close, her body on fire as she takes slow, deep breaths. It’s becoming not enough and too much all at once, the familiar tingle signaling how close she is, but without being able to chase her pleasure, she can’t help but beg for more.

Bucky’s more than happy to oblige and licks back up to her clit, greedily closing his lips over it as he slips two fingers inside of her, his vibranium arm quick to hold her place. She reaches out, almost grabbing his head, but thinks better of it at the last second, not wanting to mess up his hair, her hands instead gipping his arm, her fingers soon interlocking with his as she takes in lungfuls of air.

It only takes a few strokes of his fingers for her to fall, the deep breathing making the orgasm even more intense, and with his lips suctioned around her clit, his tongue swirling around the swollen bud, her hand flies up to cover her own mouth, barely muffling her loud cries of pleasure as she comes for him.

Bucky’s fingers and mouth follow her body as each wave of pleasure washes over her, her thighs threatening to close around his head, but he welcomes the feeling, relishing the way she comes apart for him, her arousal soaking his hand and beard. 

He doesn’t stop until she grows too sensitive, easing his fingers out of her before giving her one last lick, able to feel the pulse of her aftershocks on his tongue. Careful not to touch her dress with his arousal-slicked fingers, he helps her sit up and kisses her softly, her body still trembling as she slowly comes back down.

Once it’s clear she can finally breathe again, and her heart’s not about to burst out of her chest, Bucky gives her a cheeky grin, telling her, “Now I’m ready to get back to the party.” 

---------------------------

Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[megxplryxb]

Dance with me Forever

Pairings - Steve Harrington x Fem!HopperReader

Warnings: None. Absolute fluff, Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Friends to lovers, Jopper Wedding

The hot summer sun had finally set on a beautiful Saturday evening in the middle of July. The sound of champagne glasses clinking echoed throughout the romantic lake house ballroom, lit up in pinks and purples as guests celebrated the marriage of Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers. The couple had finally decided to tie the knot and unite their families once Vecna had been defeated, ending the nightmare of the Upside Down once and for all. It had been a long four years, continuously battling monsters from another dimension, always wondering when evil would rear it’s ugly head again but this time felt different, like there was finally peace in the mystical little town of Hawkins, Indiana.

The last few years had changed no one more than Steve Harrington. Long gone was the arrogant, rich boy you’d known in High School, having been cut off by his parents and left heartbroken by Nancy Wheeler, he had become somewhat of an outcast. Never in a million years did he imagine his life turning out quite like it had. Steve always thought he’d end up like his Father, marrying some girl for convenience instead of love, being nothing more than a suit for some company and have a mistress in every city he traveled to. Steve was more than grateful he hadn’t gone down the same path and he knew he had you, Robin and the kids to thank for that.

He was sat at a table with Robin, Vickie, Eddie, Chrissy and Nancy, all of whom were engrossed in conversation about how sweet Hopper’s speech had been and how emotional it was when the Chief of Police shed a few tears while gushing about his new Wife, your new Stepmom. Steve couldn’t exactly say he had heard much of Jim’s speech himself, too busy gazing at you sitting at the top table with your family, holding back your own tears, laughing with your siblings, El, Will and Jonathan. He hadn’t seen you all day as you were too busy doing bridesmaid duties, making sure everything was perfect for the ceremony but when you walked down the aisle, holding your bouquet of flowers, smelling like lavender, he swore his heart stopped when you looked his way and smiled at him. You were breathtaking, literally and figuratively, the girl of his dreams. Eddie had teased his friend for how red his cheeks had gotten, knowing that the former King of Hawkins was head over heels for you and that you felt the same about Steve. Chrissy had intervened, telling her boyfriend to lay off with the teasing but she too secretly wondered why Steve didn’t just tell you how he felt. It was obvious to everyone that you loved each other.

It’s not that Steve didn’t want to tell you, he’d almost told you twice before on the brink of death. The first time being when you were stuck in the Russian base under the Starcourt mall, the second time being when you were all preparing to battle Vecna for the final time. But he’d made a promise to your Dad two years prior, after that night in the Junkyard when you first became friends that friendship was all it was ever going to be between you. Steve didn’t blame Hopper for wanting better for his daughter, didn’t blame Jim for thinking he was exactly like his Dad back then. But he wished the Chief of Hawkins could see him for who he was now and not the asshole he was four years ago.

After dinner was done and all the pictures had been taken, you took yourself out to the garden with a glass of champagne in hand, glancing at Steve before you made your escape outside. He looked so handsome in his tux, the tux you’d helped him pick out several weeks ago when he asked you to go shopping with him. You hadn’t spoken to him all day, having been avoiding him like the plague for the better part of a week when he mentioned that he was planning to bring a date to the wedding. You had tried your best to not let it bother you, the thought of Steve with some pretty girl on his arm while you were all alone and you’d be lying if you said you weren't just a tiny bit relieved when he'd shown up all by himself.

You knew your Father had spoken to Steve about you, warned him against asking you out on several occasions and even though you were angry that Steve obeyed him, it kind of made you love him even more, because the Steve you'd known in High School wouldn't have been so respectful. Sometimes though, late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you wished he’d climb through your bedroom window so you both could give in to your feelings just one time.

As Joyce danced with her new Husband, she couldn't help but frown at Steve who was standing talking to Murray at the bar. He'd left his table to get another drink after the meal, not wanting to be surrounded by all the happy couples while he not so secretly pinned for you. Joyce had always liked Steve, saw the goodness in him that her Husband couldn't and she knew how the both of you felt about each other.

"Hop, are you ever going to give that poor kid a break?" She asks as Hopper let out a heavy sigh, knowing exactly who she was referring to.

"Joyce, please not tonight, it's our wedding for Christ sake." He begs as his new wife nodded in agreement. It wasn't the first time they'd discussed this matter.

"Exactly! It's a day full of love and happiness and your daughter is out there miserable and alone because she's terrified to talk to the boy she's crazy about in case she upsets you!" She huffs, frustrated at the Chief's stubbornness.

"Oh come on, I'm not that bad!" He defends as Joyce rolls her eyes. "What about the crap you pulled on Mike when he and El got together? The kid thought you were going to murder him Jim.”

"But I didn't! See, he's alive and well, having a great time!" Jim points to his younger daughter and her boyfriend dancing with their friends.

"And what about Steve, huh? When are you going to admit that you were wrong about him?" The bride asks, raising her brows.

"Joyce...."

"Jim Hopper, that boy has helped save our children's lives more times than I care to count. He would do anything for OUR daughter, he’s shown it time and time again. You know he’s nothing like his Father. They love each other, Jim. So quit being a god damn pain in everyone's ass and go talk to him, please?" Joyce begs, giving her new Husband a small, hopeful smile as he closes his eyes and sighs defeatedly.

"Fine, alright. I'm going."

Steve is nursing a glass of champagne, trying to look somewhat interested in Murray's ramblings when he see's Hopper approaching him at the bar. Jim lets out a small cough, before giving Murray a nod to give them a minute alone and Steve nervously waits for Jim to speak.

"Oh shit, what'd you do?" Murray mutters to Steve before downing his glass of whiskey, giving him a hopeful pat on the back before going to talk to the new Mrs. Hopper.

Jim leans back against the bar, fixing his suit jacket as he tries to think about what to say the boy beside him. He knows he should apologise for being an asshole to him but it's his wedding day and he wasn't apologising to anyone. Not today at least.

"Harrington, why is my daughter out there by herself?" He asks, pointing to you, still strolling through the garden alone.

"I uh, I don't know Sir, I haven't talked to her all day." Steve replies, wondering if this was some kind of trick.

"Well, maybe you should be a gentleman and go keep her company, huh?" The Chief suggests and Steve is really suspicious now.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell if you're being serious or not?" Steve questions honestly, not trying to offend your Dad in any way.

"When am I ever not serious about anything that has to do with my daughters?" He asks, looking straight at Steve. "Never, sir." He answers back.

There's silence for a moment as the two most important men in your life pause to look at you. You stare back at them, astounded that they seem to be having a conversation without your father looking like he was going to kill Steve.

"Do you love my daughter, Steve?" Jim asks, both of them still watching you in the distance. Hopper already knows the answer, he’s known it for quite sometime. He saw how Steve protected you during the battle in Starcourt, heard about how he looked after you and El when everyone thought he was dead. He’d have to thank him for that one day but not now. This was hard enough.

Steve didn’t have to think twice before answering the question, even if it meant getting choked out or knocked unconscious by Jim Hopper.

"More than anything in this world." Steve admits, smiling brightly as his heart swells with adoration for you. Hopper nods then, placing an approving hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Then go make her happy." He says, giving the boy the smallest of smiles as Steve begins to cross the ballroom floor.

"Hey, Harrington!" Jim yells, as Steve looks back at him, hoping it wasn't really a trick all this time. "You're a good kid." He admits, as the boy nods an appreciative thank you, finally making his way to the garden to find you.

Joyce smiles at Steve as she walks towards her Husband, wrapping her arms around him tightly, before kissing him. "You're a good man, Jim Hopper."

He sighs heavily before he begins to laugh. "Happy wife, happy life."

Steve can hear his heart beating out of his chest as he slowly approaches you, watching you in awe as the moonlit sky makes your skin glow. You haven't noticed him yet, too busy gazing at the stars above, wishing for your own fairytale ending. Your hair which had been in an up-style all day was now hanging below your shoulders and Steve thought you had never looked more beautiful than right now.

"You could catch a cold out here you know?" Steve whispers from behind you, already removing his suit jacket to cover your shoulders before you even turn to face him.

"Hey stranger, I feel like I haven't talked to you all day." You smile, turning to greet him, embracing him in a warm hug as you both stay that way for what seems like several minutes.

"Yeah, I know. I missed you, Hopper." He admits, as you blush. "I missed you too, Harrington."

The song inside changes to Take My Breath Away by Berlin and Steve knows it's one of your favourites, he bought you the album for your birthday and it's still the most played tape in your car. You both watch as everyone begins to fill the dance floor back inside the lake house and Steve swallows hard before extending his hand to you.

"Will you dance with me, out here?" He asks as you nod your head, happily reaching for his hand as he pulls you in closer to him. You nervously wrap an arm around Steve's neck, inhaling his cologne and shampoo all at once. He always smelled so good. He places his other hand gently on the small of your back, intertwining your fingers together as you begin to dance slowly to the music playing inside. There was silence for a few moments before Steve cleared his throat to speak again.

"You know, I really could’ve used you at our table earlier. Nancy ditched us to sit with Jonathan the minute the speeches were over, so I got stuck with all the loved up couples, it was totally awful.” He jokes, referring to Eddie, Chrissy, Robin and Vickie.

"I thought you were going to bring a date?" You question, trying to hide the jealousy in your voice when you ask.

"Oh yeah, I was thinking about asking someone but I didn't in the end." He frowns and you bite your lip, wanting to know more.

"Why not?"

"Cause her Dad would've kicked my ass." He replies, as you let out a small giggle. Stomach filling with butterflies as he gazes at you.

“That’s too bad, I have a feeling she would’ve said yes anyway.” You whisper in his ear, leaning your head on his shoulder as he mumbles “Oh really? Well in that case, the ass kicking would’ve been worth it.”

"I saw him talking to you, thought you were a goner for sure." You tease as Steve shakes his head.

"I knew I'd be ok, too many witnesses around." He jokes, as you both laugh.

"I'd have come to your rescue eventually, if i thought it looked like you were in trouble, you know?" You admit and he nods his head gratefully.

"I know, honey." Honey. Was he trying to kill you?

"Seriously though, he didn't upset you, did he?" You ask as you continue to dance to the music.

"No actually, the total opposite." Steve smirks as you scrunch your nose.

"What do you mean?"

"He asked me why you were out here alone, told me to come and keep you company." He reveals as your eyes widened in surprise.

“Really?”

"I know, I was shocked too but I think Joyce said something to him because she was giving him the death stare the whole time he was talking to me." Steve chuckles and you remind yourself to thank your Stepmom later.

"He asked me something else too." Steve states, swinging you around.

"Oh god, what was it?" You ask, still spinning.

"He wanted to know if I was in love with his daughter." He says, as you fall back in to him in shock, placing your hands on his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel sick with excitement, like a kid at Christmas about to unwrap her presents under the tree.

“And…what did you tell him?”

"That he had nothing to worry about, El is way too young for me." He jokes as you smack him playfully on the chest.

"Steve! I'm being serious, what did you really say to him?"

“I told him that I do, more than I’ve ever loved anybody.” Steve admits as your eyes begin to water.

“I love you too, Steve.” You reveal, trying to hold back your tears as Steve cups your face gently, placing his forehead lightly against yours.

“You looked so beautiful today honey. When I saw you walk down that aisle, I thought, Christ, I could just marry her right now.” He smirks as you bump your nose with his.

“Careful Harrington, a few more compliments like that and I might just have to kiss you.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hovers his lips over yours.

“Yeah, I’m sort of counting on it.” Steve says, finally crashing his lips with yours, not giving a damn who sees. You were finally all his.

[rebelssvy]

holiday hero party ✧.*

kirishima x reader

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: you meet red riot at a party, a lot of flirting, some back story monologue. bakugo and kaminari come make fun of him. you save him.

i love thinking about flirty but also himbo-ish kiri.. he’s just trying his best ♡︎♡︎

every year the hero association would hold a party for the top hero’s in each country. this year it being held in france. in your country your country you were celebrated, thought of highly. you gained the name ‘queen’ by some of your fans. choosing to be humble, you would laugh off whenever your nickname came up.

so here you were, finishing up your look. wearing a dangerous long dress that paired your skin tone well. pairing it with lots of jewelry. you looked stunning.

arriving at the party, you recognized many people. it was going to be a long night.

it was an hour into the party, feeling utterly exhausted. saying far too many ‘hello’s and ‘thanks you’s for your own good.

some what overwhelmed you made your way over to the bar you stoped dead in your tracks when you ran into a solid wall. looking up you realized it wasn’t a wall but a man..

“oh my gosh i’m so sorry!” you blurted out stumbling backwards to create space.

“no worries pretty girl..” he said staring down at you, charming smile printed on his face. looking up you came to realize it was red riot. you read the events that happened to his class in highschool and always kept track of him since. recently you saw that he saved a pregnant woman from several bullets just by standing infront of her.

you stared at him not knowing what to say. starting to feel vulnerable under the weight of his eyes, you chose to stand tall. remembering who you were you gained some confidence in yourself.

“red riot..right?” you asked him tilting your head his way. you watched as he wore a shocked expression for a minute before a smile replaced his face once again.

“the queen knows of me? i must be blessed!” he laughed out. you cringed at his words. you didn’t like that he thought of you like that, let alone that he also knew who you were.

instantly picking up on your change in demeanor he saved your conversation, “oh you don’t like your little nick name?” he chuckled out, fixing his posture slightly.

“no no i don’t mind it, it’s just i see you as my equal… not like my fan..” you giggled, suddenly feeling very hot.

“let me buy you a drink.” he said before taking your hand and leading you to the bar. you gasped at how charming he was. you felt like you were running behind him as he lead you with large strides.

as you sat down at the bar with him, you took a moment to take him in. staring at his body that was clothed in an all black tux, black dress shoes. if you looked closely there was red accents all across him. very minimal.

he caught your attention with his words “i am a fan by the way.” he said while turning to face you. his confidence shook you slightly.

“is that right?” you questioned him further.

“i saw you on the news in highschool… when you saved that bridge from falling.. is it true you did that while walking home from school? if it is i admire you for being so strong seriously!” he commended you with flushed cheeks. his eyes telling the story that you lived.

you took a second to respond to him, sipping on the drink he payed for. “well yea i guess.. i was walking home from school and someone had a quirk awakening on the bridge. i heard the explosion before i saw one of the beams coming down. i just kinda thought that if i had the power to save them, that’s what i should do..” you realized you rambled to far on and then grew shy waiting for his response.

when you looked back at him you realized that he seriously wasn’t joking about admiring you.

“that’s so fucking cool.” he said before changing his focus to the drink infront of him. as he sipped it you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat. slowly your eyes wandered to all of him.

you decided to make a remark, hoping to see where you actually stood with him. “ok this is going to sounds crazy…” you started. “around the time that i gained some traction from my acts, i saw you on the news.. when your class had all those things happen. i’ve always kept an eye on you since…” you finished.

the look on his face was priceless, shock and disbelief that slowly morphed into curiosity. questioning you he said “you’ve been keeping track on me?”

“i would be lying if i said no.” your drink making its way into your system, surging some needed confidence and energy into you.

“must be my lucky night.” he paused before saying “prettiest girl in the room keeps tabs on me..” before he took his drink into his mouth, eyes never leaving you.

you gasped at his words, suddenly you felt light.

“are you flirting with me?” you asked him with a giggle.

“yes. i am.” he said comfortably, stating his truth. “or at least im trying. im not very good at it.” giggling with you.

“well whatever your doing i think its working” you said reaching for your drink once again. only to realize it was emptied out. frowning slightly at without realizing.

“here,” he signaled over the bartender and ordered you a second drink. also getting you a water. his charisma was overwhelming.

“thank you.” you mumbled out before sipping on your drink again.

the silence over took you once again. you realized how easy it was to talk to him. you really liked him being around you. almost too much, a concerning amount.

“what can i call you? if i can’t call you queen?” he said leaning over to you, you felt the tension change slightly.

“just call me y/n.” you stated.

“how about princess?” he asked softly, lowering himself to your ear. you couldn’t form words. stuttering to a reply, you said.

“you can call me whatever you want.” you said, weakly. soon after your response you started cringing at yourself. bringing yourself to a giggle yet again.

“i’m sorry i can’t take myself seriously!” you laughed out, he laughed with you. “what should i call you red riot?” you asked him.

“just call me ejirou.” he said leaning back in his chair, you noticed his legs fall apart slightly.

you jumped in place when a loud voice boomed behind you.

“kirishima my guy! holy shit no way.” you turned to find a yellow haired man paired with the more popular pro hero dynamight. they closed in on the two of you. making their way to stand behind the two of you. you turned in your chair.

you noticed kirishimas face, it was full of agony.

“this is fucking halarious” the explosive one said. you knew his name was bakugou. but to be honest you were too afraid to call him by his name.

“what’s so funny?” you asked the two standing next to you.

“kirishima here has had a crush on you since highschool. so it’s kinda hard to think your sitting here with him at a holiday party.” the yellow haired once laughed out.

kirishima flushed at their remarks. you noticed all of it. they were obviously close to eachother.

“the queen and red riot, a dream come true.” bakugou laughed out. taunting his friend.

“this is so embarrassing.” kirishima shrugged into his hands.

coming to his rescue you said “well.. funny enough as it is. ive been harboring a crush on red riot for a while.” you shrugged nonchalantly.

bakugou and yellow hairs face dropped into shock. kirishima along with them.

“i’m not trying to be rude but me and ejirou were just about to leave.” you stood up and grabbed his hand. urging him in silence to follow your lead.

“it was nice to meet you two.” you said calmly before dragging him away from the men and to the exit.

after a silent trip to the coat rack and out the door. you finally made your way outside. the cold air frosting over you.

“you really are my hero, princess.” he said from behind you, you turned to meet his eyes.

“it’s no problem. and i meant what i said so.” you watched the air get sucked out of his lungs. taking in his expression, he really was handsome.

“can i take you out sometime princess? like without my friends coming to embarrass me, just me and you.” he smiled softly, praying you would say yes.

years ago this was your dream. funny how things work out like this.

“yes i would like that a lot, ejirou.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

thinking about making a part two when you hard launch, maybe even starting a family. the worlds favorite hero family ♡︎♡︎

[mostly-marvel-musings]

The green-eyed monster

A/N: This was super random. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed this fic!

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ jealousy induced smut, lil choking and breeding kink?

Word count: 1941

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

“Shit!”

You cursed under your breath as you checked your watch, you were running late. Later than fashionably late would permit. But you had a good reason to be. Your stylist and hairdresser had done you up to perfection, all the efforts were worth it because you looked stunning. The dress you chose hugged your curves like a glove, a bold lip, fine jewelry and hair that complimented the outfit beautifully.

The charity event was merely an opportunity to remind a certain someone of what he had been ignoring for the past few weeks. You had to teach him a lesson.

Reaching the venue at record speed, you stepped inside feeling the best version of yourself, immediately grabbing eyeballs of almost everybody present there. Scanning the room, your eyes landed on the man of the hour. Anthony Stark. Looking dapper as ever in a custom-made tux, he was deep in conversation with several who’s who of the society, oblivious to your presence.

That would change soon, you thought.

Heading straight for the bar, you got yourself a glass of champagne, letting your gaze roam over the sea of people to find yourself a distraction. Lucky for you, you didn’t have to make much effort as a man from your past caught your eye and made a beeline in your direction.

“Y/N Y/L/N, as I live and breathe.” he exclaimed, wrapping you in a hug, his hand lingering on your bare skin.

“Noah Bennett. Since when did you start thinking about someone besides yourself?” you jested, celebrating on the inside as his eyes dipped down your body, letting you know your plan was working. From the corner of your eye, you saw a couple of people part to reveal Tony Stark with a curious look on his face.

“You look hot, Y/N. I’m sorry if I’m being too direct here but wow. Look at you!”

You laughed as he twirled you, placing a hand deliberately on his bicep.

“Always the flatterer. Honestly, it is so good to see you here, Noah. I hope you’ve made a sizable donation today. If not, I’m here to persuade you.” you winked, allowing him to get you another drink.

You spoke for quite some time, keeping the conversation light and flirty, you knew exactly what you were doing. Your boyfriend watched the whole scene from a distance, staring daggers at the man who had his hands all over his girl. He had zoned out of the conversation happening around him, focusing only on the two of you. You leaned over to whisper something in that man’s ear, all while his gaze dropped to your cleavage shamelessly, the guy chuckled before he did the same, making you shake your head and blush. It made his jaw tick, irritation bubbled within his chest watching the two of you.

A part of him wanted to intervene and pull you away from the creep, but another part who spoke on behalf of his pride refused. He remembered that man, he’d made a generous pledge for the charity. But right now none of that mattered as much as the fact that he had his arm around your waist, where it didn’t belong. ‘

As time passed, you chatted your way closer to where Tony was, not sparing him much of a glance as you worked your charm to get more rich people to donate for the good cause. Normally, the two of you would be inseparable but given the little fight you had had last week, it made sense for you to make separate appearances. Plus you had your little entry planned to teach him a lesson.

“Oh Y/N, the event is already a success. Well done! You’ve managed to charm everyone into emptying their pockets.” an elderly gentleman complimented you, making you giggle. Ulterior motives aside, the evening truly was a big win.

“When the hostess is easy on the eyes, I guess it helps a lot, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Stark?”

You felt his presence before you saw the man, the familiar scent and aura that he carried enveloped your senses before a protective arm slid around your waist, pulling you to his side.

“And here I thought I’d have to undo a couple of my shirt buttons to make you guys cough it up.”

His statement earned him laughter from the crowd, his thumb rubbing the bare skin on your back in a way that made your breathing hitch. Turning to look at him, you were met with eyes that ogled your decked up form, the gaze was hungry yet mixed with a hint of annoyance.

Tony leaned over and pressed his lips against your ear, making it hard for you to ignore the excitement you felt.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

You feigned confusion, shrugging nonchalantly before taking a sip of your drink, further adding to his irritation. It seemed to be the last straw as Tony grabbed your hand and hastily made his way out of the venue, leaving the guests perplexed.

He remained silent the entire ride back home, keeping his eyes focused on the road. You noticed his knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel tightly.

This would be a lot of fun, you thought. Winding Tony up had an effect on you, you couldn’t wait for him to have his way with you. Pretty confident that sooner or later he would. The night wasn’t over yet.

“You slept with the guy, didn’t you?” he asked out of the blue, still not sparing you a glance.

“Which guy?”

“Don’t fucking test me, Y/N. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” he seethed, putting his foot on the gas and sped up.

“Oh and where did you get that idea from, may I ask?” you suppressed a grin, keeping the tone of your voice light.

“I have eyes. I can see. Someone was way too touchy back there. I don’t like it when others touch my stuff.”

This made you scoff and look out the window as your home came into view. You didn’t move from your seat until Tony opened your door and grabbed your hand once again, taking determined strides up to your house.

“Are you jealous?” you were slightly out of breath keeping up with his pace, the smirk in your voice pretty evident.

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Oh no, you’re right. You just get territorial, and protective. And just a tad needy, right?”

Clicking his tongue, Tony shoved you inside your bedroom, slamming the door behind him before crashing his lips on yours. This kiss had fire, brimming with passion but laced with anger as he walked you back until your back hit the wall, eliciting a gasp. Taking this opportunity, his tongue made it past your lips, clearly winning the game of dominance.

“I think you forgot that you have a partner who needs all your attention before any of your ‘friends’ do.” he murmured against your lips before letting them trail down your neck, nipping at your skin.

“So you were jealous.” you smirked, tugging on his hair as he bruised your skin with a hickey, his fingers grazing up your leg to reach between them, growling when he realized you weren’t wearing panties.

“Fuck yeah I was.” his hand cupped your sex, fingers brushed along the slit that had gathered slick already. Without warning, two of his fingers pushed past your entrance, assaulting your walls by stretching them out.

“Take off your dress.” he commanded, his left hand wrapping itself around your throat gently, his brown eyes darkened with lust.

“You don’t get to order me around.” you didn’t sound convincing at all, given that he chose the moment to curl his fingers inside your tight heat, you gasped.

“Slow down, Tony.” You breathed.

“Take it off or I’ll do it for you.”

The pressure on your throat increased ever so slightly, causing your walls to tighten around his thick digits as he continued pumping. Your eyes were shut in pleasure when you heard the fabric of your dress rip, falling at your feet in shreds. The dress you spent thousands of dollars on was destroyed in seconds, not that you were complaining. If anything, you were counting on this to happen.

Tony made you open your mouth and fed you his fingers, the taste of your desperate arousal evident on them as you rolled your tongue. His cock twitched in his dress pants, eager to be freed and buried deep within your pussy.

You fumbled with his belt, undid the zip and shoved his pants down, earning a chuckle from him. Your eyes flashed victory before arousal took over completely, your body ached for him.

Holding the back of your knees, he entered you in one swift motion, a synchronic moan echoed in the room. Tony didn’t hold back after that, his thrusts set a brutal pace that made you see stars, the line of pleasure and pain thinning as he continued to plough into your sopping heat.

“You like being reminded who you belong to, don’t you sweetheart?” He grunted, every thrust sent you closer and closer to the edge.

Fervently nodding, you held onto his shoulders as cock threatened to split you in two, unable to comprehend much else.

“Cat got your tongue? Use your words, baby.”

“Yes! I wanted you to get jealous tonight, Tony.”

He paused momentarily, making you whine which he swallowed in an instant, slanting his lips on yours. The kiss that contained everything, from dominance to love and everything in between. While he felt guilty for ignoring you these past few weeks, a part of him loved you for your antics, especially ones which ended like this.

His cock twitched inside your walls as he resumed.

“What if I come inside you, huh? What if I fill you up with my seed, get you pregnant? Show them all who you belong to..what do you say, sweetheart?”

He breathed against your skin, his voice muffled in your hair. You answered by clamping your walls around his length, pulling him further inside, tugging on his hair to signal you were close too.

“I’m gonna fill you up, Y/N.” he panted, watching your hand reach down to rub your clit as you brought yourself pleasure.

“Come for me, Tony. Come inside me.” You cried, burying your face in his neck as your walls fluttered around his length. Tony followed with a final twitch of his cock, ropes of cum painting your walls as he filled you up, giving you all he had.

He carried you to bed, still snug inside you and laid you down, littering soft kisses along your shoulder. You grinned victoriously, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Why didn’t you tell him we’re together? He was all over you.” He kept his voice soft, tugging at your heartstrings as always.

“You did what you did to get my attention, and I did what I had to to get yours. Now we’re even.”

Tony looked up at your face, his expression incredulous with a hint of pride playing on his lips.

“You little minx. Have I told you I love you?” He pecked your lips a couple of times, slowly resuming to thrust inside you with his soft cock, pushing his cum further inside and keeping it there.

“Not that I recall. No.”

[nichuuu]

Lemon.

Word count: 13k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re…” you begin.

“The host’s daughter? Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here.”

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

A very unlikely start to a romance really.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

“Sana, there’s people out there.”

“I know.”

“They might hear us.”

“I know.”

“We could get caught.”

“We won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

She’s scared, but of what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead. 

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

*

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

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

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

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

“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”

“Too bad. Call in sick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s so fucking hot. 

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

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

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

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

One woman; innumerable sensations.

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

You wish you could touch her.

You wish you could fuck her.

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

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

And you’re just along for the ride.

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

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

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

So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fucking cumming!"

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

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

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

“Fuck, Sana, I—” “Do it. Paint me.”

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

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

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

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

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

*

Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This isn’t the way you pictured this going. 

Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

In a way, she ended up being right. 

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

Oh? You have? Odd…

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

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

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

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

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

There will never be a place for it.

So why not substitute words with actions? 

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

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

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

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

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

[inkdrinkerworld]

dick always says he's not the type of guy to get jealous, but we all notice how he looks at guys who stare at your tits for too long when you're in a pretty dress at those fancy dinner parties(( all he wants to do is rip the dress of you but instead he has to spend the night talking to old rich people and his siblings

Cw: a little suggestive 18+ ONLY

He’s seething, though he’s really trying not to. You look gorgeous and men are staring, how is that your fault?

It isn’t. It just pisses Dick off because he can’t even have his arm around you for ten minutes without someone coming up to talk to him about the event, Waynecorp or something similar.

God he hates these events even more now.

“Baby, I’m gonna go get a refill want anything?” You tinkle your empty glass as he comes back from the longest conversation he’s ever been in about Bruce’s multiple foundations that Damien had saved him from.

“No, stay here a minute?” You’re leaning against a counter, and Dick wastes no time pressing himself close to you.

You’re in deep purple dress that sits on you perfectly, it makes your legs look long, and your hips sway just so, but most hypnotic of all is the way it hugs your chest- a square neckline that gives you the best cleavage and if he wasn’t your boyfriend, Dick would’ve felt gross for staring at your chest all night.

“What’s wrong?” Your hand rubs his back though you desperately want to run it through his gelled back hair.

“Nothing,” he breathes in your perfume, intoxicated all over again. His lips press at your neck and jaw, knowing if he were to kiss your lips he’d mess up your make up- it’s happened a few too many times in the past.

For all the years you’ve been together, you know Dick very well, and you know he’s at his breaking point with the gala.

“You look so perfect,” he whispers, eyes roving your face as though he’d forget how you looked tonight the second you were back home. “Too perfect,” he continues and you smirk. “Everyone in here is looking at you and I want to gouge their eyes out.”

You laugh then and Dick smiles. “Baby.” You huff and he shrugs.

“It’s not a problem per se, it’s just that I can’t do anything about it because everyone wants to talk to me and I have no time for the real fun.” His eyebrows dance and you roll your eyes.

“Which is what, Grayson?” You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You, me, in a bathroom stall. No clothes.” You feel heat pool in your belly and it’s obvious Dick can tell too. If his smug face is anything to go by.

“Kiss me?” Your hands are playing with the lapels on his tux, eyes fluttering and Dick can’t deny the call of your mauve lips.

The kiss is hot and charged and Dick’s hands fall to your neck and the back of your head, keeping you close till you have to pull away from your breathlessness.

“Fuck gorgeous,” he mutters, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. “We’ll leave soon, yeah?” His hands fall to your waist and squeezes, a soft groan leaving his throat as he feels you shiver a little.

You nod, a little dazed, lips chasing his one last time and Dick indulges you till he hears someone clearing their throats behind you.

“Grayson, stop mauling your girlfriend and come mingle. Bruce is up my ass about where you are.” Damien gives you a little wave and you flush, even more so when you realise Dick has stolen some of your lipstick.

“Dick your lips.” You mutter, reaching in your purse for wipes.

“It’s fine gorgeous, I’ll be twenty minutes and then we’re out of here.” He kisses your forehead and is gone again and you can’t help but pull out a mirror to take a peak at your lips and smile when you see that your lipstick is all at your chin.

[glittervame]

Valentines day

(Happy National Single Persons Appreciation Day!)

Mattheo

Mattheo would not even make a big deal about it it seems like he forgot about it altogether

In the days leading up to it he continues like normal while everyone else is rushing around the castle, girls worrying about their makeup and outfits, boys worrying about their tuxes and gifts

 You, hinting at wanting him to ask you to be his Valentine are extremely frustrated

Subtly dropping hints in class saying really obvious things like, “Man I saw this really pretty necklace with hearts on it down in Hogsmead, I wish I got it”

Comments like this seemingly blowing over his head as he just nods along to whatever you’re saying

When asked what he’s doing for Valentine's Day he shrugs and brushes it off, not giving it another thought

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

On said day he sits down next to you at breakfast, kisses you on the cheek, wishes you a happy valentines Day, and starts to eat the heart-shaped pancakes in front of him

Sometime during the morning after breakfast, he sends you a gift, The box containing the pretty necklace you had asked for

Throughout the day you’ll find little love notes in your bags and books, your favorite pieces of candy attached

The last note says ‘Diners at six’

You kind of wanted to go to the dance but dinner sounds better anyway

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Dinner’s lovely, it’s a nice fancy restaurant, the lights are dimmed and classy music plays in the background

Fancy champagne is poured and those annoyingly tiny little servings of food are served

You guys chat about your lives and the different kinds of gossip from different houses

When you leave and admit you’re still hungry he takes you to another food place to get you fed

“Anything you want Mi querida”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

When you get back he brings you back to a room all decorated in pink and red, candles lining all of the solid surfaces in the room

Strips you down off all your clothes and ties you up in pretty red ribbons 

Mattheo focused entirely on you, spending at least an hour between your legs (Mostly for his pleasure because he loves the way you taste) making you squirm and beg him to stop

He only stops when he slips his fingers between your legs real nice and slow, kissing light feathery kisses along your shoulders and forehead

With tears rolling down your face he pulls his fingers away and licks them up

“You taste good pretty girl”

Theodore

Theo sends little gifts and love notes all week, he constantly makes sure that there is a smile on your face no matter what

He’s the type to get creative about it, from the bracelet that you had looked at a little too long in a fancy little box sitting next to your pillow when you woke up, to the book that you had commented on saving up for a couple of months ago somehow finding its way into your bag during lunch

On the way to your classes, he holds your hand extra tight as if you’d disappear if he lost contact

During the week he takes you on mini dates, To the new cat cafe that popped up in Hogs Mead, together in the three broomsticks sipping on hot chocolate, even setting up a movie night in his dorm; taking snacks from the school’s kitchen

“Anything for you bella”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

On Valentine's Day, you wake up to find a pretty new bracelet next to a ring that matches the dress you’re going to wear

In a cheery mood, you make your way to the great hall which is decorated in red tencel and floating red hearts instead of the regularly floating candles

Sitting next to your friends you chat about their valentines Day plans, theo comes up to you with your favorite chocolate arranged in a heart and gives it to you with a small smile

With a kiss on your lips, he’s wishing you a happy valentines Day before going and meeting up with his friends

Your friends squeal about how cute that was and how they wish their own boyfriends were as sweet as Theo or how they wish they had a Theo themselves. He’s one of a kind tho so too bad for them :(

“Have a good day love”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

That evening he greats you with a big bouquet of glitter roses in your favorite color  with a few gift cards to your favorite places attached to them (He likes to keep up with the trends)

He takes you on a stroll through an extravagant garden holding onto your hand the whole time excitingly telling you which ones can be found in Italy and how they grow

After the garden stroll, he brings you to a cafe that’s a little bit classier but it has cute little cats running around. You guys have genuine conversations, you talk about how you want to travel to different places over the summer and he suggests that you go to Italy with him for a couple of weeks.

Overall it was a pretty great having

“Are you having a good time?”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

He holds you in a tight hug on the way back to his dorm protecting you from Hogwarts' wacky-ass school weather, you’re chatting and giggling about some stupid thing that you guys saw on the way

When you do get into the castle he takes you to the kitchen to get more hot cocoa and a few snacks before dragging you back to his dorm

He’s set up a small fort in his bed and a movie screen that's cast onto a wall making the screen bigger, one last gift for you sitting on it; a lobster squishmallow with a small crown sitting on top of it’s head.

You guys watched movies ranging from The Princess Bride to The Incredibles; laying tangled in each other, you stayed like that for the rest of the night until you fell asleep

All of you guys are my valentines <3

[cjlouwho]

Bucktommy all dressed up and dancing together

oh you gave me the perfect excuse to write buck and tommy dancing to the song I put on repeat and imagine them having played at their wedding. If you'd like to listen before, after, or while reading, here you go.

“You look fancy!” Buck noted with a smile as he walked into their new place. “Got a hot date I don't know about?”

Tommy was dressed to the nines. A black and white tux with a bowtie, hair perfectly coiffed. It was a bit confusing, seeing as they had planned to order tacos and spend the evening putting furniture together once Buck got off work.

“Something like that,” Tommy replied slyly. “Go get changed. I've got your tux on the bed.”

Buck tilted his head, confused. “Where are we going?”

“Who said we were going anywhere?”

“Tommy, I- I don't get it.”

“Humor me, Buckley.”

“Oh, we're whipping out the last name, are we?” Buck asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he headed for the bedroom. “Okay, Kinard, I'll play along with your silly little games.”

Buck went into their room and got changed, put on his dress shoes and fixed his hair as well. He had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach. Tommy had a way of making Buck feel like he was the only person in the world. And even though he didn't know what was about to happen, he had a feeling this was one of those times.

He came back into the living room to dimmed lights, candles lit, and Tommy holding a bouquet of red roses.

Now Buck felt a little worried. His eyes widened. “Did I forget an anniversary? Oh my God, Tommy, I-”

Tommy moved in closer, cutting off his worries with a kiss, two fingers under the chin as per usual.

“You did not forget an anniversary,” he whispered against Buck's lips before pulling back from him and handing over the flowers. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Well,” Buck smelled the flowers, “you succeeded.”

Tommy shrugged. “You're always surprising me, keeping me on my toes, figured I should return the favor sometime.”

“Oh please, you surprise me every day. I'm always learning something new about you.”

Tommy held out his hand for Buck to take, and Buck glanced between him and the flowers. “Shouldn't I put these in a vase?”

“We will in a minute,” he nodded toward the table near them, hand still outstretched. “Lay them there for now.”

Buck gently set them down, then placed his hand in Tommy's. He let Tommy lead them to the center of the living room, where he then stopped.

“What're we doing?” Buck asked, utterly confused.

Tommy pulled their stereo remote out of his pants pocket, pressed a button, then stuffed it back into his pocket. He kept his hold on Buck's hand, but took a couple steps back, asking, “May I have this dance?”

The music began and, although he felt like he had just arrived on a new planet and skipped the tour, Buck said, “Of course.”

From this moment, life has begun

From this moment, you are the one

Right beside you is where I belong,

From this moment on

“You look beautiful tonight.” Tommy spoke softly, bringing Buck close to him. They each had an arm wrapped around the other's waist, their other hands still intertwined as they began to dance.

“Thank you. My boyfriend picked my outfit for me.”

“Oh he did, did he?”

“Mhm.”

“He's got good taste.”

Buck swore Tommy's eyes twinkled as they stared at one another. The whole world could have imploded in that moment and Buck would have been none the wiser.

“Hell yeah he does. You should, uh, should see how good he looks though. Smokin' hot.”

From this moment, I have been blessed

I live only for your happiness

And for your love, I'd give my last breath

From this moment on

“Not that I'm complaining but, um, what's all this for?” Buck asked.

Tommy let out a sigh. “I was thinking about how we never got to dance at Maddie's wedding, and that's a damn shame. I was looking forward to it.”

Buck couldn't help but laugh. “That was six months ago, Tommy!”

“Six months too long.”

I give my hand to you with all my heart

I can't wait to live my life with you, I can't wait to start

You and I will never be apart

My dreams came true because of you

Sometimes, Buck felt like he was dreaming. That Tommy was a figment of his imagination. Someone he created to make himself feel complete.

And maybe another person couldn't actually complete you, but Tommy came pretty damn close.

Buck moved his arms to drape over Tommy's shoulders, hands cradling at the nape of his neck. Tommy used the change as an opportunity to bring them even closer, his arms around Buck's waist, hands settled at the bottom of his back.

“I love this song,” Buck said, resting his head on Tommy's shoulder. “Reminds me of when I was little, hearing it on the radio.”

From this moment, as long as I live

I will love you, I promise you this

There is nothing, I wouldn't give

From this moment on

“Anything Shania is a favorite of mine, but you know that already.”

Buck smiled, humming as he turned his head to nuzzle into Tommy's neck. “Walking in on you dancing to Any Man of Mine in your underwear? I'll never forget that one.”

Tommy snorted. “It's a wonder you didn't leave me right then and there.”

“It's a wonder I didn't propose right then and there.” When Buck realized what he said, his body stiffened. He went to pull back, to ask if that was too much, but Tommy kept him close.

“I would've said yes.”

The words were spoken barely above a whisper. Buck almost missed it completely. But he didn't. He heard Tommy and it made his heart skip a beat. He melted into him further.

Oh, you're the reason I believe in love

And you're the answer to my prayers from up above

All we need is just the two of us

My dreams came true because of you

Technically, they weren't dancing anymore. Instead swaying gently as they held each other up.

Buck lifted his head slightly, just enough to look into Tommy's eyes. “Did we just sort of propose to each other?”

Tommy smiled, his nose scrunching up in the way Buck loved so much. “I don't know. A little bit, I think. A promise, maybe?”

Buck nodded, laid his head back down. “I like that.”

From this moment, as long as I live

I will love you, I promise you this

There is nothing I wouldn't give

From this moment, I will love you

As long as I live, from this moment on

Buck made no effort to release himself from Tommy's grasp as the song ended. He closed his eyes, now wet with tears as he became overwhelmed by the amount of love he felt. “Can we play it again?” he muttered out, willing his voice not to break.

Tommy moved just enough to hit replay on the remote and press a lingering kiss to Buck's forehead. “As many times as you want.”

From this moment, life has begun

From this moment, you are the one

Right beside you is where I belong

From this moment on...

[3minsover]

another modern steddie au

Eddie gets invited to prom.

Eddie, the freak.

Gets invited by the captain of the basketball team, Jason.

And Eddie’s over the fucking moon, because he never thought he’d get a date to prom, let alone such a hot, popular one.

Sure, it’d taken a little convincing at first, because duh. Town pariah, cutest boy in school - it’s not an obvious match. But Jason seems sincere.

There’d been a time Eddie thought maybe he’d go to prom with Steve - back when they were in the same class last year - but of course Steve never asked, and Eddie didn’t have the stones to do it himself. Always had to go for the popular guy, the unattainable one, did Eddie.

Once Steve graduated, Eddie had been surprised to actually strike up a friendship with Steve on his trips to the local coffee-shop-vintage-vinyl-store hybrid where Steve now worked. He’d even asked Steve, only a couple days before Jason casually leant against Eddie’s locker and popped the question - his excitement and shock had made him blind to the group of jocks loitering with smirk-stained mouths just down the hall - if he’d consider accompanying him to prom just so he didn’t have to go alone. Just as friends though, obviously (except that Eddie would have combusted on the spot if it wasn’t just as friends).

Steve’s rejection of the invite had come swift, though not harshly, and not for any reason other than that he had tickets to see the Hoosiers play the Wolverines at the Assembly Hall that night. Eddie spluttered out reassurance that-

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about little old me! Hey, I’ll have Rob and Nance there, huh, even if they’re going together. I’ll crash their date.” But the enthusiasm fell out of his voice as he spoke.

Steve had been surprised, but supportive, when Eddie broke the news about Jason. he’d not said anything for a long moment, but then his face split into a smile that seemed too big for his face, and he offered Eddie a high five.

And so the afternoon of prom comes.

Jason’s going to pick Eddie up at 7, and for the whole day, Eddie’s been all jitters. He showers, shaves, fusses with his hair, his tux (borrowed from Wayne), his rings and chains, and at 6:45, Eddie sits down opposite Wayne at the dining table.

And he waits.

And waits.

7pm comes, and then 7:15. 7:30.

“He probably just got caught up,” Eddie justifies, if only to break the thick silence hanging over the kitchen.

“I’m sure, kid.” Wayne’s voice is sincere, but it does nothing to ease the swirling of Eddie’s stomach. 8 o’clock crawls nearer, and Eddie’s still sitting at his kitchen table, elbows itching where he’s had his arms folded on the table in front of him for so long. Wayne excuses himself, comes back a couple minutes later, and Eddie hasn’t moved.

Acceptance tastes bitter in Eddie’s mouth.

“He’s not coming, is he.” Eddie doesn’t need to phrase it as a question. Of course Jason’s not coming. Why would he? Eddie feels so fucking stupid. For a moment there, he really thought.

“No, son. I… I don’t think he is.”

“I’m gonna go change,” Eddie announces, failing to keep the wetness out of his voice. He stands, the chair legs scraping overloud against the kitchen floor, and stalks towards his bedroom. He’s tugging at his tie and blinking away stinging tears when four sharp knocks come from the front door. Eddie’s nearest, and his heartbeat rockets. he races over, yanks at the handle flinging it open to find-

Steve.

Steve Harrington is standing on his front porch, fidgeting with his tie. Because he’s wearing a tie. And a suit. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a little damp still, and he’s holding a single yellow dandelion between pinched fingers. He looks so fucking handsome Eddie could cry. Or kiss him. Or kiss him and then cry.

But Steve’s at the Hoosiers game. Or-

“Steve…? I don’t…”

“Wayne called me.” Steve dips his chin self-consciously, looking up through thick lashes.

“And you- But you’re- The game?” Eddie blinks furiously, blindsided by the sight of Steve Harrington in a tux offering him a flower for his goddamn buttonhole.

“There’ll be other games. I’m only gonna get one more chance to take you to prom.”

“One… more?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “I missed it the first time. Almost missed it this time too.”

“But you didn’t.” Eddie takes a half step forward, allowing Steve to slip his fingers under the lapel of his jacket and push the stem of the dandelion through the little stitched opening. He inhales a little gasp at the heady scent of Steve’s cologne so close all of a sudden. Their eyes meet, and everything else softens around them, fading only to shades of violet and blue in the dark. Eddie can see the bob of Steve’s throat as he swallows, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the rich hazel of Steve’s own to focus on it.

Eddie knows he’s smiling like a fool.

“I’m glad you could make it, son.” Wayne’s voice pops the moment like a dishsoap bubble, soft in the way that fall leaves are. Steve looks up and over Eddie’s shoulder, nodding bashfully.

“I’m glad you called.”

“Me too, Wayne. Thank you. No, really. Though I’m not sure I entirely love the fact that my uncle can get me a date better than I can.” The three of them laugh, the sound rising smoky into the night.

“You two have fun - but not too much, y’know.” Wayne’s mouth is set firm but there’s a recognizable spark in his eyes that Eddie is so glad they share.

“I’ll have him home by midnight, sir.” Steve plays the ‘respectful, demure date’ role so well.

“Don’t I get a say in that?” Eddie exclaims, whipping his head to look between the two of them. “Alright, take me to the dance, Harrington.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

In the end, they don’t make it to prom. Instead Steve drives them out to the overlook at Lover’s Lake, just the two of them, and they talk until the twinkle of stars is replaced by the first peachy hints of day. And Eddie thinks maybe prom is overrated, after all.

[razorblade180]

Capturing the Spark

Weiss:*peeks into music room* Summer, sweetie? I can’t help notice you’re playing the same note for like…ten minutes.

Summer: *plucking string* I’ve reach creative bankruptcy.

Weiss:You’re sixteen. There’s something in there.

Summer:Nothing good.

She points at a decently sized pile of paper on the floor. Weiss takes a look at one and realizes it’s a whole song.

Weiss:Are these originals!? Why are they on the floor!?

Summer:I don’t like how they came out. Weeks and months of revising but they feel mediocre.

Weiss:Says you. A single opinion from a creator is damning in any art form. I could’ve listened.

Summer:You would’ve been too nice and supportive.

Weiss:Summer, I told your father he looked fat in the first tux he chose for our wedding. I will never willingly let you embarrass yourself in front of people.

Summer:…There’s been talk on the radio about my recent songs and concerts. People are saying I’m losing my spark, and they aren’t wrong if I’m being honest. Things feel…different.

Weiss:Could it be because you’re getting healthy?

Summer:Pfft, now you’re making me sound ridiculous. Yes, that’s exactly it. Being on stage feels weird now that I’m not fighting for my life. Is that wrong?

Weiss:Little bit, but I get it. Your life was on the line. Adrenaline was at an all time high.

Summer:Exactly! My body was cold and hot. I had to focus on staying myself while thousands cheered my name and had zero clue I was basically on a battlefield! Now I’m just performing.

Weiss:Haha, and that’s a bad thing? It’s gonna be an adjustment but you still have that spark. You don’t need your life on the line to bring it out. You also need to treat these songs better.

Summer:Mom, they’re garbage. My fans don’t come for me for darker stuff anyways.

Weiss:They are fruits of labor. Sure not all of them will be perfect, but not every song you make will be a hit and don’t have to be. Treat these like your puppy. Don’t throw them away because they’re a little all over the place.

Summer:Where is he right now?

Weiss:Bothering Jaune. Anyways, fuck your haters.

Summer:Wow!

Weiss:I mean it! You are the singer! You can’t make people like your music but you change the audience that fills your seats. They’re called fans because they help make you burn bright.

Summer:….

Weiss:The way I see it, you can change up your style and genre to better capture and represent the raw feelings that give you the spark, or bask in the irony of a crowd that loves you, but can’t fathom the real weight of your performance.

Summer:You’ve done that too!?

Weiss:I’ve written so many songs that come from my feelings being around my abusive father and most people don’t have a clue. We may be the entertainment at a concert, but we both know how easy it is to see the crowd as the real fools.

Summer:Yet when I talk like this, therapy gets mentioned.

Weiss:Hey, I’ve been to it many times. I know exactly who I am, and you will too. One day at a time. You’re not creatively bankrupt. You’re just not cashing in all the ideas you have.

And with that nugget of wisdom, Weiss kisses her daughter on the forehead before leaving her to think on it.

Summer:(Damn it. She’s gonna feel so proud about that line.) *grabs paper*……

xxxxxx

Weiss:*walking down stairs* I’m back. How’s the puppy?

Jaune:*holding him up* Air jail. Did you solve the one note wonder?

Weiss:Yeah, but it’s gonna get louder in sec-

🎶VVVVVRRRREEEERRRRR🎶

Both of them looked up as the sound of a distorted and almost wailing guitar started singing wildly. Jaune looked at his wife to see her casually head banging with a smug face. They weren’t even sure if the notes lead to something or if their daughter was simply going for it.

Weiss:It’s been awhile since I heard a eulogy like this.

Jaune:A eulogy?

Weiss:Can’t you hear it? It’s for the death of a pop star as we know her.

[urhoneycombwitch]

omg prince!eddie!!!!!!! omg omg omg him as a prince

foreword: i wrote prince!Eddie… I don’t know who I am anymore. rebrand era. (Prince Stephen is next in line so Edward (his step-brother by a misfortunate marriage. according to them both) gets to be an unserious princely bard and goof off a bit <3 you’re lower status tho so watch itttttt >:) )

wc: 650

cw: prince!Eddie, reader is referred to as princess, wears dress + has cleavage, fingering, sexual talk, +18 mdni, semi public but not caught

______

At first, the game is amusing- find your pearl earring that must have fallen from its clasp, a small group gathered in the cold garden to carry out the mission. Royals in fine clothes sweeping low to the ground, boys in tuxes and ties getting alarmingly close to scuffing their knees in valiant effort to the cause. 

But there’s only so long one can take of this before it gets old, semi-circle of girls preening for attention, stamping their feet at their respective beaus, saying pointedly “I’m cold, Stephen” and “Do get up, Jon!”

One by one, the warmth of the bustling and fire-warmed party inside of the castle is too much to resist- until it’s just you and Eddie on hands and knees, hidden from view behind a thick cover of shrubbery.

“Hi,” he pants, grin dazzling in the moonlight. There’s a silver circlet that slips low on his dark brow; Prince Eddie shoves it back into the dark frizz of his curls with lithe, pale fingers, your eyes tracking every move.

At this angle- you on all fours in front of a crouched Eddie, chest heaving with exertion- he can surely see down the front of your dress. You straighten quickly, back against the solid shrub, self-consciously flicking your skirts to cover the length of your legs.

The soft silk of your wine-red dress sleeves slip down your arm- you welcome the extra shield against the cool night air. From this distance, the party noise is considerably dimmed, leaving space for you to hear Eddie’s quiet breaths. He breaks the moment first.

“God, I wish I had a cigarette. Hopp caught me again at the market- scared the smoke merchant so badly, I thought he’d seize to death.”

You giggle at the thought of the stern guard telling off a poor bystander, of getting Prince Edward humiliated in front of valuable vendors. “Oh, my poor Prince.”

It’s condescending, sardonic, but he smirks at you anyways, eyes twinkling. “Yeah? Will you kiss me better, princess-?”

“Shhht!” You’re quick to close the distance between your bodies, practically launching into Eddie’s lap in order to clap a hand over his mouth. 

Then, as if suddenly remembering an unspoken rule, you pull back from his space, still frowning and hot with strain as you hiss, “That’s blasphemy. That nickname will bring us both nothing but trouble- I pray you hold your tongue, Edward.”

You underestimate Eddie’s ability to read you, because he appears (rightly) completely unfazed by your sharp words, going so far as to catch your wrist, bringing it to his lips. “Go on, princess. I pray you hold it for me.”

And then, with one last flash of anger you pull him in by the folds of his forest-green lapels, open enough that his bare chest brushes against yours. He moans into your mouth, hands settling at your waist, gripping tight at the extra padding just under your bodice as your tongues slide past each other's lips.

“You shouldn't be worried…” he pulls away, irritatingly smug, lips pink and spit-slicked even in the pale light- “...about a silly nickname being overheard. Should worry more about this noisy cunt of yours.”

Eddie slips a hand underneath your silk skirts, fingers running against the seam of your linens, proving his point when your folds separate with a wet click. A high whine spills from your throat, and you buck into his hand. 

He grins, triumphant, against your mouth, fingers seeking at the edges of your underclothes. “Stay quiet and your Prince will give you something worth bowing for.”

[hetaherr]

playing video games with them | anemo boys <3

: kazuha, xiao, venti, wanderer

:mostly crack, a little suggestive but no warnings

well anyway this is another reupload!! added kuni’s part also got lazy to proof read its just a headcanon anyway!!! i play wayy to much video games and id love to share my hobbies with these sweet babies <3

kazuha

i think this baby is a really chill gamer, he enjoys the cozy aspect of video games. thats why i think games like minecraft, stardew valley, animal crossing and the sims!! cozy video game dates are a norm for you guys when its too hot outside or too rainy.

imagine playing stardew valley with him, curled up under the covers with your MATCHING SWITCH CONSOLES. you guys working through the first few years of the game as little farm people doing little farm things. he’d even find some helpful guides online so you guys can maximise your finances in the game. honestly i can see how he gets a little petty at the fact that you MARRIED some npc in the game and he had to watch the whole cutscene while you joked around that he hadn’t given you enough attention and this was all his fault. now kazuha hates that particular npc, and he’s definitely pouting the whole night. give him lots of smooches, tell him that no video game code can replace your pookie wookie baby boy <3

but there, of course are other ways you can make up for it, like asking him to marry you- in animal crossing duh!! he’d take this whole thing very seriously obviously, its a wedding silly. he’d prepare a little wedding venue in his world by the beach, even going as far to design a cute little tux. it’s adorable, also don’t think for a second that he wouldn’t give you a kiss (giggling after) when the wedding officiant says you may now kiss. i also can picture kazuha buying you a promise ring irl , with a maple leaf engraved onto it. yes it was a animal crossing wedding, but it was YOUR WEDDING non the less.

another thing i can imagine is while you were playing the sims kazuha would 100% ask to create a little family with you. he’d even help to go “shopping” online for CC that would fit your characters or homes. kazuha DIES A LITTLE inside as you carefully curate each of the characters, spending hours deciding on the perfect outfits, hairs and personalities. coming up with mini fantasy stories about the mini yous and giggling along with him when they get a little too absurd. your cute family consists of you, kazuha and a little white cat. kazuha likes watching you get a little flustered whenever his character flirts with yours, sending a romantic haiku your way. not to mention the first time your character’s woohoo’ed he teasingly said:

“its honestly a shame that they’re the only ones that get to woohoo you know?”

anyway kazuha is 100% down to try as many games as he can with you, playing games with him is 10 bells out of 10 bells hehe

xiao

gamer xiao… yea he kinda scares me. xiao plays shooter games for sure, like obviously he’s had an eboy valorant phase but lets skip past that for now. its definitely more than normal to hear him grumbling how “dogshit” some of his teammates are. he’s definitely muted from chat on several games, also banned from league most of the time from being toxic in the chats.

playing competitive games with xiao is definitely an experience, and it definitely does not feel like the stereotypical pocket sage and hyper-carry jett. so please proceed with caution. the first time you and him played together, he may have gotten a little TOO HEATED and may have cussed you out on accident forgetting it was his loving, doting and caring partner who just wanted to participate in one of his hobbies. xiao doesn’t mean to get angry at you, please bare with him when the words “how is this person so fucking bad, how are they SO USELESS JUST GET OFF THE GAME DUDE” slip out. and oh boy… xiao immediately regrets his words, he feels so bad. he was actually overjoyed when you asked to play with him, even if he doesn’t actually show it, now he definitely assumes that you won’t ever want to play games with him EVER, hell maybe you want to break up. he’s spiralling. he apologises so much and he’s so awkward and so fidgety. its hard to stay mad at him, when he’s like this you have to admit he’s a little cutie. the next few days he’s definitely cautious and on edge around you, he finds it weird that you let go of the situation so easily and just moved on. he cant believe he let such vulgar words be thrown towards you. so after a conversation about his behaviour, you both decide maybe its best you just be an observer. you’re more than happy to straddle him, chin on his shoulder when he plays at his pc. and xiao LOVES IT, there is honestly nothing more comforting than you give him a little kiss when he starts to get a little too tense. occasionally when you face the screen and watch his games, he gets so nervous to play well. and xiao absolutely DIES when you compliment his abilities. bro needs the praise please, in that moment he thinks you’re so sexy and you have such a caring soul and his ears are tinted so red. don’t tease him though, he won’t be able to play the game properly.

another thing xiao is so weirdly good at is arcade games. i can picture arcade dates and xiao is just godly at them, claw machines, those basketball ones, car racing- you name it sweetheart and he’s earning those tickets like he needs to feed his 20 kids as a single dad. xiao acts so nonchalant about it, shrugging his shoulders as if this talent of his isn’t a big deal, but inside he’s so proud that he’s managed to get you that plushie he knows you’d been eyeing the whole day. he loves the way you grip onto his biceps pulling him to another machine to test his abilities, he may grumble about you overreacting but he’s so happy just to see you smile. and having you cheer him on the side is such an added bonus, you’re such a cute cheerleader. anyway i rate xiao a “please dont scold me baby im trying my best” out of “FUCK YOU FUCKING SUCK”

venti

horror games. literally venti HATES THEM but he cant get enough of it. playing phasmophobia would be so incredibly fun, but also a total shitshow. like im talking him making you do all the work while he intentionally provokes the ghost. at the same time he’s too scared to do anything so, he’s always really close to you. so if anything ever happens, you’d be a total idiot to think he’d try to help you, venti would be the first one out the door and running away. venti is also so horrendously LOUD, literally half the time instead of getting spooked by the game, your having a heart attack inducing jump scare from his random screaming. don’t even get me started on roblox horror games, every week there’s some new game he discovered on tiktok, and you are playing it with him, you have to.

another game venti loves to play is sims, but he’s about 100 times more chaotic compared to kazuha. he loves those ridiculous challenges and he wants to have like 10 babies with you, and then proceeds to cry when they are taken away from the sims version of cps. for some reason he has all the packs and likes to screw around with everything. he makes silly little bets with you in any game, for example in the sims he’d bet with you whether your 23rd child is going to be a boy or girl, most bets are harmless like a kiss or cuddles, unless he’s in the mood.

speaking of intimacy, venti needs to be holding you while playing games. arms linked, lying on your lap or you in his, honestly you just let him because he’s so cheeky about it anyway. venti also loves playing music related games with you, duh!! karaoke, guess the song, finish the lyric. ANYTHING!! whether you can sing or not, he just loves to hear your voice, definitely teases you if you cant though hehe. karaoke is so fun, if your shy he definitely eases you into letting lose and breaking out of your comfort zone, duetting with you is something he loves because music is his passion and honestly it hits so close to home for him. you’d often find him squeezing your hand as a form of encouragement.

im rating venti a solid 8 red bulls out of “i’ve already had 15”.

wanderer

this little emo baby is 100% only ever playing single player games, things that are extremely grindy and super lore heavy (bro is on subreddits looking at game theories and conspiracies, he would love to talk to you about them if you ever asked)!! im talking about bloodborne, doom, assassin’s creed and dark souls. he hates online multiplayer games because he doesn’t want to interact with “idiots” as he’s mentioned numerous times. so unfortunately its not often that you have a chance to play any type of multiplayer games with him.

however when it comes to his gaming sessions, he’d subtly invite you to come watch him because you’re like his own little streaming audience, and he loves it. the way you comment about how cool his character looks, or ask questions about gameplay mechanics. he loves how you involve yourself in his hobbies, it turns him to mush. he also loves how you play with his hair while peeking over his shoulder to look at the tv screen as he taps away at the controller. sometimes when the game gets a little boring he notices how your breath bounces off his neck, needless to say, those nights end up a bit more differently than how you originally imagined.

also if your ever interested in the game, kuni would “hesitantly” offer you to play on a new save file. but he’s actually elated that you’re going to try his FAVOURITE video game ever. you take your place in his lap as he explains to you the basics, not many would notice but you can ever so slightly hear the excitement in his voice. kuni complains about you being so lost but he’s so careful with explaining certain things, he’s also so patient as you take hours designing your character, well he’s okay being patient since its you. kuni absolutely DISSOLVES when facing a difficult boss, puzzle or obstacle, you kinda go into a slump against his chest and beg him to help you get past it. he snickers that your so weak, but somehow he manages to get through so swiftly- i guess he needs to show off a little to you. he also may complain a lot but thats just how this baby boy is, dont get discouraged he actually thinks you’re so cute.

also if you ever find yourself playing overcooked, moving out, gang beasts or any of those party games with kuni… good luck, just because he doesn’t like competitive games like valorant, DOES NOT MEAN HE ISNT COMPETITIVE. he gets so worked up and its honestly a little cute if you can look past the crusty white dog behaviour. if you do end up getting into an argument over these games, dont be surprised. im lazy to give a rating so im giving him 10/10, again minus the crusty white dog.

edit: if you saw “anyway wanderer is a straight” HAHA i apologise maybe thats why i should straight proof reading oops hehe