#but none of them has me squealing and giggling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dadsbongos · 5 months ago

Text

dungeon meshi gave me an excuse to write clone porn

2.6 k words / warnings - readers have boobs and vagina, oral (laios + reader receiving), thigh fucking, porn without plot like none at all, not proofread + written while sleep deprived

summary - on your honeymoon, you and laios have a special kind of shapeshifter encounter

~~~

“Who keeps two towels in the whole house?” you grumble, pulling on the shoes you’d kicked off just minutes ago.

“Like I said, they probably keep some in the shed,” Laios is directly behind you, shoes on and wired to step outside, “Vacation houses out here are rare, but their sheds are more useful for storage than farming tools.”

“Still, did they not think to prepare a little more?” your frustration is not so easily tempered, “They knew a king was coming, didn’t they?”

“I’m sure they did,” Laios opens the front door for you, ushering you outside, “Marcille seemed pretty sure she set this up nicely for us. It’s just a short walk around the back, I could go by myself if you want to finish showering?”

His suggestion makes you sigh, you shake your head, huddling closer to him as chilled wind scathes your damp skin, “I’m just annoyed, it’s nothing for me to be so hostile about… Sorry for losing my mind.”

“I don’t mind,” he smooches the crown of your head and ventures around the house. You chase after, having to keep a hand dragging along the wall to avoid tripping.

“Laios!” you wail, unable to make him out with gray clogging your whole vision, “Laios!”

“Yeah?” you slam into his chest, letting out a muted ‘oomf!’ at the impact.

“It’s so foggy out here,” you grumble.

“It is, guess I forgot how terrible it could be.”

“Dunno how you could forget anything like this.”

Laios groans in irritation at the weather, blindly reaching out until he’s got a hand on your shoulder. Once he’s certain of your position, he reaches out again, “Here, take my hand, I don’t want you to get separated from me.”

You take the hand extended and let Laios tug you towards the shed. By the time you’re inside and the hanging overhead lantern is lit, a sudden discovery is made.

There are two extra bodies among you. You hold one Laios, and the Laios across from you holds the hand of your copy.

A gasp echoes through the room, distinctly Laios-like in passion.

Seems a monster has crossed your paths.

One Laios is taller, a mere two inches, and you think if you really stare that same Laios’ chest is slightly bigger too. He’s also smiling, beaming really, right off the bat while the second Laios’ excitement is more contained to shaking hands and meek giggles. To be fair to both, they thought they’d never see a monster again so you let the strange giddy slide.

However, your duplicate is scary in how precisely Laios remembers you. Your hair is a bit bouncier and lips more glossy than current, but she’s undeniably accurate. Its legs, the swell of its breasts, the mold of its waist -- almost as though you’re gazing through a mirror.

“This would probably be easier if it wasn’t just us,” you think aloud, looking at the two Laioses only to see them poking and prodding at one another.

“They don’t seem too keen on figuring out which is which,” your copy mumbles, earning a glare from you.

“It’s a shapeshifter!” the slightly shorter Laios (who you’re now electing to dub Laios A) shouts, “I haven’t seen one of these in forever! I thought I never would again!”

The other one, Laios B, nods and yanks Laios A’s hair experimentally, then groping his bicep, “It really feels just like I do! Soft, but firm skin and the hair texture’s exactly right!”

As if thinking in sync, the pair slowly turn towards the yous. Four hands turn unto you both to squeeze and roll down the planes of your body. Or, bodies, considering they’re petting down your copy as well.

“Practically identical!” Laios A squeals, kissing your cheek then your copy’s, “Even the plumpness of their cheeks feel the same!”

“Glad you’re having fun,” your dupe cuts in, “but shouldn’t we try getting rid of the fakes before they get rid of us?”

Oh, that little wench.

“Let Laios have fun,” you smack its arm, “You should know this is rare for him now.”

“That attitude’s terrible! He could die if we keep messing around!” it glares at you with an accusatory finger-wag, “I bet you want us to waste time, you fake!”

“You’re the fake, you fake!”

Laios A has to restrain you with both arms around your waist -- while Laios B does the same for your shifter -- to prevent you from knocking a fist into its stupid, fake face.

“There’s gotta be a way to figure out which ones the real one without breaking into fights,” Laios B fusses, hugging the shifter tighter to soothe her. Which, in turn, only agitates you more because what if that Laios is the real one, and he’s in horrible danger holding that monster?!

“We can’t just cut ourselves open,” Laios A’s chest reverberates at your back, then his hand skims down the front of your stomach, fingertips dipping just beneath your waistband, “But maybe we could tell each other’s behaviors apart some other way…”

“Oh, so it’s like that?” you tilt your head back to stare up at Laios A.

He nods, terminally serious despite the pinkish hue trailing from his cheeks to his neck, “It’s like that,” he then darts his eyes between you and your copy, “Can we?”

The real question seems to be: can you two get along for now?

Are you so devoted to Laios that you’re willing to play nice with something so grating?

You sigh and reach up to cup Laios A’s cheek, “Yeah, we can.”

Both Laioses rush to undo the tie of their trousers, only to be stopped by you and your copy -- the two of you falling onto your knees, creeping hands under Laios’ shirt and beneath his pants.

Yanking the soft material down to unveil thick thighs, Laios A above you gasps quietly at the cool air brushing his exposed skin. Your lips climb the meat of his leg, noting that Laios B’s thighs are looking a little rounder. Not that it matters, you’ll gladly bite and suck both.

Fingers dancing along the apple of your cheek redirect your attention, Laios A’s face tinged crimson. You smooch the bone of his hip, nails scaling along the back of his thighs to pull him closer. Beside your face, his cock hardens, color deepening towards his mushroom tip; he keens for more attention, unintentionally smearing leaky precum over your face as his erection twitches. You smooth a thumb along his underside before chastly pecking the weepy head.

Laios B’s hands strip your copy’s shirt, lifting it to paw at its breasts. He kisses down the column of its neck before reaching out for you as well. Rising onto your feet, you run your hands up Laios B’s back to shirk off his top -- Laios A awkwardly lingering behind your clone. His hands find the waistband of its pants, snaking beneath the lip to plunge into its panties.

You press a kiss to Laios B, he doesn’t turn to return the affection, but you recover quickly by pulling down both you and your duplicate’s bottoms. Laios A’s neck cranes over your copy’s shoulder to snatch your lips for himself. Laios B’s hands warm and calloused from labor as they careen up your waist to rid you of your shirt as well. He sucks a violet array from your shoulder to jaw, grinding his turgid girth between your thighs -- your wetness welcoming him.

Laios A moans at the sight of himself thrusting along your soaked slit, fingers quickening inside your copy until its own slick is rolling towards the floor. While Laios B releases muted groans and puffs into your ear.

“Need to be inside you,” Laios A whines, kissing your copy’s lips before striding past all three of you towards the center of the room. Laios B and you tilt to watch him.

Laios A quickly flattens his back against the floor, cobblestone acclimating to his rising body heat, he pulls you down by the waist -- then beckoning your copy via wave. One of his hands cradles your waist while the other smoothes along your copy’s thigh. Silently urging it to kneel over his face, all while his twitching cock bobs toward the apex of your thighs.

“Want to know if here’s the same, too,” Laios A murmurs into your dupe’s thighs, sharply jerking his hips towards yours.

Suddenly, large hands are burrowing into the thicket of your hair, swerving your eyes to Laios B. Your tongue lulls in time with your copy, lips brushing hers around the base of Laios B’s flushed head. Needily, he mushes your faces together, thrusting between the wet cavern of your mouths. Hands just as soft as yours slither beneath you to work Laios A inside you. Laios A snaps his knees up, feet on the floor, to aid your copy’s effort. His hips buck up, punching air from your chest as he pops into your hole.

A louder mewl slithers past your copy’s lips, Laios A’s tongue lathering its slit before pausing at its clit, bathing the bud in extra attention. His thumbs splay it open just for easier access to tongue-fuck. Meanwhile, your sleepy bouncing rhythm is interrupted by abrupt, sharp humping throwing you off balance. The only reason you don’t fall over is Laios B stubbornly holds your head still, fucking the sodden gap between yours and your clone’s faces; otherwise leaving you to your own devices. You manage to catch yourself on Laios A’s chest, firm muscles flexing beneath your palms with his throaty hums and whimpers of pleasure.

Your tongue clashes with your clone’s -- soft and wet and warm.

Pulling both your heads back, Laios B rearranges you so your clone is left squealing around his balls while he slaps the meaty weight of his cock on your tongue. Sliding toward the back of your throat, his face flushes as he hungrily coaxes your head further down. Until your molten cheeks meet the protrusions of his pelvic bones.

A hand bigger than yours (though smaller than the one in your hair) rests on your flexing tummy, pressing against the bulging evidence of which Laios is inside you. Laios A groans at the feeling, and you quickly fumble your hand over his, pressing harder with a delighted gasp that ends in a gag and choke. Their sizes are indecipherable, and if the mood were different you could almost be ashamed by how perverted it makes you seem.

Laios B throws his head back as your throat spasms around his tip, lip cinched between his teeth and brows furrowed. He forces your head side-to-side, reveling in the bend of your muscles shifting to accommodate his dick. Laios A, however, stretches his hand (a little uncomfortably) so his thumb can swish messily against your clit. Your volume grows, quickly overpowering both Laios B and your own duplicate. Spurring Laios A to hasten, jostling you with his powerful drilling paired with stimulating your clit.

The other hand of Laios A has found one of your clone’s tits, squeezing and padding the nipple with his thumb. She’s grinding down against his nose, hips jumping and muffled mewls just barely scratching past its lips into the sensitive sack of Laios B’s balls. Spit gurgling down its chin, drying against its breasts and Laios A’s hand.

Drool steadily pools at the pucker of your own lips, pushed out everytime B shoves in -- saliva splatters his hips, dripping down his thighs and soaking his base as well as your entire lower face. The quicker he fucks your face, the sloppier and wetter it gets. Which is certainly in character for Laios.

But so is the way the one on his back is staving off his burgeoning orgasm to make sure (both of) you finish first. Something he always tries.

Laios A’s hips snap up firmly, crooking up into you midair, deep as possible to ensure all his cum is milked by your cunt. He moans into your clone’s cunt, now content to let his tongue hang out as it fucks his face -- his hand still squishing its tit.

Yet something he always fails.

Laios usually cums before you, but he’s also got the stamina to soldier on until you drop.

Determined, Laios swirls your clit, fevered thrusts slowing to meet your bouncing on his cock. Another slush of saliva oozes past your lips, lubing the shapeshifter as you cry around its erection. Laios fucks you through your orgasm, evidently loving how cum spews from your weeping cunt -- leaking down his cock, over his nuts, and spilling onto the cobblestone below.

Faux Laios spits cum down your throat with a few final aggressive jerks. Your clone is the last, and the quietest, shy huffs scarcely audible between skin on skin and both you and Laios’ noisy crooning.

The shapeshifters tumble off, thoroughly exhausted, and you fare no better collapsing into Laios’ chest. He leisurely jabs the last of your energy from you before pulling out altogether. Sweetly pecking your forehead, Laios murmurs something you don’t quite catch before he rises -- still naked -- to drive off the imposters.

Snagging both by the back of their necks, Laios herds the pair towards the back wall, then scooping you up to carry towards the main house. Once your doppelgangers are locked outside, Laios can focus on getting you in bed.

You pinch the juncture of his neck, yawning into his chest, “Clothes…”

“I know, I know,” he slumps against the door upon getting inside, laying his head over yours -- eyes fluttering with drowsiness as soon as he crosses into the master bed, “I’ll go back when the shapeshifter’s dealt with. You brought more clothes, right?”

You nod clumsily. Then peek at him through heavy lashes, “How do you know I’m the right one anyway?”

(you trust him to know which you was which, you just want him to bask in this)

Laios grins, visibly excited to share as he slips you beneath the sheets, “You’re always loud when we have sex, so I knew the version of you trying to be quiet couldn’t be it. And it was too shy about sitting on my face -- we’ve been together a while so you should be used to it by now,” his expression grows somehow brighter before disappearing from your sight, voice lively from the bathroom, “Could you tell which me was me?”

“Mhm,” you wait for him to return with a damp washcloth before mumbling your own reasoning, “The other one was too rough, kept shovin’ my head. And he never kissed me,” you fling a hand out, and Laios moves his head so your palm lands on his cheek, “Which was very unlike you.”

“You’re so smart,” he muses, shifting to kiss your palm before lacing his free hand with yours and retucking it in bed so he can properly clean the mixed cum between your thighs. Then, suddenly, he’s frowning.

“Aw, what’s wrong?”

“This might actually be my last time seeing a monster, unless it's a corpse Izutsumi brings me…”

“Poor baby,” you’ll never understand his fascination -- monsters are deadly and terrible and most are ugly as sin, but you’re useless to denying Laios anything so you always indulge him, “You could sing me the mermaids’ song, would that help you feel better?”

Laios sits up straighter, finishing cleaning you off, “Can I sing to the end? I never get to finish it.”

“Of course, you can.”

Quiet, hysterical giggles leave Laios’ mouth as he slides into bed beside you, hugging you into his chest before clearing his throat to begin singing.

(you have to keep pinching yourself awake to actually let Laios finish the song before falling asleep, but his grateful little kisses on your hairline are enough thanks)

#laios touden x reader #laios touden smut #laios x reader #laios smut #dungeon meshi x reader

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Hey, I just read the Grid Kids series and I’m in love. I’ve got kids of my own and I remember when they first started trying to talk how everyone was practically fighting over who their first work would be and was wondering if you could do a First Word one where they are all doing the same of Seb and Readers kid. Like maybe even little nicknames of theory full name like for Charles it’s Char or for Lando it’s Lan? I thought it might be cute. But everyone gets a surprise when none of them are the kids first word and it’s someone else instead. Love your writing xx

Grid Kids: Speak Now

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: no one could have predicted what your daughter’s first word would be

Series Masterlist

“No, no, no! That’s not how you say it!” You lightly tickle your daughter’s belly until she’s giggling uncontrollably. “Mama! Say Mama!”

Your daughter, a chubby little cherub with her father’s hair and your eyes, squeals with delight, her tiny hands reaching out to grab yours.

She’s been babbling for months now but has yet to say her first real word.

“Come on, bärchen,” Sebastian coos, scooping her up into his arms. “Say Papa for Papa.”

Your daughter claps her hands and gurgles happily, her eyes sparkling. She is determined to keep you both guessing, it seems.

Meanwhile, your grid kids are gathered around, watching the exchange with amusement. They’ve all been trying to coax your daughter into saying their names too but she has stubbornly resisted their charms.

“Maybe she’ll say my name first,” Charles jokes, his usual mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“Not a chance,” Max retorts, his Dutch accent thick with amusement. “She loves me the most.”

“Oh, please,” Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes. “She clearly thinks I’m the coolest brother.”

“Ha,” George laughs, “in your dreams.”

“Exactly! Because we all know that’s me,” Mick chimes in.

Lance arches an eyebrow. “How does it feel knowing you’re all wrong?”

The boys continue to bicker playfully, each one convinced that they are your daughter’s favorite.

The baby in question, meanwhile, seems oblivious to the commotion, her attention focused solely on the shiny red Ferrari parked behind you.

“Box, box!” She exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.

Charles, standing closest to the car, freezes. His eyes widen in horror and his face drains of color. Before anyone can react, he collapses to the ground like a sack of potatoes, unconscious.

The boys gasp in shock, their voices echoing through the garage. You rush to Charles’ side, checking for a pulse. He’s alive but he’s definitely not responding.

Sebastian scoops up your daughter, her wide eyes fixed on the stricken Ferrari driver. “It’s okay, honey,” he soothes, gently stroking her hair. “Charles is just a little tired.”

He carries your daughter away, leaving you to deal with the commotion. You shake your head in disbelief.

“Ferrari trauma, I guess,” you mutter to yourself, a rueful smile playing on your lips.

As you help the rest of the grid kids revive Charles, you can’t help but feel a surge of love for your chaotic family.

They may be crazy but you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

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elliespassagerprincess · 4 months ago

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ellie period comfort fic pls? istg i hate this shit but love ur fluff fics KJAKSJHKA:cc

Comfort - (ellie williams x reader)

hi pookieeee!!! firstly thank youuuu, secondly so real. if i could get rid of it forever i would because joh the painnnnnnnn:(((( i hope you enjoy<3333

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: none

Summary: in which she helped you

authors note: its midterm break rn and im so bored, all i do is sleep, eat and write. also do yall think i should make playlist with all the songs people send me as requests???

masterlist

Ellie was worried. Really fucking worried.

The two of you were supposed to meet at this new cat café Ellie recently discovered. She remembered showing you pictures that she found on Instagram, and how excited you were.

"Ellie there's ginger cats!" You squealed when you saw the pictures. "Can i hold them?"

"The website says you can"

You let out a scream of excitement and you hopped onto her, straddling her. Her hands immediately went to your hips.

You kissed her all over her face and she fucking giggled.

"Thank you baby!"

Now here she sat all alone with ginger cat on her lap waiting for you.

She sat there for over an hour waiting but you never showed up. She's called you so many times. She's texted you so many times.

I'm here (delivered)

when are you coming? (delivered)

Where are you? (delivered)

Baby are you ok? (delivered)

You're scaring me (delivered)

It wasn't like you to not respond, especially if the two of you had a date planned.

Maybe you were mad at her? Maybe you were ignoring her? Maybe you were in danger?

Fuck, so many possibilities.

She checked your location only to see that you were at your apartment.

What?

She immediately left the café, and she hopped into her car. She was speeding down the highway, praying that she wouldn't get pulled over.

Maybe you fainted, maybe you forgot, maybe you had someone over?

She was terrified.

She pulled into the driveway of the complex and she rushed up the stairs forgetting that the elevator was there. She ran to your door and she unlocked it with the key she had, not even bothering to knock because if you were in trouble then she needed to get there urgently.

She walked into into your apartment and it looked like it always has. It was clean, everything was in its place.

What the fuck?

She slowly walked through the apartment and she checked every room but there was no one. She just has your bedroom left. She slowly opened the door and there was a huge lump on your bed. She walked to the other side of the bed to see you fast sleep covered with a million blankets.

She let out a sigh of relief and she squatted down so she could see your face more clearly.

She gently touched your cheek and your nose scrunched at the sensation.

"Baby" she muttered quietly.

You slowly opened your eyes and she gave you a small smile.

"Hi"

"Are you ok?" Ellie asked with concern "you didn't reply to my texts"

you frown and you reached out to grab your phone from behind you. You switched it on you read all the texts and you eyes widened.

"we had a date?"

"Yeah"

"I'm sorry"

Ellie shook her head "what happened?"

you look away shyly

"baby talk to me"

"my period started and i decided to take a nap"

'that explains your mood swings' Ellie thought

"oh you poor thing" she got up and she kissed your forehead "does it hurt?"

"A little" you admitted.

"Let me help you"

you nodded at her request and Ellie immediately got to work. She went into your bathroom and she filled the tub with water. She back into your room where you quietly sat and waited for her. She came in and she gently grabbed your hand

"come on baby"

You got out of the bed following her. When you got into the bathroom and you saw the water filled tub you gave her a big hug. You took off your clothes and you gave you got in with a relived sigh.

Ellie took your clothes and she out it into the washer. She immediately went into the kitchen and she looked for every sweet treat she could find because she knew how much loved eating sweet this, especially at this time.

She changed your sheets, she got you pain meds and she sat on the edge of the bed waiting for you.

You walked out all clean, and you were immediately looking for Ellie. When you walked into the room, seeing the new sheets the snacks, you were suddenly overwhelmed.

"Oh Ellie" your eyes filled with tears.

"No baby don't cry" she got up and she walked over to you and she hugged you as you silently sobbed. The two of you stood together for a while as you found comfort in her arms.

"Lets lay down" she mumbled.

"Tonight we'll do whatever you want" she said as she cuddled up behind you.

"Can we watch Disney?"

"We can baby"

"can you also get me cheese?"

"Whatever you want baby"

you gave the arm that was wrapped around you a squeeze

"i like cheese"

" i know you do"

"thank you els, i love you"

"i love you too"

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achilles-rage · 1 month ago

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achilles-rage's twelve days of christmas

day one: it's beginning to look a lot like christmas (ft. evan buckley)

summary: decorating the tree with evan buckley and your daughter.

word count: 2.5k

series masterlist

a/n: you guys i'm so excited for this series!! i think this might be one of my favourite things i've written so far, it's so fluffy and it made me feel so warm and fuzzy lol!! also vivian is one of my top baby names so this feels self indulgent hehe. enjoy<3

warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You’re wiping down the kitchen island when you feel two tiny hands grabbing at the hem of your sweater, and you look down with a smile when you hear your daughter’s voice triumph the Christmas music echoing softly through your house.

“Mama!” your daughter, Vivi, practically yells, and you have no choice but to pick her up when you see her big eyes staring up at you. You lift her into your arms and set her on your hip, then continue wiping down the kitchen island while Buck takes care of the kitchen counters.

You can feel a thin layer of sweat on your face, and you’re sure you’re getting a rash from the material of the bright red Christmas sweater you’re wearing, but you don’t dare take it off. When Buck and Vivi saw these matching family sweaters at the store, they just had to buy them, and you’re still not sure who had to convince who to buy them.

You’ve just finished making some sugar cookies to decorate for tomorrow, and now it’s time to clean up, which has proved quite tedious when baking with a two-year-old that insists on touching everything.

You hum along to the music playing, and Buck turns to face you as his hands still for a moment, taking in the sight of his two girls in their matching sweaters. He loves to see your features mixed with his in your daughter, and it makes his heart full to see you both smiling and giggling together. His little family, finally complete.

When you’re done wiping off the counter, you turn to look at Buck, whose neck is slightly red from his sweater. You shake your head with a fond smile, and when he turns to look at you again, he brings you in for a quick kiss, bringing one of his fingers up to hold your chin in place. When he pulls back, he looks down at your daughter, and holds his hands out to her.

“Hi, baby. You wanna help me finish cleaning up while mama gets the ornaments ready?” he asks her in a high voice, and you look down at her right as she practically launches herself at him. The little traitor, you think. When Buck’s around, she’s practically glued to him.

“Dada!” she says as her little hands grip his sweater. He lifts her up in the air before he lowers her to his chest, and when she’s firmly wrapped in his arms, he leans down to blow a raspberry against her neck. She squeals loudly, her little giggles filling the kitchen as you and Buck look at each other over her shoulder, both of your chests feeling warm and full of love.

As Buck and Vivi finish cleaning the kitchen and take the cookies out of the oven, you go to the living room and begin taking out the ornaments and sorting them. You put the breakable ornaments up on the fireplace, out of reach of tiny grabby hands, and put the less fragile ornaments onto the coffee table, in your daughter's reach and eyesight.

When they finally come into the living room, you see white powder all over their sweaters, and you raise a brow at Buck, who gives you a sheepish smile.

“She threw the first handful.” he tells you, and you scoff, laughing softly as you shake your head.

“Right, blame the child.” you tell him sharply, although the smile on your face shows that you’re not upset. If anything, you wish you were there to see the flour fight.

“Where star?” Vivi asks when Buck puts her down and she walks over to the coffee table. You smile, thinking of the ornament she made earlier today when you were babysitting Jee. She insisted on using every colour she could imagine, although the ornament had more or less turned brown from all the paint mixed together.

You found a kit to make your own clay ornaments online, and decided it would be a good activity to do with them right before Christmas. You also know that Maddie and Chimney would love a homemade ornament by Jee.

“It still needs to dry, lovey. We can put that up when Jee comes over.” you tell her as you bend down to her level, and she lets out a soft huff. Her dismay is quickly forgotten, however, when her eyes land on the Disneyland Ferris wheel ornament sitting in front of her.

“Mickey,” she mumbles as she picks it up, tiny fingers brushing over Mickey’s nose. “We go?” she finishes, looking up at Buck with the poutiest face you’ve ever seen. She’s barely two and she already knows exactly how to get her way.

“You wanna go?” Buck asks as he picks her up, and when she nods hopefully, her hair bouncing with each movement, you know what Buck’s going to say.

“Sure, we can go, baby. Now, where does that one go?”

She points up to the top of the tree, and Buck lifts her up to sit on his shoulder as she leans out to put the ornament on one of the branches. While you watch Buck help her secure the ornament with a loving smile, you cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head before you speak.

“You really want to go on that Ferris wheel six times in a row again and do absolutely nothing else?” Buck looks over his shoulder at you once the ornament is safely on the tree, giving you a big smile. You got that ornament on your first trip to Disneyland with Vivi, and she insisted on going on the Ferris wheel as many times as she possibly could, not wanting to bother with anything else.

“Come on, how can I say no?” he asks with a shrug, letting Vivi down to grab the next ornament.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger.” you tell him as you close the distance between you. His smile widens before your lips meet his, and one of his arms wrap around your plush middle as the other hand cups your cheek. Your hands rest on his chest as you kiss him passionately, and you part from the kiss when he starts to sway you two back and forth along with the music, laughing softly.

“She learned from the best.” he tells you earnestly with a wink, and for a moment, the dull itch from the sweater and the fact that you’re overheating in your silly festive sweater fade, and all you can focus on is the loving look in Buck’s gleaming blue eyes.

“Look! Pretty.” You tear your gaze from each other when you hear your daughter’s voice, and when you turn to her, you both grin. Her arm is outstretched to show you that she’s placed another ornament low on the tree, this one a big Hershey kiss from when you took her to visit Buck’s parents in Hershey.

“Wow, look at that!” you exclaim just as Buck says “Beautiful, baby.”

The next half hour or so continues similarly; you and Buck working on decorating the top part of the tree with the fragile ornaments while you let Vivi have free reign over the bottom part of the tree that she can reach.

She insists on showing you each ornament once it’s on the tree, and both of you take turns on telling her how good it looks before you continue putting up the glass balls and ceramic ornaments from various vacations and big moments you and Buck celebrated before Vivi was born.

After a while, the tree is almost completely covered, and you hear Buck let out an exaggerated gasp as you fix the tinsel that’s been randomly thrown across the tree by your daughter.

When you turn, you see Buck and Vivi’s matching grins, and then he lifts her into his arms again, examining the ornaments she’s holding out ceremoniously in front of his face.

“Dada ornament.” she says in her excited little voice, although the word “ornament” comes out more like “ornent.”

“Did you get this for me?” Buck asks her and she nods furiously, giggling at Buck’s clear approval.

“She saw it at the store the other day. She wouldn’t let me put it back; insisted we had to get an ornament for daddy.” you explain with a fond smile, tilting your head to the side as you watch Buck place a big, audible kiss on Vivi’s forehead.

You watch as Buck once again holds her up on his shoulder at her insistence that the ornament be placed front and center on the tree.

Your smile widens when you hear her little giggle, watching her clasp her hands together beside her face and her shoulders raise up to her ears as she takes in the sight: a bright red glittery fire truck placed right in the middle of the tree. You walk up to them, wrapping an arm around Buck’s torso as you rest your head against Vivi’s side. You sigh as you take in the sight of the nearly-complete tree, letting out a silent laugh through your nose when you feel a tiny hand pat the top of your head gently.

“Star, mama.” you hear in your ear after a moment, and you lean back slightly to look up at your daughter, so happily perched on Buck’s shoulder.

“Should we put up the star?” you ask her, and she nods enthusiastically as she begins to wriggle out of Buck’s grip. Buck helps her down as you go back to the almost empty box of ornaments, taking the white and gold star out of the wrapping.

By the time you get the star completely unwrapped and turn back to your daughter, however, she’s already sitting on the floor playing with one of her discarded toys, now completely disinterested.

You sigh with a smile, then walk over to the couch directly beside the tree and climb on top of it. The top of the tree is just barely within reach, and you silently curse Buck for letting Vivi pick out the biggest tree she could possibly find at the Christmas tree farm.

As you stretch up to get the star on top of the tree, you don’t notice that Buck is silently watching you, his eyes glued to your ass as he licks his lips. He knows he should be offering you some help, but goddamn, he also can’t pass up a view like this. If Vivi wasn’t just a few feet away from you two, he’d have you bent over the couch, lips attached to your neck, and, hopefully, a new sibling for Vivi in nine or so months.

He’s only torn from his thoughts when he hears your daughter stomp over to the tree, her voice high and upset.

“Mama, I do!” she tells you loudly, which startles you. It’s a good thing Buck was on the way over to you, because her shrill voice startles you, making you almost lose your balance with one foot on the arm of the couch and the other on the seat cushion. Buck is quick to grab your hips, slowly helping you lower to the ground before you have the chance to fall.

When your two feet are pressed firmly on the ground, Buck presses a quick kiss to the side of your neck before he picks up Vivi in his arms and lifts her up to the top of the tree. You hand her the star, then watch with a smile, but you’re watching diligently; ready to dive for the star if she doesn’t put it on properly.

Luckily, your smart girl is able to put the star on top of the tree with little difficulty, her excited giggle ringing through your ears when she pulls her hands away and sees that the star is staying in place.

When Buck lowers her to his chest, she holds her arms out to you, her eyes silently pleading to move into your arms. You take her gladly, kissing her warm cheek as you look at the way the tree lights reflect in her eyes.

“Look at that, lovey. You did so good!” you tell her, bouncing her on your hip. She smiles widely, wrapping her arms around your neck and squeezing you tightly. You feel Buck’s warmth wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your tummy while the other rests on Vivi’s back.

“So pretty, Vivi. Almost as pretty as my girls.” He whispers the last sentence in your ear before he places a kiss right behind your ear, his hot breath hitting your neck and making you shiver.

“I love you.” you whisper after a moment, looking at him over your shoulder. He smiles down at you, then presses a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I love you. Thank you.” he whispers against your lips. When he pulls away, you raise a brow, confusion spread across your features.

“For what?” you ask, squeezing Vivi tighter against you when you feel her press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“For giving me my two favourite things.” he replies as his fingers dig into your tummy lightly and he tickles Vivi’s side with his other hand. You lean your head away as she squeals loudly right in your ear, laughing softly as Buck takes her from your arms and throws her up in the air.

“You want a cookie before we go to bed?” he asks her, and you narrow your eyes at him as you see her beginning to wiggle around in his grip, trying to get to the kitchen.

“You’re on bedtime duty tonight. I’m not gonna be up all night because you let her have cookies before bed.” you tell him sternly, although as you look at her bright smile and twinkling eyes, you know that you’d probably do the exact same thing as he did.

“I think I can handle that, mama.” he says with a wink. Once Vivi’s feet are back on the floor, she grabs two of Buck’s fingers in her little hand, leading him to the kitchen.

You three eat your cookies sitting on the floor in front of the tree; at Vivi’s insistence, and when you’re all finished, she’s almost asleep in Buck’s lap, her head resting against his chest and crumbs all over her face.

“You’re lucky the sugar didn’t catch up to her in time.” you tease Buck as you watch Vivi struggling to keep her eyes open, keeping your voice a quiet whisper so as not to wake her up.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world.” is all he says before he reaches out and pulls your lips to his, his hand on the back of your neck.

And he truly believes it. With you, and your little girl here with him, sitting in front of your beautifully decorated tree with Christmas music still softly playing from the TV, he doesn’t think life can get any better. And neither can you.

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nichuuu · 1 year ago

Text

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.)

#minatozaki sana #twice smut #sana smut #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut

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spookystrns · 3 months ago

Text

small surprise

pairing : rapper!chris sturniolo x singer!reader

synopsis : reader is backstage at one of chris’s concerts when he decides to surprise the audience — and you

warnings : pet names (baby, toots), language, fluff, really short and really rushed

a/n : guys i’m back i swear

‘ music boyfriend, i'm your yum-yum

call me and i'll come ’

you’re currently watching chris on stage from the right wing, singing along to every lyric. honestly you wonder why the two of you haven’t recorded a song together yet. you’ve been official for around 7 months, behind closed doors of course. you considered posting a soft launch on instagram, but ultimately decided to wait until the release of your next album — which will only be in a few weeks. thankfully, none of your fans have suspected anything yet, so you know the soft launch will really get them thinking.

chris’s set so far has been nothing short of amazing. he’s so full of energy and the stage is really just a way for him to let it all out. you can tell the audience are loving it too, with the way they all scream every time he opens his mouth. but you can’t blame them; you are too. every time he gives you a subtle look you can’t help but internally squeal.

he’s just finished performing one of your personal favourites, ‘knock knock’, but now that he’s standing in the centre of the stage, everyone’s silent. chris gives you a quick glance, earning a small, confused smile from you. he turns back to the audience with a smile on his face before announcing: “this next song is unreleased, but it’s for the most beautiful and talented girl ever; my girlfriend.”

at hearing the announcement, the crowd roars with excitement. chris looks at you once again, this time turning his whole head to give you a big smile. although he didn’t say who his girlfriend was, it still felt big. he goes on to perform a song you didn’t even know he recorded, but you do know it’s your favourite ever.

that was the last song on the setlist, so chris says a goodbye and thank you to the audience before making his way off stage, towards you. he jogs to you, smile bigger than you’ve ever seen — he was clearly pleased with himself. you get pulled into a hug, then his hands are cupping your cheeks and his lips are on yours. you kiss back, obviously, smiling against him as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“that was a surprise,” you murmur, pulling away just so your noses are touching. “yeah? a good surprise though, right?” his question is almost laughable, and you do let out a small giggle before responding. “yes, chris, a good surprise,” you smile and nod, earning a “good,” from chris before his lips are on yours again.

“what do you think about dropping your album a little earlier? and maybe i’ll consider releasing that song i wrote about you,” chris teases with a sly smirk as the two of you fall down on a couch backstage. you give chris a confused look as he pulls you closer to him. “i’ve already announced the release date,” is your response while looking up at him with your head on his collarbone. “fuck the release date,” his reply is quick, and it somewhat catches you off guard, furrowing your brows at him. “c’mon, baby, y’know you want to,” he gives you a look, a very convincing look at that. you roll your eyes before smiling slightly, looking back up at him as you reply. “i’ll see what i can do,” your words are quiet, but you know he hears you by the widening smile on his face.

“but if i do that, you have to release the song about me too,” you bat your eyelashes in an attempt to entice him, which he sees straight through. a low chuckle escapes him before he speaks, “okay,” chris nods, wetting his lips as he does. “okay?” you hold out your pinky finger, eliciting another chuckle from him as he locks his pinky with yours. “okay.”

you nod, satisfied with the promise, as you feel chris’s eyes on you. “hey,” he mutters, grabbing your attention. “i love you, toots,” his thumb begins softly rubbing a circle on your shoulder as you look up at him. “i love you too,” you smile, sealing your lips in a kiss once again.

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ rapper!chris #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ singer!reader #rapper!chris sturniolo #singer!reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fandom

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corroded-hellfire · 10 months ago

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Okay this is random but I work at a daycare and this little boy who’s about two years old looks exactly like his dad and their eyes are just so blue and distinctive but he has his mom’s hair and I was just wondering if you could write something like that with Eddie x reader, I just think it would be so cute to see their little mini me ! I love your work so sos much no pressure if you don’t want to of course:)

Eddie as a father? If only I had some experience writing that 😜 I hope you enjoy your and Eddie’s little mini me!

Words: 900

“Can you believe it?”

“No. I mean, it’s been two years and no.”

Max and Dustin sit on the floor of your living room, watching your son rummage through the toy box on the other side of the deep brown coffee table until he finds something suitable to play with his babysitters.

Bret settles on his Fisher Price Rescue Hero action figures and tries to collect as many of them in his tiny arms as he can. A few curly strands of hair fall into his eyes which he shakes out of the way as well as he can manage in this position. Satisfied with the haul he’s gathered, he lugs himself out of the toy box and toddles back over to his favorite aunt and uncle. At least that’s what Max and Dustin tell themselves.

“He’s like their clone,” Max speaks softly as Bret sits down and spreads the toys around his small body to get a better look. “Dad’s hair curls. Mom’s hair color.”

“Dad’s eye color, Mom’s skin tone. Jesus, I’d swear Eddie grew him in a lab if he knew the first thing about science.”

“Technically, Bret is here because of biology,” Max teases as the two-year-old in question hands the redhead a construction worker action figure.

“The one aspect of science Eddie’s willing to experiment with time and time again,” Dustin says.

“Hmm?” the little boy asks Max, having heard her say his name.

“Huh?” Max asks, looking down at the youngest Munson. “Oh. Um, what game are we playing?”

“We playin’ heroes!” Bret announces, having the firefighting action figure he’s holding fly in an arc over his head.

“Are they superheroes?” Dustin asks. He lays flat on his stomach to be more on an equal level with the toddler. Action figures of every occupation are spread out in front of him on the plush navy blue carpet.

“Not all,” Bret says with a shrug, which is the spitting image of one of your usual quirks.

“Which one do you want to be?” Max asks.

Bret’s eyes scan the variety of toys laid out around him, his small tongue peeking out from between his lips as he thinks about it. Max can’t help but chuckle at the familiar image in front of her, just on a smaller scale.

“I don’t know!” Bret pouts, his lower lip jutting out. He slumps down on the carpet, his head coming to rest on his Uncle Dusty’s shoulder.

“Aw, come on, Mini Munson.” Dustin rolls onto his back and lifts Bret over his head. The two-year-old giggles wildly and starts to kick his feet as if he’s trying to swim away. The laughter is so loud and piercing that none of the three hear the front door opening.

“Careful,” Eddie says as he walks into the room, you trailing just behind him. “He had a few waffles for breakfast, and I don’t want to see them come back up over Uncle Dusty’s face.”

Bret giggles—slightly evilly—as if this would be hilarious.

You set your purse down and slip your shoes off, throwing Max a smile.

“How was the troublemaker?”

“The usual amount of trouble,” she tells you.

“So, nowhere near as much as his father. Got it.”

Your husband walks towards Dustin, ready to scoop your son up out of his grip, but the little boy squeals and dodges his hands.

“Hey,” Eddie pouts, which only makes Bret giggle. “Bret Michael Munson. Are you trying to escape your old man?”

“Yeah!” he replies cheerfully, making Dustin laugh.

Eddie softly kicks his best friend’s shoulder with his socked foot.

Across the room, Max accepts the glass of water you hand her.

“How was your afternoon date?” she asks.

“It was fun. The weather’s really nice and I beat Eddie by three points because he couldn’t hit his ball through the little windmill,” you say with a giggle.

“You’re definitely going to have to be the one to teach Bret to play mini golf,” Max says.

The two of you look over to your son, where he seems to be the object of a game of keep away between Eddie and Dustin. Bret giggles wildly, his face scrunching up in a way that makes the tip of his nose wiggle.

“It’s so crazy how much he looks like you when he scrunches his face like that,” Max says, shaking her head in amazement.

Bret must’ve caught his aunt’s words because he looks over at the two of you, a tiny furrow between his brows.

“But Mommy’s a girl!” he protests.

You blow him a kiss and he’s quickly sucked back into whatever game he’s playing with the guys.

Once Bret is tuckered out from the roughhousing, he plops down on Dustin’s chest and Eddie makes his way over to you. He catches wind of your and Max’s conversation of how your son looks just like the two of you. When Max slips away to grab her things, Eddie places his hands on your hips from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Wanna make another one and see if they look more like you or me?”

Just the thought sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.

“You’re on, Munson. Meet me in our room. Nap time.”

“Bret’s or mine?”

A snort of laughter bursts out of you, causing Eddie to smile and only hold onto you tighter.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #request

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mirandasidefics · 7 months ago

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hi!!

can i request poly!bat boys x plus sized reader?

if you're comfortable writing about children, could you write a lil one shot about them just taking care of their children throughout a busy and chaotic day and then the 4 of them head to bed for the night and reminisce on their days before children?

(like they love their children to death and wouldn't trade them for the world, but they still acknowledge that their kids are WORK [but judging by the parents, they're not surprised 😭] and not for the weak)

Adventures in Parenting (miniseries)

1. Chaos and All

Pairing(s): Poly! Bat Boys x Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning(s): None really. This is mostly fluff and parenting chaos.

Author’s Note: The more I wrote this one-shot, the more I want to turn this into a small little series. So, if anyone else has requests for this family set up send them in! I didn’t do the multiple mates with this Polyship, I hope that’s okay. I also used my youngest nephew as inspiration for the twins. He is a ball of chaos and I fully believe he is the mortal embodiment of Loki. I love him. Some of these events also may or may not be based on actual incidents that happened within my own household. Don’t worry, no one was injured, and consequences were appropriately implemented. Raising children is not for the weak!

ACOTAR Masterlist Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

“JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!” The echo of your roar reverberated along the stone halls of the House of Wind. It was quickly followed by two distinct sets of giggles. Cassian and Azriel, having returned early from Wind Haven, overheard the slew of curses flowing from your lips.

Soon, two boys rounded the corner and immediately squealed in excitement upon seeing Cassian. The large Illyrian bent down to his knees as the pair of 6-year-olds raced towards him. Effortlessly, he picked them both up, blowing a raspberry against each of their cheeks. The children were absolutely delighted. That was until you came around the corner following them. Your expression was far from amusing. With a hand on your rounded belly, you came to a stop before the males and your shared children.

“Warren, are you tormenting your poor mama?” Cassian asked.

“No Papa.”

“Yes.”

The twins spoke simultaneously. Azriel had to suppress his laugh. Your eyes burned with ire.

“Mama’s being mean!” Warren stated, pointing his little index finger at you. You raised your eyebrow at his boldness.

“Oh, I’m being mean now?” You crossed your arms, your son merely copying your stance. “Do you want to tell Dada and Papa what you did? Or should I?” The two children remained silent.

“Alright then, you had your chance,” You huffed. “Mama is being mean because she had to put out the fire you set in the bathroom!” The two boys shrank within Cassian’s arms.

“They did what now?” Azriel’s expression hardened.

“You heard right. They thought it was okay to play with the candle I had burning in the bathroom,” You explained, making your way over to the Shandowsinger, “A candle that was only lit because Ryder complained about Warren stinking up the toilet!” The twins giggled to themselves. You recognized the mirthful gleam in Cassian's eyes as he tried to maintain a serious expression. It was clear that you were at your wits end. And the stress wasn’t good for the baby in your belly, which was due within the month. Azriel moved to stand behind you, and once in place he wrapped his arms around you and underneath your belly. With the slightest of movements, he supported the weight for you. He could feel the relief wash over you. From over your shoulder, he leveled a stern glare at the boys.

“Well Mama,” Cassian started, “What’s on your mind for a fitting consequence?”

“For these two I honestly don’t know any more,” You tried to keep the hormone fueled frustration tears at bay. “A week with no dessert seems too light, but a literal grounding- a week of no flying-seems cruel. I leave it to you males. They don’t listen to me anyway.”

“I’ll be the first to agree,” Azriel’s words were careful. “They need to understand how dangerous playing with fire can be. One of you could have been seriously hurt.” You placed your hands over Azriel’s in comfort.

“I think the first thing that needs to be done is an apology,” Cassian finally set the twins back down. “Boys, apologize to your Mother.” His tone was stern and unyielding. The voice of a General. That tone always stirred something in you. Azriel’s nose brushed along the side of your neck, and you felt his lips curve up in a smile. Damn your hormones.

“Sorry Mama,” their tiny voices murmured in unison. Cassian shooed them away and back to the playroom. He quickly kissed your lips before following them. You were at a disadvantage when it came to the wild energy of your twins. Rhysand and Azriel could only chuckle to themselves half the time, filling you in on stories of Cassian’s own behaviors growing up. Unfortunately, the two boys had begun to act out ever since your eldest son went to train with the Darkbringers. You didn’t want him to be exposed to the cruelty of Hewn City, but Rhysand insisted upon some type of military training. And since he was your only child born without wings the elite unit of the Court of Nightmares was his best option.

“We’ll take care of the kids,” Azriel whispered against your neck. “Why don’t you get some rest?” You nodded, rubbing along his hands still holding up your belly. He carefully let go, and you groaned at having to support the weight on your own again.

He followed you to your bedroom and helped you settle into what surely had to be the largest bed in existence. After tucking you in underneath one of the deep mahogany throw blankets, he quietly left the room. You could faintly hear your children’s laughter as they played with their father, the joyful noise allowing you to drift off into a peaceful nap.

Hours later you had awoken to the sound of the bedroom door opening. You reached to turn on the faelight near the bed and turned to face the entrance to the room. Rhysand stood near the door, looking sheepish at having woken you. You smiled at seeing your third lover.

“How did doling out the punishment go?” Slowly you turned from your left side onto your back. Rhysand continued to make his way across the room, removing his shirt as he approached the bed.

“No dessert for the week, per Mama’s orders,” He supplied. “And all their toys are being gathered up by Cass and Az as we speak. Well, they get to keep their favorite stuffed toy for sleeping.”

“All of the toys!” You sat up straight. “Rhys are you trying to drive me insane? What are they going to do all day?” The door to the bedroom squeaked on its hinges, the light from the hall revealing Cassian.

“They’ll be in Wind Haven,” Cassian stated as he strode into the bedroom. “With me.”

“They’re too young to start training!” You shouted, which seemed to displease the babe inside you as it kicked against what you could only assume was your kidney. Your hand went directly to the spot and your eyes fluttered closed at the discomfort. Rhysand moved to sit behind you.

“They will not be training,” Rhysand reassured, setting a leg on either side of you before encouraging you to lean back against his chest.

“They will be helping the wounded males with some of their daily tasks,” Cassian finished. “At least tasks that they are capable of doing.” You worried at your bottom lip. It would be a valuable experience for them to have those interactions. However, most of the wounded received said injuries during a fight of some kind. You hoped the twins wouldn’t get the wrong ideas and start to romanticize war and violence. Mother above that was the last thing you needed!

“If it makes you feel better, they will be assisting the shopkeepers and not the battle heroes' ' Rhys said, kneading the muscle around your right hip.

“Additionally, for each task they help with they earn a toy back,” Cassian added. He lounged across the foot of the bed.

“That all sounds more than fair,” You took a sharp inhale as Rhysand’s knuckle rubbed against a particularly painful spot. The pressure against the knot hurt, but also relieved the growing ache. Your muscles had become so tight from carrying the extra weight of your unborn child. You turned your head back to face him and kissed his cheek.

This little one in your womb would place you with five children. Five. You had agreed to a total of three pregnancies. One for each of the males you loved so fiercely. But Cassian just had to sire twins. And then Rhysand insisted on performing the Great Right at the most recent Calanmai. Making this fourth pregnancy completely unexpected. Especially since you also laid with Cassian and Azriel that night. You also had no clue which of the three males was the biological father. But that didn’t really matter in the long run. While each male had their biological offspring, they raised all the children as if they were their own blood. A sudden realization hit you like the cold winter winds in Illyria.

“What about after?” You asked. “I love my children, but we are outnumbered.”

“What if Al-” Rhysand started.

“No, don't send for Aldrin, he’s 15 and just now settling into figuring out what type of person he wants to become. I won’t place the weight of being a caregiver on him. I need one of you here, especially when the baby is born.”

“I will stay,” Azriel offered entering the space as well. He was carrying your current youngest, Aria, in his arms.

“Did she have another nightmare?” You reached your arms out to her, but Azriel didn’t lower her down to you. Instead, he sat in the rocking chair with Aria still in his arms. Her wings were tucked in tight against her back. Her head rested against Azriel’s shoulder; her large green eyes open yet still looking between each of her parents. She was always so quiet.

“No, she saw me and just wanted to be held for a while,” He pushed the rocking chair back and forth using the balls of his bare feet.

“Like father like daughter,” You chuckled. The room settled into a comfortable silence. Cassian at your feet, rubbing them and your swollen ankles. Rhysand at your back, continue his own massage of your lower back. You were in your own personal heaven as you watched Aria from the spot on the bed. Watched as her eyelids drooped before fully closing. Slowly Azriel stood from his seat and carried the 2-year-old to bed. When he returned, Cassian was now sprawled on your right side, Rhysand still sitting behind you.

“It feels like it's been years since we’ve all had a quiet moment like this,” You broke the silence, closing your eyes and leaning onto the male behind you.

“True, so why did you go and ruin it,” Cassian said in jest. However, he quickly yowled in pain from Azriel hitting his arm.

“We certainly have a rowdy bunch of younglings to contend with,” Rhysand hummed, his fingers tracing up and down your arms.

“As I said before,” Azriel began his own nightly routine of readying for bed, “I will stay with you when the baby arrives.”

“What about-”

“If there is need of a spy, we have others that can complete whatever mission I need,” Rhysand advised. “He will be here to assist when either Cassian or I am busy.” You were so grateful for these males.

“And on the bright side, soon they won’t be as…energetic,” Cassian’s devilish smile spread across his face, “And we can go back to more grown-up activities.” You couldn’t hold back the laugh. The other two males just rolled their eyes.

"Need I remind you three, that our grown-up activities are exactly what created those lovely little terrors we call our children,” You gave Cassian a pointed stare.

“While that wasn’t what I was referring to I’m certain we can always accommodate our female’s more carnal desires,” He tried to defend himself. You scoffed, doing your best to hide the flush that bloomed across your cheeks.

“I agree with Cassian,” Rhys started. “While I miss the days before children, those days will return faster than we can fathom. And I am completely content in being present for what we have now. Chaos and all.”

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

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cupidssorbet · 1 year ago

Text

"What a cowboy.”

Cowboy/Vaquero Miguel x Ranch-Hand? Reader.(Beautiful art above is by Katromz on tiktok and insta!)

Summary: Miguel ends up trying to befriend his longtime friend and employers niece however maybe befriend isn't quite the word.

Includes: AFAB reader but no specified pronouns/race/looks nothing, flirting/teasing, Nicerish AU Miguel, caught masturbating, Oral M & F, recieving praise, mentions of the word 'cunt/pussy', P in V, as well as not much use of name more nicknames.

P.S Vaquero and Cowboy are the same words for those who don't know, a friend requested this so I delivered! Please pardon any terribly translated Spanish I am still learning and had only few help from a friend of mine! This was a request so thank you to my friend!

Word count: 7766.(it's a long one babes.)

By cupid.

Begin.

You’d been sent out for the summer to help your uncle at his ranch, you didn’t mind too much it’d be giving you more to do than usual. He was happy to have you since most his ranch-hands called out or would be busy trying to fill in the empty spots left by others. So when he heard his favorite niece would be dropping in to help out he was more than delighted.

It was a long, long car ride to his ranch and by the time you had arrived the sun was high in the sky and it was sweltering. You hopped out of your dad’s truck with a smile on your face, your cousin’s Poppy & Nana coming to greet you with enthusiasm, quickly taking your bags. “Look at you two, it feels like it’s been forever since we’ve hung out together!” You say as you nudge Nana’s arm, she laughs a bit as the three of you trudge up the dirt driveway up to the main house.

Poppy opens the door for you as soon as you head inside you hear a squeal from your Aunt Maria, who immediately runs over to scoop you up into a hug. “Sweetheart it has been too long!” She says excitedly as she practically squeezes the air outta you. “I missed ya too aunty but please..please let me go I can’t breathe-!” You manage out as she lets you go, “Oh my! Sorry ‘bout that sugar! It’s just been so long!” She says pinching your cheek a little. “Now, Girls go show her to her room alright? Get all cozy, Jack said he wasn’t gonna have you start work till tomorrow when he can give you the lowdown of everythin’ new.” She said shooing you three up the stairs.

You followed the girls up the stairs as they talked away, you weren’t really invested in the conversation as you looked at all the old pictures that were hung up on the walls. All those old memories made you smile, you were out of it until Poppy pulled you back into reality with a tug on the arm, albeit a hard tug, “You alright there?” She asked, raising a brow at you as nana opened the door to the room, you blinked and flashed her a smile. “Yeah just got a little out of it, this heat whew it is-” “Why don’t we head to the lake!” Nana says with a bright smile as she sets your bags on your bed, cutting you off.

“Oh I don’t know what if your dad needs me here or help with anything I’m not just here to leisure about.” You say as they both sigh dramatically, “C’mon you heard mama, papa’s not gonna need you till tomorrow!” Poppy says crossing her arms, eventually you sigh giving into them and their antics. Excitedly they leave you to get ready telling you to meet them downstairs when done. Once you are ready to go with a little bag that has sunscreen and such inside you hurry downstairs the two girls waiting for you.

You can’t help but grin with their contagious smiles, “Ma! We’re heading to the lake!” Nana calls out to her, “Be safe girls! Be back by sundown too ya hear?” She calls from the kitchen and you all respond with unanimous ‘Yes ma’am!’ before hurrying out the door giggling like a bunch of school girls as you anticipate the cool water of the lake.

It was a bit of a trek until you reached it, shoving branches aside and walking through bushes hoping none of them were poison ivy or poison at all. Once nana pushed a thick willow branch aside you sighed happily, the blue water shining under the high sun. The three of you quickly hurried to the shore finding a nice spot to lay your things.

As you and nana carefully laid things out poppy quickly ditched her shorts she wore over her swimsuit bottoms and ran into the cool water with a loud cheer. She then decided to splash the two of you, causing you to get a cheeky grin. “Oh that’s how it’s gonna be huh?” You asked playfully as you ditched your own shoes and bottoms before running into the water yourself.

The cool embrace of the lake on your warm skin made you feel completely relaxed, until you remembered your motive to run in here in the first place. The time at the lake started with games and running off the rock ledge that overlooked the lake to jump in. Splashing one another or Watching as someone did something dumb for what felt like the 100th time in those hours.

By the time the sun started to settle down in the sky you were resting on your towel as the girls continued to play in the waters. Drifting off into your own daydreams, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the fleeting rays, until you were startled awake by squeal. You assumed something had happened, so you quickly sat up pushing your sunglasses to sit on your head. “What? What happened?” you asked worried, until you saw them giggling over something or more rather..someone.

You let a slight huff at the fact they had you all worried for nothing, you however curiously followed their eyes. Wondering what could’ve caused them to squeal to begin with. Down a good way from your spots on the bank was a man, a rather handsome man you had to admit. Poppy however caught your staring and with a cheeky smile sat beside you, “Ooo! Do I sense a crush perhaps?” She said with a shit eating grin.

Waving her off you stopped staring at the mystery man, “Oh please, You think everything is a crush or love related.” you said, trying to dismiss her packing your stuff away as the sun started to set. Nana was quick to hurry outta the water spotting you and your packing, quickly just tossing her stuff in her bag as you & poppy shook your heads at her mess of a bag now.

All of you hurried back dodging branches and plants until you were on an open stretch the house coming into view, “So..” you started, earning their attention again. “Who was that guy?” you asked, keeping your gaze ahead. You heard the stifled giggles and such from them before nana caught up to you, “He is papa’s right hand man, quite the looker isn’t he?” she teased with a smile. “I suppose,” you said as you walked up the porch steps hearing their squeals and giggles. “But don’t go tellin’ anyone, I barely know that man.” you said sternly pointing at the two of them and they quickly stopped their giggling nodding as you headed inside.

Heading inside your aunt had prepared some dinner for when everyone got back, and as hungry as you were you decided to go and get a shower. Not before your uncle was quick to scoop you up in a hug much to your protest before you fake made a disgusted face before he ruffled up your hair as you headed up the stairs getting a warm shower and some dryer clothes.

After dinner and what not you were sitting upstairs with Poppy & Nana and one or two of the herding dogs, flicking through movies trying to find something to watch. Seeing as none of you could agree on anything it eventually came down to just getting some sleep, the hours at the lake tiring you out and your aunt & uncle calling out a goodnight to you three had reminded you that you’d be out helping in the morning so sleep was a good option.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The birds started chirping and the sun began to peek through the blinds, once it hit your eyes you groaned and began to open your eyes with a squint bringing a hand up to block the bright rays from practically blinding you. Sitting up blinking the sleep from your eyes you took note that it was just you and nana in the room, nana being fast asleep still.

You decided it’d be a good time to wake up and get ready so you could start helping your uncle out, you quickly brushed your hair to look less like you just got up and then you grabbed an outfit from your suitcase that would best suit the chores you’d be doing and the hot summer heat. You quickly made your way downstairs some of the dogs following you, “Mornin’ Sugar!” Aunt Maria called to her as she flipped some pancakes. “Morning Aunt Maria, Where’d poppy run off to?” you asked, snatching up a piece of bacon from the plate on the counter sharing some with the dogs.

“Oh she ran into town to fetch some more seeds for the garden, Jack told me we had extras but I know we didn’t, speakin’ of which since your most likely heading out that way mind giving those breakfast burritos on the counter the boys.” She asked using her spatula to motion to the cloth covered basket. You nodded, finishing the bacon off and grabbing the basket heading out the back door and off the porch to the main farm area and barn.

It wasn’t a long walk by any means, just one that felt long with how the sun sat so high and beating down on you, you spotted your uncle's truck out front of the barn. All the workers either sitting in the bed of the truck or leaning against it, you hurried over with a smile on your face as your uncle spotted you tipping his hat back slightly, a smile coming to his face.

“Hey there sweetheart, whatcha got?” he asked as he got up off the side of the truck walking over. “Aunty asked me to bring these breakfast burritos for you boys.” you said and they all hooted and hollered hurrying off the truck to grab one for themselves making you just laugh and shake your head. “Thank you for that darlin’ , right you all know my niece don’t you?” He asked, raising a brow as a few murmured yes’s and no’s were heard.

“Well you do now,” he said as he motioned to you, moving aside as you gave them all a wave of ‘hello’ then you spotted him, the man from the lake the other day. You didn’t realize you were staring until he made eye contact with you. A rather cheeky smile gracing his lips.

Once they were all done with their burritos the real work began. “Alright, Think you can work on feedin’ all the animals first then we can start on herdin’ the pasture ones back alright?” Your uncle asked and you nodded, “I’m on it!” you said with a smile. “How bout I send someone with ya, we’ve got a few new ones that might need some introduction, How about..Miguel!” your uncle said, clapping his hands together.

You were picking up one of the feed bags off the truck bed when a rather tall and muscular man walked up with a slight smile on his face, “Looks like I’m helpin’ you today sweetheart.” Miguel said, and oh god Miguel was the man from the lake. This realization almost had you dropping the feed bag before you quickly readjusted your hold on the bag. He only chuckled, slightly tilting his head and the brim of his hat up, giving you an even better look at his face, “Come on don’t go fallin’ for me already.' ' he teased at you.

Huffing you adjusted your grip on the bag turning on your heel with a little scoff, “You wish, I would never I barely know you.” You said as you began walking, utter bullshit, you couldn’t lie that his face, his eyes, his damn voice had you enthralled. He only let out a hearty chuckle following you carrying a bag or two of his own, “Then why not get to know me?” He suggested, shaking his head as you sped up your walking speed.

When you finally reached the animals you breathed a sigh of relief, quickly hurrying over to say ‘hello’ to all of them forgetting about Miguel following after you, he stood off to the side as he opened some of the bags watching as you excitedly said ‘hello’ to the ones you knew, all calling them by name then excitedly gasping at the ones you didn't know.

He had to admit he found it amusing, cute even at the way you greeted them all. He had to, he just had to, he cleared his throat which brought you back to your little situation causing you to huff almost and it only made him chuckle as he pushed a feed bag, ready and open your way. You grabbed the bag, opened the pen door and made your way inside without him, starting to fill up all the feeding spots walking about.

Miguel thought this would be a good time to start a conversation, “So, Why do ya keep ignoring me?” he asked and you just hummed in response, “I’m not.” You denied, “Ah-Ah just now you almost did.” He said looking at you, that stupid look on his face had you smiling slightly and rolling your eyes. Trying to look away before he caught it, but oh he caught it. “Hey! I saw that, I made a breakthrough!” He says motioning around to a nonexistent crowd almost proud of himself causing you to shake your head with a slight smile.

You two finished up the feeding chores with relative ease, the tension simply melting away as you two actually got to talking with one another actually getting to know more like he suggested, then you started saddling up some of the horses so they could head out to check for any lost or still loose cattle or sheep. You finished tightening one of the straps, patting the nose of the horse, a smile on your face when it responded with a big sloppy lick to your hand. “Alright, Are we ready to get a move on?” he asked as he took the reins from your hand. “Yep, All saddled up.” you said with a little salute.

“Thank you sugar, how bout you go feed the calves while we’re gone if you're up for it?” your uncle asked, hoping on the horse. “I can’t say no to feeding the calves,” you said with a smile. With a few waves and goodbyes you went off in search of the bottles that had the formula for the calves that were rescued and didn’t exactly take to any cow the ranch had. You grabbed the bucket of bottles and took a seat in the stable stall with one of the babies. Taking the bottle out, the little thing came running and it made you laugh.

You held the bottle up for it and at first it went well until it didn’t somehow, something had gotten on the shirt underneath your overalls and that was not sitting well on your skin with heat in the air. So you thought, hey they wouldn’t be back for maybe an hour or two at most so you unclipped the clips of your overalls and took the shirt off letting it rest on the table that had all the tools and such then you clipped your overalls back up and when right back to taking care of the calves.

To you only 30 maybe 40 minutes had gone by so you still weren’t too worried about putting that shirt back on or heading back to the house as you happily wandered the stable saying ‘hello’ to the horses that stayed behind. Blissfully unaware that Miguel had headed back to grab the hat he had forgotten, quickly making his way inside of the stable. Stopping his tracks quietly when he spotted you petting one of the horses and it seemed innocent enough until his eyes seemed to wander lower..to the point where he noticed you were not wearing a shirt under your overalls. And not wanting to make you uncomfortable or wanting to make anything else happen he just gave up grabbing his hat and left as quietly as possible.

When you had assumed they’d be coming back you went and got the shirt off the workbench and put it back on quickly as the cowboys came into view. You put on a smile and looked ahead as they made their way over and started hopping their horses all saying their ‘hellos’ and such but Miguel just completely ignored you, was he not going on about you ignoring despite barely knowing him earlier? What a hypocrite.

You just shrugged it off, what would it matter really, you said a quick ‘hello’ to your uncle as you checked the time, you had promised you’d spend the last few hours before the sun actually set at the lake with the girls and you had to depart to get ready. Simply brushing off Miguel ignoring you, you went back to the main house to change and once you were done you headed off however little did you know you’d spend your time alone at the lake..well for a little bit at least.

You relaxed on the bank for a little bit taking in the sun's rays after applying sunscreen of course, waiting thinking maybe they’d got busy or something. So you went from enjoying the water to resting on the shore to reading the book you brought until you exhaled a bit annoyed. You got up, gathered your things, slipped your shorts back on and made your way back to the main house in a slight huff.

When you opened the door your aunt seemed to pick up on your bad mood, “What’s the matter pumpkin?” she asked as she dried her hands with the towel. “The girls told me to meet them at the lake and then they just didn’t come!” you said with arm motions. She seemed to shake her head and sigh, “Well if your looking to pick a bone with them they might’ve gone down to the guest house to deliver the fruit like I asked, the one where the cowboys are stayin’.” She said, giving you a little nod. You thanked her begrudgingly before starting your way to the guest house, saying hello to the cowboys you saw as you headed by whether they were lugging hay or simply just passing by.

You got to the guest house and opened the front door, it was rather empty, and you didn’t hear any giggling, not even a hint of your cousin’s voices, you raised your brow carefully making your way down the hallway. You continued until you saw a door slightly creaked open, you neared it hoping maybe your cousin’s were just fooling around here and that you could drag them back. But that idea quickly evaporated as you neared closer you heard..grunts? At first you thought it was one of pain but when you got a view of what was behind the just barely opened door you quickly realized it was not one of pain rather of pleasure.

There Miguel laid on presumably his bed, legs spread slightly, cowboy hat resting lazily over his head, pants just barely down his thighs as his head moved up his hard erection..precum leaking from the red angry tip. You couldn’t help but stare, biting back the gasps with a hand over your mouth. His teeth sucking his bottom lip back slightly exposing his sharp canines that had you feeling some kind of way, but oh boy it just got better as soon as you mindlessly dropped your hand from your mouth he muttered out your name, “Dios... Ni siquiera sé cómo me hiciste esto..(God... I don't even know how you did this to me.)” He murmured out in Spanish as he hissed when he glided his thumb over the leaking slit.

Miguel was lost in his own thoughts, his mind flitting back to when he saw you in the stable in nothing but your shoes and overalls. He groaned out as he moved his hand up, he knew it was wrong and dirty not just for the fact that he was just getting to know you but the fact he wished it was your hands and not his then he was snapped back to reality by a noise..

You gasped and your gasp got his attention causing you to quickly hide behind the wall before he could spot you, when you heard him moving off the bed you were quick to run as quietly down the hallway. Your feet carried you quickly as you hurried out of the guest house not wanting to get caught in the slightest.

Your heart felt like it was in your ears, your cheeks felt hot, hell your whole body felt hot. You hurried quick and fast to the main house, your feet just carrying you inside as you gave a quick ‘hello’ to your Aunt before going to your room flopping onto your bed. Burying your head into your pillow and just screaming muffling it.

God..he was thinking about YOU? That had your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest, you rolled onto your back as you stared at the ceiling that moment replaying in your head causing you to subconsciously rub your thighs together before you brought your hands up to smack your cheeks, mentally cursing yourself for feeling this way.

Huffing you sat up on the bed grabbing your journal you brought with you, “God..Was he really thinking about me? But why,” you murmured as you flipped out the journal trying to write it out of your mind at least so you could push it off and act as if normal. By the time you finished you were called down for dinner and you just inhaled and exhaled pushing it to the back of your mind shoving the Journal under your pillow and heading down.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

By the time dinner was done you and poppy were helping with the dishes as a few of the cowboys stopped by to drop off some stuff and there he was again, you quickly looked away as he spotted you offering you a sweet smile and tilt of his hat. You only just ignored him continuing your conversation with poppy and working on the dishes.

When you finished you quickly dried your hands not wanting to stick around for very long you couldn’t even fathom why seeing him again got you so much more worked up than it should. “I’m headin’ to bed really tired, Night everyone!” you called quickly as you hurried up the stairs to your bedroom causing Miguel and a few others to raise a brow before just brushing it off to turn to their own things.

You inhaled sharply and exhaled laying onto your bed, your hands traveling gingerly down your stomach to the hem of your pj shorts. Your fingers slipping past the hem of the shorts to your panty clad cunt, exhaling slightly as your fingers brushed over your cunt that slight pressure you added caused your body to melt slightly into your pillows. Your mind clouding with thoughts of him, before the sound of someone coming upstairs snapped you back to reality.

You quickly pulled away from your shorts and grabbed a random book from the nightstand to act as if you were reading. Poppy and Nana came bursting in with a movie for the three of you to watch and you all but sighed happily as it was something to completely take your mind off it.

The movie was put in and the lights were turned off getting all cozy in your beds and watching the movie until you all but fell asleep..

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

For the next few days you did your best to keep your distance from Miguel but your hard-headedness to stay away from him only had him more intrigued and always earned a laugh from him because you always denied his questions whenever he asked one and you denied his help just to make it easier, but it seemed to fail every now and again considering your help to your uncle’s work and with him always having the cowboys with him you only ever saw him everyday..

The next morning came and you decided you’d just avoid Miguel completely and only interact if you just HAD to interact with him thinking that it would be best especially because of the way you made him feel and with the way he had you feeling even if you were just getting to know him better.

Today you dawned a nice summer dress as you were going to help your Aunt in the garden to keep a distance between you and him. You put on a sun hat and followed your Aunt out to the garden to work on the precious marigolds she had planted that were getting swallowed by the pesky weeds.

Dropping down onto your knees and getting to work right away you heard a clatter of tools causing your head to whip around to where it came from, and god fucking dammit you swore nothing was on your side this week, it was miguel, tool belt beside him and a few fence posts as he shot you an apologetic smile. “Sorry bout’ that didn’t mean to startle you act like I’m not here.” you only hummed in response, turning your attention back to the flowers.

Digging into the dirt yanking weed after weed out as the sun began to rise high into the sky above, causing you to start to sweat under the hot rays. You huffed sitting back on your heels as you dusted your hands off of dirt with the exception of some stuck under your nails. Miguel heard your little huff and his eyes happened to wander your way, gazing unapologetically up your figure, your flushed face and slightly pouted lips catching his attention.

He cleared his throat slightly, turning his attention back to the fence, “You doin’ alright Miss?” he asked, tipping his hat back slightly. You just hummed in response earning a small frown from him, “What?” you asked, raising a brow. “How come you keep ignorin’ me, I thought we were making progress?” he said as he looked at you.

“Well, You started it when you came back from the stable that day and completely ignored me.” you shot back as you crossed your arms, “I did not I was just busy,” he said more matter of factly. The way he seemed so hurt by your antics had you feeling bad almost, you eventually sighed dropping your arms to your side. “Alright fine I have been but I ain’t telling you why, BUT I will make a better effort to stop ignoring you I suppose.” You said and you watched as his face brightened slightly.

“Well I think I’d be the happiest cowboy around,” He said with that stupid smile, “You're so weird.” You stated, shaking your head and turning your attention back to the weeds. He only laughed and went right back to his job, that’s what sparked the two of you talking again, you knew deep down you weren’t gonna be able to ignore him even if you tried because that really only made things awkward so you decided it would be best to try and be his friend.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

That is how you spent some of your days, getting to know him and then spilling your feelings to your little diary and then going right back at being friendly, well one fateful day you made the mistake of leaving your diary not entirely under your pillow.

You were helping Miguel lug some hay to the truck and you exhaled, noticing the way your skin was getting a little red, “Damn, Hey Miguel could you go to my room and grab my sunscreen for me? I’ll finish loading up the hay if you do.” You said giving him a little smile and he sighed with a laugh. “Alright alright I’ll go fetch it, Where would I find it?” He asked stopping in his tracks.

“On the nightstand!” You called back as you grabbed another bale, he nodded giving you a little salute before setting off. He headed inside offering a polite ‘hello’ to your aunt before going upstairs finding your room and heading inside. Originally he was just here to grab the sunscreen and go but a little book peeking out from behind your pillow had him curious.

He stopped for a moment before he eventually caved and carefully picked it up in his hands, just a peek, it wouldn’t hurt really. Just a peek turned into reading some pages and skipping others, that was until he stumbled upon some of the more..explicit pages and they seemed to be about him. God he felt his pride swell, the way you thought about him and looked at him.

“Well damn little lady..” Miguel murmured with a slight smile on his face before he shut the journal, having now learned about your developing crush on him and the way you thought about him. He grabbed the sunscreen and headed back down and out with a curt tip of his hat.

You noticed when he was walking back he had a little beat to his steps causing you to smile and raise a brow as you took the sunscreen from him. “What’s got you so happy go lucky?” you asked as you applied some on your face and arms and he just hummed in response. “Eh no particular thing, can’t a man just be happy hm?” He teased you and you playfully swatted at his arm. Once you were all good with the sunscreen you two got back to work, all the moving and feeding and more moving of stuff had you both out till the sun was settling near the mountain tops.

“Hm, Looks like we should start headin’ back Miguel.” You said looking at the way the sun was settling, “Ah right, can’t believe the day slipped away from us that damn quick.” He said as he adjusted his hat to sit back on his head slightly, you couldn’t help but admire his features slightly before snapping yourself out of it. “Miguel, I was wondering if you, I mean if you and any of the cowboys would like to come down to the main house for a lunch of sorts,” Miguel smiled coyly at your little invitation, “Oh? You're inviting little ol’ me huh?” he said his smile went from coy to smug and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“You wish, I’m doing it as a request from my aunt.” You said lying through your teeth, no you were wholeheartedly inviting Miguel, using your aunt as an excuse so he didn’t see right through you. However that was long gone really, he already saw right through you, you and your dirty little thoughts with the way you looked at him and what he learned from your diary. He dramatically put a hand over his heart, “I am truly honored sugar,” he joked causing you to roll your eyes again starting your way back to the main house.

His smile never leaving his face,”See ya tomorrow sweetheart,” he laughed as you turned away from him quickly heading back to the main house to wash up for dinner, he knew damn well what he was going to do tomorrow to get you alone and he couldn’t wait.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

He spent his day counting down the minutes till he could meet you for lunch well you and your family really, when he saw how the time neared closer he had gone back to the guest house to freshen up opting for a nicely pressed shirt, one of his nice belts, and some jeans that he knew you thought looked damn good on him. Grabbing his hat swiftly and the sunflowers he got just for today.

Making sure he didn’t look too eager he toned down his steps and his excitement, knocking on the front door adjusting his grip on the flowers. He heard you call out ‘I got it!’ before your footsteps followed, opening the door you were the picture of summer. Wearing a nice little sundress, hair more loose and free, and a smile creeping its way onto your face. “Howdy little miss.” He said his southern drawl coming out more has he held the flowers out to you.

You accepted them gratefully, “Miguel you really didn’t have to-” “I wanted to sugar, there’s a difference.” He hummed as he walked inside with you greeting your aunt and uncle with his usual polite demeanor and then greeting your cousins with that smile of his. You couldn’t help but grin, going and finding a vase for the flowers. “He’s a real nice boy ain’t he?” your aunt asked, having noticed your grin.

Still subconsciously smiling as you filled the vase with water you shrugged, “Yeah I suppose he is.” She just laughed a bit as she brought the food and drinks to the table with you following behind her setting the beautiful sunflowers as the centerpiece. Calling everyone to the table for lunch, you settled into your seat, Miguel sitting in the seat beside you which was across from your uncle so they could continue whatever conversation they were having.

You all served yourselves and then conversations began, it felt like most lunches with the addition of Miguel, little did you know what he was planning. He knew how the herding dogs were so when your aunt went to grab the pitcher of juice he sneakily tossed a piece of food underneath the table causing all of them to make a run for the food bumping your aunt’s chair, the pitcher of juice ended up splashing all over your sundress causing you to squeal and jump up.

You quickly excused yourself to hurry up stairs to remove the splotches of color that had begun to seep into the fabric more and more. Miguel excused himself as well, saying he had a call to take and it was rather important. Your family thought nothing of it, just hoping you’d be alright. He headed up the stairs with ease as he heard the sink start to run. Inside you had grabbed a cloth and began to rub at the stains without much thought.

Then a knock sounded and you sighed thinking it was your Aunt or cousins you opened it, it was Miguel. “Ah- I’m sorry I’m tryin’ to-” Miguel cut you off, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I know how to get pesky stains out especially ones that ruin such a nice dress.” You blinked the nickname felt less innocent for some reason especially with the way he was looking at you.

You cleared your throat allowing him to come in and shut the door as he kneeled down digging through the cabinets, “Ah here we are,” He said holding some bleach, “This oughta help somewhat.” He hummed as he dabbed a cloth with some leaning forward looking at you for your permission. You nodded slowly and he brought the cloth to one of the stains, wiping gently. His touch so gentle and soft had your stomach erupting in butterflies.

You felt your arousal grow slightly from his little touches and ministrations and the way he always looked to you with those eyes as a way of asking. You couldn’t help but stare at him, analyzing his features and then a chuckle erupted from his chest causing you to snap back to the situation. “Darlin’ If you keep staring at me that way I might just have to do what your little diary says.” the mention of your diary as your cheeks flushing red and your heart speeding up more than it was before. “I beg your pardon?” was all you could manage out.

He chuckled, setting the cloth aside and moving closer, “I didn’t wanna tell you this sugar but I’ve read your little journal and all the thoughts you think bout me.” He whispered softly against your ear causing you to shudder slightly. “Miguel I can explain-” You started, “Shh, Shh no need sweetheart, I know exactly what you need.” He said softly as he leaned closer, his lips hovering just away from yours. “Question is, do you really want this?” He asked wanting to really make sure this wasn’t some wet dream or that it wasn’t you who felt this way. You swallowed hard as you exhaled shakily, nodding, “Words sugar.” He said softly against your lips. “Yes Miguel, Please.” You pleaded slightly and he chuckled, shaking his head. “Goodness little miss your going to be the death of me.” He teased before your lips met.

It started out soft and sweet then grew into something more passionate and rough as his hands rested on your hips, his thumbs tracing patterns on the cloth that covered them. You pulled away for air, your breathing coming out in small pants and huffs. “Look at you..Kiss bitten lips all needy for me.” Miguel said with a slight smug smirk, “I’m not needy.” You shot back at him with a small huff.

His hand went from your hips to your thigh working up to your panty covered clit, a gasp eliciting from your throat. “Not so needy huh?” he teases as he rubs a thumb over your covered clit groaning at the way your arousal has made your panties wet. “Not-Not needy at all,” You managed out as a whine followed your words when his hand moved away.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t,” He started before you sighed, “Please Miguel..” You murmured, earning a smile from him, “Please what?” he said, pushing you on. “I need you.” you whined out earning a satisfactory chuckle, his hands found your waist and he hoisted you up to sit on the counters of the bathroom. His lips immediately find your inner thigh, sucking marks into the soft skin.

His hands wander as you let out small gasps and cries trying to be quiet, as you beg for him, as you beg TO him. God he never really thought his little idea would work but here he was buried in between your thighs, what a dream. His lips inched closer and closer to where you wanted him, he gently pulled your panties down and off. Then he licked a slow stripe up your folds eliciting a moan from you causing you to cover your mouth.

You could practically feel the smile he had on his face, he began eating you out like you were the last meal he’d ever eat. His tongue working your leaking hole then focusing directly on your clit. Humming gently when his lips wrapped around the sensitive bud causing a guttural noise to slip past your hand. His pace is unforgivable with the way he’s eating you.

He acts like he's a starved man eating the most delicious food alive and he just can’t stop, one hand keeping your thighs apart and the other massaging the soft supple skin. The way he alternates between tongue fucking you then sucking at your clit has your head in the cloud feeling like your on cloud nine.

Without warning he shoves two fingers in causing you to gasp at the surprise feeling, his fingers working slowly but surely in a soft pace to give you time until you're practically begging for more and he gives you more. His fingers curl in the right spots as he pumps his fingers in and out of you sloppily kissing and licking at your clit.

All the stimulation has your head reeling as a knot forms in your stomach, he doesn’t stop, he makes direct eye contact with you with that smug smile on his face as the knot snaps. Your velvety walls spasming around his fingers as you orgasm, your eyes shut tight as he laps up all of it slowly letting you down from your high as you exhale sharply when he removes his fingers.

His hands come to make quick work of his belt and jeans bringing his boxers and jeans just low enough for his painfully hard cock to spring out. You can’t help but stare as he works it slightly, your mouth practically hanging open at the sight of it, precum beading at the tip as he works it slightly lining his head up with your entrance.

He looks to you for another affirmation and you nod looking up at him with those pleading eyes again and he can’t say no to you. He nudges his head in before plunging in full force eliciting a loud moan from your lips and groans from his with how tight you are around him. “God..So tight, such a good girl I swear.” he murmurs as he begins thrusting into your cunt, the praise causing your pussy to flutter around him. He acknowledged this with a little smirk.

“You like that huh? You like being my good girl,” He huffs out earning a whine from you, he lands a small slap to your ass causing a yelp to fall from your lips. “I asked you a question.” He said gruffly his change in attitude had your stomach feeling butterflies. “Yes, Yes s’good Miguel!” You cried out as his pace became relentless. His smirk remained at the way you reacted to all of this. His hands have a grip on your hips that’ll most definitely bruise without a doubt.

His face finds itself in the crevice of your neck placing soft kisses and words of praise into your ear, your mind practically melts from all of this as he fucks you with such a pace, the sound of skin slapping and your muffled whines and cries becoming evident as he continues on. Your legs come to wrap around his back slightly as he pulls his face away to watch where you two connect. “Tan condenadamente apretada, tan buena para mí.(So damn tight, so good for me.)” He managed out as your walls fluttered around him, having a vice on his cock.

“That feel good? Hm?” he asked knowing damn well your practically fucked dumb at this point, nodding your eyes fluttering open as he comes to rhythmic pace that’s hitting all the right spots for you. He continues to praise you and kiss up your neck leaving marks occasionally just because he can. With the way your walls clench around him he can tell your close, his free hand comes down to rub circles on your clit making you gasp and your head loll back onto the mirror behind you.”So damn needy for me..Taking all you can get.” he chuckled out.

“I’m not needy,” you managed out best you could as you took his hat from him, He shook his head at your hard-headedness “Eres tan terco…(You are so stubborn..)” He huffed out with a chuckle, quickly taking his hat back from you as you shot him a mischievous smile even in your mind melted state. Rolling your hips eliciting a groan from the cowboy who tossed his head back, his hat covering his face.

He hums slightly, leaning down to plant kisses on your collarbone and shoulder, “That’s how you wanna play huh?” he murmurs into your skin, his pace picking up almost knocking the air out of you, the lewd noises that spill from your lips spur him on, and that familiar knot tightens in your stomach, then the coil snaps and your cunts warm walls restrict around him and he can’t help but groan before he quickly pulls out before he can cum. Causing a small whine from you at the loss of feeling full.

“You wanna play games then we can play games sugar.” He says as he brings you off the counter onto your knees, you swallow thickly as you gently kitten lick the tip of his cock, soft and slowly. Teasing him with it, earning low groans and even slight whines from him. You don’t get very far with your tricky endeavors before he bucks his hips slightly causing you to gag around it. “Sorry bout that darlin’ just can’t help myself.” he says with a slight smile.

You start a steady pace, your hands resting on his thighs as you bob your head back and forth, your nose touching the tip of his pelvis before you pull off of him just to tease him again. He groans out before laughing slightly, his hand coming to find itself behind your head. “God you are just a little tease ain’tcha.” he says before thrusting into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly and pat his thighs. Tears welling in your eyes.

“Shh shh, it’s alright just relax.” He says softly and you try to, finding a steady breathing pace through your nose and relaxing your throat slightly. He begins face fucking your practically, drool coming to spill from the side of your mouth and nose tickling his pelvis as the hums you produced in response to his praises elicited groans and huffs from him.

His pace was rhythmic until it became erratic, his breathing becoming more uneven, “Don’t think I’m gonna last any longer.” Miguel huffs out as his pace becomes more needy. You hum around him and he groans, begging you to do that again and you oblige, humming around his length gagging slightly. The sensations send him over the edge after a few more thrusts his cum spurts down your throat causing you to swallow out of reflex, he slowly pulls out a string of spit connecting him to your kiss bitten drool covered lips. God the sight of alone could have had him going again he leaned forward wiping a thumb over your lip to wipe the drool away as you swallowed.

He planted a small kiss on your temple, “You're just perfect darlin’.” He praises making you smile slightly as he helped you stand up, a hand resting on your hips. “Maybe we should head back down, Wouldn’t want your family to worry too much.” you hummed in response, “I’m gonna change first, you go on down.” you said softly planting a kiss to his cheek as you carefully exited the bathroom to go back to the room.

Could this be the start of something real with this cowboy?

Fin.

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