#even though it was just casual conversation with no depth in it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwriteswords · 13 days ago

Note

Hey, may I request a Hotch x Reader age gap story, where she's in her late 20s and not a BAU member. I think it would be a nice little twist into their dynamic, also he's such a daddy. Much appreciated and thanks in advance.

The Girl Next Door

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I had a dream about Hotch being my neighbor the other day that sort-of inspired this one! Thanks for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: Age Gap, Romantic Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Insecurities, Mentions of Canon-Typical Plot Themes

Sypnosis: When you move into your new apartment, the last thing Aaron Hotchner expects is for his quiet, orderly life to be disrupted by his intriguing new neighbor. At first glance, you seem like a contradiction—poised, accomplished, and wise beyond your years, yet far younger than anyone else in the building. As a profiler, Aaron prides himself on his ability to read people, but you defy easy categorization, stirring something in him he hasn’t felt in years.

The day you moved into your new apartment, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual polite introduction. A quick hello in the hallway, a nod of acknowledgment over packages left at the concierge desk. But when the door across from his opened, and you stood there with a warm smile and an extended hand, it was as if something jolted awake in him.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor,” you said, your voice confident yet gentle, the kind that demanded attention without trying. “I hope I’m not intruding. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

He shook your hand, taking note of the firm grip. His profiler’s instincts, so finely tuned, began to buzz. Your demeanor was composed, polished. You carried yourself as someone well-accustomed to holding their own in rooms filled with people twice your age. Yet, as he looked at you, he couldn’t reconcile your apparent youth with the sophisticated way you spoke or the fact that you could afford an apartment in a building like this one.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

Your smile widened. “Aaron. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

He would have guessed you were in your early to late twenties if not for the depth in your gaze and the way you seemed to study him, as though cataloging details in the same way he was. But still, you couldn’t be older than thirty, could you? How could someone that young afford this building? Hotch, ever practical, knew he overpaid, even with his federal paycheck. And he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because he couldn’t peg you, and as a profiler, that was frustrating.

Weeks passed, and though your paths crossed occasionally—quick hellos in the elevator or casual small talk in the lobby—Hotch found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. You were intriguing, beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten when you smiled, and far too mature for him to simply brush off as someone fresh into the adult world. But he told himself it was nothing. Jack, now a teenager, occupied most of his thoughts, and the idea of pursuing a neighbor felt inappropriate. Unprofessional, even.

Still, after a grueling case that left a bitter taste in his mouth and the weight of mortality pressing heavy on his shoulders, Hotch let Rossi convince him to grab a drink at the bar near the BAU.

It was a dimly lit, intimate place that felt quieter than most bars in the city. Rossi nursed a scotch while Hotch stared at his whiskey, his mind elsewhere. He thought of the case, the current emptiness that filled his personal life with Jack beginning to pull away into his own world, and then that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. The soft overhead light highlighted your features, and for a moment, Hotch forgot how to breathe. You seemed so at ease, lost in your book, unaware of the buzz of conversations around you.

“You’re staring,” Rossi said, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hotch blinked, dragging his gaze back to his drink. “I wasn’t staring.” He almost mumbled it under his breath, feeling like a kid caught red-handed.

Rossi scoffed. “Sure you weren’t. Who is she?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Hotch admitted reluctantly. “She just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Well, your neighbor has good taste in wine and literature,” Rossi remarked, glancing in your direction. “Go talk to her.”

Hotch shook his head, grimacing at the idea of making a move like that.. “She’s too young.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “How young are we talking?”

Hotch hesitated. “Late twenties, maybe. She looks young, but she doesn’t act it. It’s hard to tell. Either way, it would be inappropriate.”

“Why? Because she’s younger? Aaron, come on. She’s not a child.”

“I could be her father,” Hotch countered, his tone sharper than he intended; the words felt like poison on his lips. “What would she want with someone like me?”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. “You know, the younger ones have a way of keeping you young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Dave.”

Before Rossi could retort, you looked up from your book, your eyes landing on Hotch. Recognition lit up your face, and you smiled, raising a hand in a small wave. Hotch froze. The way you looked at him like you were genuinely happy to see him, made something in his chest ache.

“She’s smiling at you,” Rossi pointed out with a grin. “Now’s your chance.”

Hotch hesitated, his heart thundering in his chest. What would he even say? But then you beckoned him over with a tilt of your head, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to take a leap.

Hotch lingered for a moment too long, his feet rooted to the floor as he debated whether to stay put or heed Rossi’s unsolicited advice. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, pride, or something else entirely keeping him from standing up. The thought of your smile, though—warm and inviting as it was—made the decision harder.

Rossi, ever perceptive, patted him on the back with a grin. “Go on, Aaron. I’m heading out anyway. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. Let me put it this way—don’t think about it too much. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know.”

And with that, Rossi tossed back the rest of his scotch, clapped Hotch on the shoulder one more time, and left Hotch standing alone with his swirling thoughts.

He exhaled, trying to quiet the insecurities gnawing at him. What could he possibly offer someone like you? Yet the way you had smiled at him just moments ago—so genuine, so effortless—spoke to something deeper. Maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw himself: older, wearier, with too many ghosts lingering in the corners of his mind. Maybe you just saw…him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hotch pushed back from the barstool, his steps steady but deliberate as he approached you. You glanced up as he neared, your smile widening. That warmth in your eyes—it was enough to melt some of the tension in his chest.

“Hey, Aaron,” you said, your voice carrying the kind of excitement that made it seem like you’d been hoping he’d show up. You patted the empty seat next to you. “Join me?”

He hesitated briefly before sitting down, your proximity somehow calming and unnerving at once. The soft scent of your perfume wrapped around him, and he caught himself lingering too long on the way your lips curved upward when you smiled.

“Nice choice,” you said, gesturing to the glass he’d brought with him. “I’d guess it’s a single malt whiskey. Neat.”

Hotch tilted his head, impressed. “That’s right.”

You chuckled, holding your own glass of wine. “You don’t strike me as anything less.”

His lips quirked in a subtle smile. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re precise,” you said easily, leaning slightly toward him. “Thoughtful, composed. Someone like you wouldn’t order anything overly sweet or complicated. You keep things simple, but you expect quality.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how accurately you had read him. It wasn’t often someone did that, not even outside his work at the BAU. Yet here you were, confidently pulling back the layers he thought he kept well hidden.

It also caught him off guard because here he was, someone who was taught to keep himself a mystery while reading others, but it was now the other way around. You read him like a book while he could not put his finger on what it was about you.

“You’re observant,” he remarked, lifting his glass. “Not many people would pick up on that.”

You shrugged, your smile modest but pleased. “I like to notice things. It’s useful.”

“You could’ve been a profiler,” he said without thinking, then quickly added, “Not that I’m suggesting a career change.”

You laughed softly, and the sound settled in his chest like warmth on a cold night. “I think I’ll stick to what I do for now.”

“And what is it you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. Despite your shared moments in the hallway and now this unexpected meeting, he realized he knew so little about you beyond the fact that you were maddeningly intriguing.

“I’m in finance,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “Nothing too exciting, but it’s steady, and I’m good at it.”

That explained some things—your confidence, poise, and ability to afford an apartment in his building. Still, he found himself wondering how someone your age could have such a solid footing in life.

“You’re impressive,” he said honestly, surprising himself with the admission.

Your eyes sparkled, a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give out compliments lightly.”

He laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, covering everything from favorite books to why this particular bar was a hidden gem. You were strikingly beautiful, yes, but it was your confidence and the way you carried yourself that held his attention. Yet, as much as he enjoyed your company, that familiar self-doubt crept in whenever the age gap came to mind.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” you said, interrupting his spiral.

“Just wondering,” he began carefully, “how someone so young ended up being so…accomplished.”

Your brow lifted slightly, and then you smiled, a touch of mischief in your expression. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”

Hotch cleared his throat, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “I wouldn’t ask directly.”

“Well, for the record,” you said, leaning in just enough to make his pulse quicken, “I’m twenty-seven. And yes, I know I look younger. But I’ve worked hard to get here, and I don’t take it for granted.”

He nodded, letting your words sink in. Twenty-seven. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the brilliance of those younger than him, he’d worked side-by-side with Reid, more years than he could count, but the gap still gave him pause. There was no denying the respect he felt for you, nor the pull that kept him rooted to your side.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful smile. “Did I pass whatever test you were giving me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You weren’t being tested.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased before lifting your glass. “To new neighbors, then?”

Hotch clinked his glass against yours, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “To new neighbors.”

As you both sipped your drinks, Hotch couldn’t help but feel that maybe Rossi was right. Maybe it was okay to let himself enjoy something—or someone—good for a change.

As the bartender passed by, you reached for your wallet, signaling for the check. Hotch, noticing, set his own glass down and spoke before you could finish.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly.

You looked up, slightly surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist,” he replied, already sliding his card across the counter to the bartender. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gesture.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in your expression, but eventually, you smiled. “Well, thank you, Aaron. That’s very kind of you.”

He nodded, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as the bartender returned his card. It wasn’t just about paying—it was the subtle act of taking care of you. Even though he’d only known you for a short while, the protective instinct that came naturally to him was already stirring. His line of work had shown him too much about the world, and the idea of you walking alone at night didn’t sit well.

As you both stood to leave, Hotch glanced at you. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” you said, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “I take public transportation to work. I was just going to grab a cab home.”

Hotch frowned slightly. The thought of you waiting for a cab at this hour didn’t sit right with him. “That’s not necessary. We’re going to the same place anyway—I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, but there was a softness in your tone like you were touched by the offer.

“I insist,” he repeated, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s no trouble.”

For a moment, you studied him, then gave a small, amused shake of your head. “All right, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

The two of you walked out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Hotch instinctively slowed his pace to match yours, his hand twitching briefly at his side as though tempted to offer it. When you reached his car, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you teased lightly as you slid into the seat.

Hotch smirked faintly as he closed the door and rounded to the driver’s side. “Not entirely.”

The ride started quietly, the hum of the engine filling the space. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past, but after a moment, you turned to him.

“So,” you began, “do you always offer rides to your neighbors, or am I just special?”

Hotch’s lips curved in a faint smile as he kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s just say I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you said, leaning back in the seat. “But you didn’t have to. I would’ve been fine.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But...I’ve seen too much in my work to feel comfortable letting you take a cab alone.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“I work for the FBI,” he said simply, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You blinked, clearly intrigued. “So you’re a profiler?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. “We study behavior to catch criminals. Serial offenders, mostly.”

“That explains why you’re so observant,” you said with a small smile. “And why you seem so serious all the time.”

He chuckled under his breath, a rare sound that surprised even him. “It comes with the territory.”

“Well,” you said, your tone thoughtful, “I think it’s a good thing. That you care enough to notice things, I mean.”

He glanced at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. When Hotch pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, he turned off the engine and looked at you.

“Thank you again,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “For the ride. And the drink.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied, his voice softer now.

You lingered for a moment, your hand on the door handle, before turning to him with a small smile. “You’re a good neighbor, Aaron.”

Hotch sat for a moment longer, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he watched you head toward the elevator. Something in the way you said his name lingered in his mind, a warmth spreading through him that he couldn’t quite explain.

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it, and grabbed his keys before stepping out of the car. By the time he caught up to you at the elevator, you were already pressing the button for your floor.

“Thought you were going to stay in the car all night,” you teased lightly, glancing over at him as the elevator doors slid open.

“Just taking my time,” he replied, his voice steady but faintly amused as he stepped in beside you.

The elevator ride was quiet at first, the kind of comfortable silence that seemed to follow your conversations. Hotch leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, while you stood with your arms crossed lightly over your chest. He caught himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in the relaxed way you carried yourself despite the late hour.

When the elevator doors opened onto your floor, you both stepped out and walked down the hall side by side. The muffled hum of the building at night—the soft whir of air vents and the occasional creak of floorboards—felt strangely intimate.

“I still can’t believe we live right across the hall from each other,” you said, breaking the silence as you reached your doors. You turned to face him, your expression playful. “Guess I’ll have to start baking cookies or something neighborly like that.”

He smirked faintly, a rare softness crossing his features. “I’m not sure I’d have time to return the favor.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide,” you said with a mock sigh, your grin widening.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob to your apartment. “Thank you again, Aaron. For everything tonight.”

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. “It really wasn’t any trouble.”

As you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you glanced back at him one last time. “Goodnight, neighbor.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as the door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, he stood there in the hallway, staring at your door. That same warmth from earlier crept through him, something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he turned and entered his own apartment, already wondering when he’d see you again.

The night you shared a ride home lingered in Aaron Hotchner’s mind longer than he cared to admit. He told himself it was nothing—just neighborly kindness—but the warmth in your voice when you said his name and the way you looked at him as if he weren’t just another face in the crowd were impossible to forget. There was something about you, something that stirred feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain in years.

But life moved on. Cases came and went, the BAU’s relentless pace leaving little room for personal indulgences. Still, when he’d return home to the quiet comfort of his apartment, he often found himself glancing at your door across the hall, wondering what you might be doing, who you might be with. He chided himself for the thoughts—he was too old, too busy, and too set in his ways to be thinking of you like this.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon off when he found himself in the building’s mailroom with Jack. The teenager was practically vibrating with anticipation, tearing through envelopes in search of one in particular.

“Anything?” Hotch asked, glancing up from his own stack of bills and promotional flyers.

“Not yet,” Jack muttered, his brow furrowed as he sorted through the last few pieces of mail. “Do you think maybe it got lost?”

Hotch shook his head with a small smile. “It’ll come. Just be patient.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and when he looked up, there you were, a cheerful smile lighting up your face as you entered the mailroom.

“Hey, neighbor,” you greeted, your eyes flicking between him and Jack. “And who’s this?”

“This is my son, Jack,” Hotch said, stepping aside slightly so you could get a better look. “Jack, this is our neighbor, [Your Name].”

Jack looked up from his stack of envelopes, offering a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” you said warmly. “You’re the spitting image of your dad, you know.”

Jack wrinkled his nose playfully, glancing at Hotch. “I hope not too much.”

You laughed, the sound drawing a small chuckle from Hotch as well. “What’s got you so focused on the mail today?” you asked Jack, noting his eager expression.

“I’m waiting to hear back about a summer art program I applied to,” Jack said, his tone hopeful but tinged with nervousness.

“Art? That’s fantastic!” you said, genuinely impressed. “What kind of art are you into?”

“Mostly sketching,” Jack replied, his shyness melting under your encouragement. “But I’ve been getting into painting too.”

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” you said sincerely. “I’m sure they’d be lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled, visibly more relaxed in your presence. Hotch observed the interaction quietly, noting how effortlessly you connected with his son. It tugged at something deep in his chest, that mix of admiration and longing he was becoming all too familiar with around you.

“Oh, before I forget,” you said, turning to Hotch. “I’m throwing a little cocktail party at my place next Friday night to celebrate settling into the apartment. Nothing fancy, just a few friends and some good drinks. You and Jack should come.”

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing. A cocktail party? With your friends? He imagined himself standing awkwardly in a room full of people your age, wondering if he belonged there at all. But before he could respond, you added with a playful smile, “I really hope you’ll come. It won’t be the same without my favorite neighbor.”

The glimmer of hope in your tone, the sincerity in your smile—it made his chest tighten. Still, the self-conscious voice in his head whispered doubts. Would your friends think he was too old? Would you regret inviting him once he showed up?

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully, his voice steady but uncertain. “With my schedule, it can be hard to plan ahead.”

“Well,” you said, your tone light but insistent, “I’m holding out hope. And Jack, you’re more than welcome too. I’ll make sure we have something non-alcoholic that’s party-worthy.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can convince him.”

Your laughter was warm, and it stayed with Hotch long after you left the mailroom, waving goodbye with a cheerful promise to see him soon. As you disappeared down the hallway, he felt that familiar tug again—part curiosity, part hope, and part fear.

Did he imagine the glimmer in your eyes the other night? The way your words seemed to linger just for him? Or was it possible—just possible—that there was something real here? Something worth risking the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself to explore.

As Jack tugged his sleeve, reminding him they still had to sort the rest of the mail, Hotch shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. Whatever the answer, he couldn’t deny the pull you had on him. Maybe he’d find out next weekend.

Friday night found Aaron Hotchner in his office, the quiet hum of the BAU’s bullpen far below offering no distraction from the thoughts circling his mind. The stack of case files on his desk was unusually light for a change, and the rare lull in their schedule had granted him a night off. Yet, instead of heading home or unwinding with a book, he sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the invitation you’d extended days earlier.

Jack was spending the night at a teammate’s house for a soccer sleepover, leaving Hotch without the comfortable excuse of parenting duties. But the thought of showing up at your party, surrounded by people your age, feeling out of place—it made him hesitate.

He was still mulling it over when a knock sounded at his office door. Looking up, he found Emily Prentiss leaning against the frame, a file folder in hand.

“Final report from the Clarke case,” she said, stepping inside and placing the folder on his desk. “You’re officially done for the night.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his tone clipped but polite.

Emily tilted her head, studying him with the kind of perceptiveness he usually reserved for himself. “You look…pensive. Something on your mind?”

For a moment, Hotch considered brushing her off, offering some vague comment about work or letting the conversation drop entirely. But then he remembered how much he valued openness among his team, a quality he wished they were better about embracing. Perhaps it was time to practice what he preached.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight. My neighbor’s hosting it.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on her lips. “A cocktail party? Sounds fancy. What’s the dilemma?”

“It’s not about the party itself,” he admitted. “It’s…her.”

Her curiosity sharpened, and she took a seat across from him. “Okay, now you have my attention. Tell me more about ‘her.’”

“She’s my neighbor,” he began, his voice even but hesitant. “She’s in her late twenties, successful, confident. We’ve talked a few times, and she’s…invited me tonight.”

Emily’s smile widened, though she kept her expression neutral enough not to tease. “And you’re debating whether or not to go because…?”

“Because I’m twice her age,” Hotch said bluntly. “Because I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong. And because I’m not sure if the interest I think I’m seeing from her is even real or if I’ve imagined it.”

Emily let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Hotch, you’re overthinking this. And so what? Age is just a number. What matters is the connection.”

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple. She’s…young, full of life. I’m a widower with a teenage son and a career that doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“All the more reason to go,” Emily countered. “Look, you’ve spent years putting everyone else first—your son, your team, your cases. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Took a chance?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in front of him. Emily leaned forward slightly, her tone softening.

“Hotch, you’re allowed to let yourself be happy. And from the way you’re talking about her, it sounds like she could be someone worth getting to know better.”

He glanced up at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “What if it’s inappropriate?”

“Now, you’re definitely over thinking this,” Emily snorted, “You’ll handle it like you handle everything else—with class and integrity,” she said with a shrug. “But you won’t know unless you try. And who knows? Maybe tonight’s just a party, or maybe it’s the start of something more. Either way, you owe it to yourself to find out.”

Hotch let her words sink in, the weight of his own self-doubt pressing against the hope he’d buried deep. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost reluctant smile forming on his lips.

“You’re relentless,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

“It’s part of my charm,” Emily replied, standing and smoothing out her blazer. “Now go home, get dressed, and show up. And Hotch?”

He looked up at her, his brows lifting slightly.

“Make a move,” she added with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

As she left his office, Hotch sat for a moment longer, her words echoing in his mind. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his coat and headed out, the decision finally made. Tonight, he would go to your party. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out if the glimmer of hope he thought he saw in your eyes was real.

Hotch stood outside your apartment door, adjusting his tie as he willed himself to ignore the nervous energy thrumming through him. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly, but something close—a self-consciousness he hadn’t felt in years. The faint sound of laughter and soft music spilled out from your apartment, and for a moment, he considered turning around.

But then he thought of the way you’d looked at him, the hope in your voice when you’d said you really wanted him to come. That was enough to steel his resolve. He took a breath and knocked.

When you opened the door, Hotch’s breath hitched. You stood there, radiant, wearing an outfit that was the perfect balance of elegance and allure. It hugged your figure just enough to make his pulse quicken, yet the overall effect was sophisticated and tasteful. The soft light from your apartment cast a warm glow over you, highlighting every curve and detail.

“Aaron,” you said, your face lighting up with a smile that felt like it was just for him. Before he could say anything, you stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug, catching him completely off guard.

“Hi,” he managed, his voice steady despite the way your touch had sent a jolt of something warm through him.

“I’m so glad you made it,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting briefly on his arms. “I’ve been wondering all night if you’d show.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’m glad I did.”

You beamed at that, stepping aside to let him in. As Hotch entered, he took in the space, his eyes immediately drawn to the careful details of your apartment. It was stunning—every corner thoughtfully arranged, every piece of furniture and decor intentional. The warm, inviting tones of the room mirrored his own taste, but where his home was functional, yours was artfully executed.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled to the brim with titles that made him want to linger and browse. His eyes caught on a few photographs interspersed among the shelves—travel shots, candid moments, and one of you laughing with someone who looked like an older family member. The charm of it all struck him immediately, and he couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“You’ve done an amazing job with this place,” he said, his tone genuine.

“Thank you,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad you like it. I put a lot of thought into it—wanted it to feel like home.”

“It does,” he said, glancing around again. “It suits you.”

You smiled at that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then your expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Where’s Jack?”

“He had teenage obligations,” Hotch replied, a hint of humor in his tone. “A soccer sleepover.”

You laughed softly. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you could come. I know your schedule’s crazy, so it means a lot.”

He was about to respond when you gently touched his arm, guiding him further inside. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect as you led him toward the small group gathered in your living room. But as you began introducing him, your words caught him off guard.

“This is Aaron, my favorite neighbor and new friend,” you said warmly, gesturing to him with a smile.

Favorite neighbor. New friend. The way you said it was so easy, so unselfconscious, that it disarmed him entirely.

The group—five or six people, all older than he’d expected, not just a group of twenty-something-year-olds partying like he imagined—greeted him with nods and polite smiles. It was immediately clear that you surrounded yourself with maturity and wisdom, which made sense. You were wise beyond your years, someone who fit seamlessly into this crowd despite being the youngest by far.

Hotch felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as you moved gracefully between your guests, checking on everyone while still managing to include him in the conversation. It wasn’t just your decorating style that impressed him—it was the way you carried yourself, the natural elegance and charm that seemed to radiate from you.

As the evening settled into a warm rhythm, Hotch found himself standing near one of your bookshelves, thumbing through the spine of a title that caught his eye. The sound of your laughter drifted from across the room, and he couldn’t help but glance in your direction. You were chatting animatedly with one of your coworkers, your smile radiant, your presence magnetic. He marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the room, making every guest feel like they were the most important person there.

A moment later, you appeared at his side, a delicate martini glass in your hand, the liquid inside a rich, dark brown.

“For you,” you said, holding it out with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, taking the glass cautiously. “And what exactly is this?”

“An espresso martini,” you replied, the corners of your mouth curling into a grin. “My specialty. I make a mean one, and I’m certain you’ll like it.”

He regarded the drink with a playfully suspicious look, tilting the glass slightly to inspect it.

“I know,” you said easily, gesturing toward the glass. “But I see you leaving in the mornings with your coffee cup. Think of it as adult coffee in a martini glass.”

He chuckled softly at that, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the drink. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “Though, if this doesn’t suit your taste, I did pick up a whiskey I think you’ll like. It’s over by the bar.”

Hotch blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, your smile warm. “I wanted to. Besides, I hope this isn’t the last time we spend time together, so I’m sure we’ll enjoy that whiskey at some point—even if it’s not tonight.”

Something about the way you said it—the quiet confidence, the way you looked at him like he mattered—made his chest tighten.

“Well,” he said, lifting the glass slightly, “I suppose I can’t turn down a signature drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Try it. I promise it’s good.”

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip. The rich, velvety flavor hit him immediately—the perfect balance of espresso, a hint of sweetness, and the warmth of vodka mingling with the coffee liqueur. He lowered the glass, nodding slightly as a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s…better than I expected,” he admitted.

“Better than expected?” you repeated, laughing softly. “I’ll take that as a win.”

He shook his head, amused. “It’s good. Really.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you said confidently, your eyes sparkling. “It’s got just enough sophistication to suit you.”

He chuckled again, a rare sound that felt more natural in your presence than it had in a long time. As you stood beside him, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background.

For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt like more than just a profiler, more than just a father or a leader. He felt seen. And, for once, he didn’t mind indulging in the moment.

As the evening wound down, the energy in the room shifted. Guests slowly trickled out, offering you hugs and handshakes on their way to the door. Each one left with a warm smile, a testament to your natural charm as a host. Hotch lingered, sipping the espresso martini you’d made him, more out of a desire to stay close than a need to finish the drink.

You returned from the door after bidding goodbye to the last pair of guests, finding him still standing near the bookshelf where the two of you had shared most of your conversation that night. His shoulders looked more relaxed now, the edges of his stoic demeanor softened in the warm glow of your apartment.

“Well,” you said with a soft laugh, glancing around at the aftermath of the party—empty glasses, plates, and the faint echo of laughter still hanging in the air. “That’s it. A successful cocktail party in the books.”

“You made it look effortless,” Hotch said, his voice warm. “But I know it’s anything but.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge as you started gathering a few glasses from the table.

He stepped forward, setting his now-empty glass down and reaching for a plate. “Let me help.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you said, waving him off. “You’re a guest. Go relax.”

“Consider it repayment for the drink,” he countered, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head but relenting as he began stacking dishes with practiced ease. The two of you moved through the space in comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the night. Occasionally, your hands would brush as you both reached for something and each time, he felt a quiet thrill that he was certain he shouldn’t.

When the room was mostly back to its pristine state, you turned to him, holding a dish towel and looking a little sheepish. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know. But thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, his tone soft but sincere. “I’m not much of a sit-back-and-relax type anyway.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer to him.

The quiet that settled between you felt heavy in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He wasn’t sure what it was about you—the way you seemed to see right through him, the way you made him feel like he could finally let his guard down—but it made him want to say something, to do something, even if it was just a small step forward.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wasn’t sure if I’d fit in, but…it was nice.”

“I’m glad you came,” you replied softly. “I was hoping you would.”

The sincerity in your voice struck him, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting touch, but it was enough to make his heart race.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze searching his face. “Aaron?”

“I…enjoy spending time with you,” he said, his tone careful but honest. “More than I expected to.”

Your lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and you stepped just a fraction closer. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, his voice steady now.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft light of your apartment casting gentle shadows across the room. He didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but when you placed a hand lightly on his arm, your touch warm and grounding, he felt the last of his reservations slip away.

“It’s late,” he said finally, his voice low. “I should probably head back.”

You nodded, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment longer. “Thank you for coming. And for everything tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

As he walked back across the hall to his apartment, he felt a quiet sense of contentment settle over him. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic moment, but it was something—a step forward. And for now, that was enough.

In the day that followed, Hotch pulled his go-bag over his shoulder when he noticed something out of place under his apartment door. A small, cream-colored card peeked out from beneath the frame. He bent down, retrieving it with a curious furrow in his brow.

It was a card, handwritten in neat, elegant script.

Aaron,

Thank you for coming last night. It was wonderful having you there—it made the evening that much more special.

If you ever feel like sharing that whiskey, or even just enjoying each other’s company (with or without alcohol involved, haha), give me a call. I’d like that.

Hotch stood there for a moment, the weight of his bag forgotten. He read the note twice, his eyes lingering on the small smiley face you’d drawn next to your name. It was a simple gesture, but it left him feeling both surprised and oddly warm.

He slipped the card into the inside pocket of his jacket, shaking his head with the faintest smile. The timing couldn’t have been worse—he had a flight to catch and a case that demanded his full attention—but for the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

Duty called, and as the jet soared through the sky, Hotch pulled the card from his pocket and ran his thumb over the textured surface. He wasn’t a man who took chances lightly, and his initial instinct was to keep the card tucked away to avoid what could become a complication in his carefully constructed life.

But then he thought of you—the way your smile had lit up the room last night, the effortless warmth in your voice, and the quiet confidence in the note you’d left. You weren’t pushing; you were simply opening a door, one he realized he wanted to step through.

He stared at the number on the card, debating. Finally, he reached for his phone, texting you something simple but deliberate.

Aaron: Thank you for the note. I’m currently out of state on a case, but when I’m back, I’d like to meet for coffee.

He stared at the message for a moment, wondering if it felt too casual or too formal. But then he thought of you—your easy smile, your genuine warmth—and decided that simplicity was best. He pressed send before he could overthink it.

For the rest of the flight, his mind kept circling back to the text. He wasn’t sure if you’d respond right away, or at all, but the act of reaching out was enough to stir something unfamiliar in him. A quiet kind of hope.

You: Coffee sounds perfect. Just let me know when you're back, and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear. Be safe out there, Aaron.

When he read your reply, a small smile tugged at his lips. He slid the phone back into his pocket, leaning back in his seat. The case ahead loomed large in his mind, but for the first time in a while, there was something waiting for him on the other side of it. And for now, that was enough.

The case continued far too long, but Hotch finally stepped off the BAU jet just as the first rays of morning light broke over the tarmac. The case had been grueling—long nights, dead ends, and the weight of too many lives disrupted. But they’d managed to close it, and now all he could think about was the coffee date waiting for him.

The team moved silently, exhaustion etched into their faces as they grabbed their bags and headed for the SUVs waiting nearby. Emily caught his eye as they walked toward the cars.

“Plans for the morning, Hotch?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Just coffee,” he replied simply, his tone giving nothing away.

Emily’s brow quirked, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. She knew it wasn’t like Hotch to not go settle back into the constraints of his desk, post-case. She had hoped he’d taken her advice when it came to you.

“Coffee, huh? Well, enjoy.”

Hotch gave her a faint smirk in response but said nothing more. He loaded his bag into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV, his mind already shifting to you.

He hadn’t told you the details of the case, of course, but he’d sent you a text two nights ago letting you know he’d be back this morning and suggesting the café.

He arrived at the café with minutes to spare, parking his SUV and grabbing a quick look in the rearview mirror. He looked tired—there was no denying that—but he decided against going home to change first. Something about coming straight here felt more honest, like he wasn’t trying to put on a front. Besides, he doubted you’d mind.

When he stepped inside the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him, chasing away some of the lingering fatigue. He chose a table near the back, where the noise of the bustling morning crowd was muted. As he sat down, he checked his phone, confirming the time.

You’d be here any minute.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself anticipating something outside of work. And as he waited, he allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something he hadn’t dared to imagine for years.

The sun cast a warm glow over the café, soft light filtering through the wide windows. Hotch had chosen a quiet table near the back, away from the bustling chatter of patrons. He arrived a little early, a habit born of years of precision and punctuality, and ordered a simple black coffee while he waited.

His gaze drifted toward the door as he wondered what to say to you. He’d thought about this meeting—about you—more than he cared to admit during the case. And now, with the moment so close, he wasn’t sure how to navigate the emotions that came with it.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and there you were, stepping inside with an easy smile. You spotted him quickly and made your way over, looking effortlessly put together in a way that still felt warm and approachable.

“Hi,” you said, your smile widening as you reached the table.

“Hi,” Hotch replied, standing instinctively to greet you.

You set your bag down, glancing at his coffee. “Already ahead of me, I see. What’s your drink of choice?”

“Just black,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Classic,” you said approvingly. “Let me grab something, and I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped away to order, Hotch took a steadying breath. It was strange how easily you disarmed him with just your presence. When you returned with a latte, he stood again, waiting until you were seated before sitting himself.

“So,” you began, wrapping your hands around your cup. “How was the case?”

“Challenging,” he admitted. “But we managed to resolve it.”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “I imagine they’re all challenging in their own ways. I don’t know how you do it.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s what I’m trained for. Though I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take its toll.”

“I can imagine,” you said softly. “It’s why I was surprised you even had the energy to come to my party last week.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It was a good distraction. I’m glad I went.”

Your smile softened. “I’m glad you did too.”

For a moment, the two of you sipped your drinks in companionable silence. The warm atmosphere of the café seemed to cocoon you from the outside world, giving Hotch a rare sense of ease. But the weight of unspoken words pressed against him, and he knew he couldn’t leave without saying something.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You looked up, your brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh?”

“More than I probably should,” he admitted, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I try not to let my personal life interfere with my work—or vice versa—but…you’ve been on my mind.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss for words. “Aaron…”

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued, his tone careful but sincere. “I don’t know where this is going or what it means, but I do know that I enjoy spending time with you. More than I expected to.”

A smile slowly spread across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

That admission caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. He felt a quiet relief, a sense of validation for the risk he’d taken in being honest.

“Well,” you said, leaning slightly forward, your tone playful yet soft. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t sure where this is going. But I think I’d like to find out.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “So would I.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily as it always seemed to. For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more—and for once, he wasn’t afraid of what that might mean.

Tag List:

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@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #reader insert #aaron hotch hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch #kiwriteswords #criminal minds imagine

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creamflix · 29 days ago

Text

❤︎ — nanami kento likes it in yellow !

content warnings: established relationship, switch reader + power bottom/switch nanami, pegging, strap-on has an in-built vibrator that goes both ways (giver and reciever both experience it!), brat-taming nanami!!!!!, praise and degradation, spanking (f. receiving), prostate stimulation, (male) squirting, kento looses his cool and starts cussing + lowkey mindbreak, slightly desperate nanami, sex fuelled by jealousy if you squint

event masterlist ❤︎ general masterlist

"kento, what do you think of pegging?"

nanami’s head snaps up so fast you almost feel bad for catching him off-guard. he adjusts himself, clearly working out a response in that quick, calculating way of his, debating whether to give you the answer he thinks you want — or the one that reflects how he really feels.

he clears his throat, trying to keep his tone steady. “pegging?” he repeats, eyebrow arching. “i… understand why some people enjoy it.” there’s a careful pause. “it’s just… not something i’ve ever considered personally.” his voice is gentle, like he’s making sure not to brush off your interest entirely, even if the suggestion doesn’t sit easily with him.

you give him a look, one that’s both expectant and just a little teasing, and he shifts in his seat. if you asked him to tie you up, he’d do it. exhibitionism? maybe, under the right conditions. even that cosplay idea you’d once floated past him — he could entertain it. but this? he feels a bit out of his depth.

“look,” he says after a moment, his hand reaching out to rest on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “it’s a… newer concept for me,” he admits, choosing his words with care. “if it means that much to you, i’d be open to discussing it, but…” he pauses, catching the glint of excitement in your eyes. “don’t think that would mean an automatic yes.”

“so, that’s not a hard no?” you tease, leaning a bit closer, watching his cheeks warm slightly.

nanami lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze shifting to the floor. “it’s more of a ‘probably not,’” he concedes, his lips curling up at the corners. “but i respect the curiosity.”

he clears his throat, forcing a casualness into his voice that betrays his sudden interest. “you… just found it, then?” he asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge your reaction, hoping for a bit more clarity.

“yep!” you chirp, still scrolling on your phone like you hadn’t just dropped a conversational bomb on him. “just one of those late-night impulse buys, ya know?” you shrug, not even looking up, your tone light and breezy. “it’s kind of a shame, though. don’t know if it’ll ever see the light of day.”

his jaw clenches, the idea sitting heavily. “so… has it?” he asks, attempting to keep his tone neutral, even as his fingers tap slowly on his knee. “the light of day, i mean.”

you glance up with a sly smile, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “why, ken, are you asking if there’s been someone else to, uh…” you trail off, giggling. “let me put it to use?”

“just… curious,” he mutters, his cheeks tinged with pink. he shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with how intrigued he is but also with how bothered the idea of ‘someone else’ makes him. the thought stings more than he expected.

you lean closer, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “well, maybe there was someone once. maybe not,” you say, watching his reaction with a smirk. “but if you’re feeling adventurous, ken… well, it wouldn’t hurt to add this to the list of ‘firsts,’ right?”

he swallows, his mouth a bit dry, feeling the weight of his pride nudging at him. he wants to be your first in every way possible — wants that special connection, discomfort be damned. and real men, after all, aren’t afraid to be a little adventurous.

“maybe…” he says slowly, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, “for you, we could give it some thought.”

“let’s give it a try now, ken,” you say, eyes glinting with excitement as you grab his hand, already tugging him in the direction of your shared room. he raises an eyebrow, that barely-there smile on his lips as he follows you, amused by your clear overenthusiasm.

he chuckles, watching the way you’re practically bouncing with excitement, while he’s still somewhere between curiosity and mild reluctance. his amusement only grows when you turn back to pout at him, a feigned look of disappointment on your face.

“you don’t look nearly as excited as you should be, ken,” you sigh, crossing your arms as you reach the bedroom. “where’s the sense of adventure?”

he laughs, softly shaking his head as he closes the door behind him. “if anything, i’m impressed at how quickly you took my ‘maybe’ and ran with it,” he teases, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as he leans down to meet your eyes, voice low and steady. “you don’t make anything easy, do you?”

“not when it’s something i want,” you admit with a grin, stepping closer to him, your fingers lightly tracing up his arm. “and i want this with you.” you see a faint hint of warmth in his eyes, a small concession to the moment, as he nods, his hand finding its place on your waist.

“all right,” he says with a resigned sigh that doesn’t quite hide his amusement. “lead the way, then.”

nanami’s eyes widen just slightly as you pull out the strap-on, and his gaze lingers on the unexpected details — a vibrant, unapologetic yellow that’s both quirky and bold, with a smooth design. his eyes fall to the two-way vibrator attachment, a sleek, narrow shaft positioned to press into both you and him, promising shared intensity with every movement.

the moment hangs thick in the air as he stares at the toy in your hands, his throat suddenly dry. you study him, an amused glint in your eyes as you tilt your head. “ken… are you sure?” you ask, voice gentle, though you can’t help the mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

he clears his throat, forcing himself to look away from the contraption and meet your gaze, trying to push past the nerves prickling up his spine. “i… suppose i didn’t know what to expect,” he admits, glancing at the yellow strap with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

you laugh softly, running your hand over the strap. “it’s a bit unconventional, yeah, but it’ll work the same. maybe even better,” you add with a smile, watching him carefully.

nanami takes a slow, steadying breath before that familiar, grounding calm settles over him. he steps forward, his hands slipping to your waist as he brings you close, his touch firm yet reassuring, his lips brushing your forehead. "you’re going to do so well, sweetheart," he murmurs, a soft, warm smile breaking through as he starts guiding your shirt up and over your shoulders. "taking care of me, huh? guess i never realized i’d be this lucky."

he places a tender kiss at the edge of your jaw, his hands trailing down to unfasten the buckle of your jeans, his fingers slow and sure. "just relax, love," he continues, his voice deep and soothing. “let me take my time with you first. i want you feeling just as comfortable with this as i am,” he adds, his gaze soft as he holds your chin to look you in the eye.

the weight of his gaze makes you catch your breath as he gently lowers you onto the bed, his fingers trailing along your arms as he slips off your jeans, his own soon following suit. “you have no idea what it does to me,” he says softly, running his hands over your thighs, “to have you be the one in charge this time.”

he leans close, his breath warm on your skin as he lifts the strap-on, adjusting it so it sits just right. "just take it slow at first," he murmurs, his hand guiding yours over his chest as his lips graze your ear. "and don’t worry — i’ll let you know if you’re doing it right."

you try to find a steady pace as you begin to rock into him, the sensation of the vibrator making contact with you feeling incredible, overwhelming even. each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you can’t help but let out soft, breathy whimpers.

“god, you feel so good,” you murmur, trying to steady your movements, but the intensity of the vibrator keeps sending shivers through you. nanami’s eyes widen with delight, and he smiles up at you, his voice thick with a mix of pleasure and teasing. “look at you, all worked up already. who knew you could be so eager?”

“ken,” you whine, your voice a mix of embarrassment and desire. “you’re not making this easy!”

“oh, sweetheart,” he coos, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he thrusts up to meet you, “you’re the one in me right now. I just can’t help but admire how well you’re taking charge.” his breath hitches as you hit a sensitive spot, the strap-on’s vibrator pulsing just right. “that’s it — keep going. you’re doing so well.”

you swallow hard, feeling heat wash over you at his praise, the way he’s both degrading and encouraging you at the same time. “you like this, don’t you?” he continues, his voice a sultry whisper. “you love being in control of me. how cute.”

“shut up,” you retort playfully, your hips picking up the pace instinctively as you grind down on him. “you’re just saying that to mess with me.”

“no, no, i mean it,” he chuckles, eyes glimmering with mischief. “you’re the one who’s cute, all flustered and determined. just look at how desperate you are to make me feel good.” he rocks his hips again, a low groan escaping his lips as the vibrator presses against his sweet spot, making him arch into you.

“kento…” you breathe, a soft flush creeping over your cheeks as the pleasure builds between you. “want you to feel good too.”

“you’re making me feel amazing, don’t worry,” he assures, his voice thick with desire. “just keep that rhythm going.”

he shifts his hips again, pushing back against you, and you can feel the connection deepening with every thrust. “yes, just like that,” he praises, his breath quickening. “you’re doing so well for me, love. i could get used to this.”

“m-maybe i should keep you like this all the time,” you tease, biting your lip as you quicken your pace, driven by both pleasure and the thrill of seeing him come undone beneath you.

“you think you can handle me like this?” he smirks, his teasing tone still laced with genuine admiration. “you’ve got the hang of it now, but remember, i’m still the one who gets to call the shots eventually.”

“we’ll see about that,” you challenge, a playful glint in your eyes as you lean down, planting your hands on either side of his head for support. “i might just surprise you.”

“i think you’re already surprising me,” he pants, eyes flickering with arousal as he pulls you in for a heated kiss.

nanami's composure is fraying at the edges, his usual calm demeanor unraveling as you continue to plow into him. each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him, and he can’t help but release the most obscene noises, a mix of low groans and breathless whimpers that fill the room.

“look at you, taking control like this,” he praises, but there’s an undeniable edge of condescension in his tone. “it’s almost adorable how desperate you are to please me.” he tries to maintain that authoritative stance, but each thrust has him cursing under his breath. “but you’re really just a little brat, aren’t you? fucking me like you own me.”

“maybe i do own you,” you reply, breathless as you push deeper, the vibrator sending jolts of pleasure through both of you.

“honey, that’s rich coming from you,” he chuckles, but the amusement fades into a groan as you hit a particularly sensitive spot, making his back arch off the bed. “fuck, do that again you little tease — just when i think i can keep it together, you go and — shit!”

you can see him struggling to hold on, his brows knitting together in frustration as he fights against the rising tide of pleasure. “you really think you have the upper hand, don’t you? but look at you — just a mess, all flustered and needy.” his words drip with a mix of praise and degradation, and you feel a rush of heat at his admission.

“ken, just admit you love this,” you coax, leaning down to kiss his neck, relishing in the way he shivers beneath you.

“i don’t — nngh— i mean, it’s not like i'm going to stop you,” he gasps, his voice breaking as you push deeper, the vibrator sending shockwaves through him. “you’re — god, you’re relentless. do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

“i think i have a pretty good idea,” you tease, your hips picking up the pace as you feel his body respond to each thrust, the way he writhes beneath you only fueling your confidence.

“this is — this isn’t fair,” he stutters, trying to keep his cool, but the way his voice cracks betrays him. “you’re making me lose my mind, you know that? just — nnngh! just listen to those noises —”

“isn’t it cute?” you reply playfully, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “you sound so good, ken. just let it all out.”

“i — i can’t help it,” he admits, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “but don’t think i won’t get you back for this — ah, shit!” his words dissolve into a moan, the intensity of the vibrator and your thrusts overwhelming him completely.

“you say that now, but look at you,” you taunt, a smirk playing on your lips as you watch him unravel. “you’re loving every second, and deep down, you know it.”

“you’re such a little tease,” he growls, struggling to maintain any semblance of control, but it’s slipping away with each thrust, each sound escaping him. “i can’t believe i’m letting you do this to me.”

“just accept it, kento,” you whisper, the heat of the moment enveloping you both. “you’re mine tonight.”

“fine, fine! just — keep going, don’t stop,” he pleads, his voice thick with desire and desperation.

before you can throw another tease his way, you feel the sudden, sharp sting of nanami’s palm landing on your ass, sending a rush of heat through your body. “k-kento!” you squeal, your rhythm stuttering, your breath catching in surprise. the smack! rings out, and the unexpected move leaves you blushing furiously, cheeks hot as you try to recover.

“what’s the matter, love?” nanami taunts, a wicked smirk on his lips, his composure faltering but still intent on having the last word. “getting a little distracted already?” he chuckles, his voice thick and smug as he watches you try to shake off the flustered look on your face. “thought you were set on proving yourself.”

biting your lip, you narrow your eyes, not about to let him think he’s got the upper hand. “you’re gonna regret that,” you murmur, gathering your composure as you pick up the pace once more, each thrust more intense, more insistent than the last.

“oh — f-fuck,” nanami gasps, his smirk slipping into a desperate groan, his head falling back onto the pillow as he struggles to keep his voice steady. “you’re going to make me — shit — damn it, sweetheart, keep going, just like that —”

you can’t help but grin at his reaction, your confidence returning as you lean in closer, placing a soft kiss on his lips before murmuring, “looks like you’re the one getting distracted now, ken.”

“d-don’t get cocky,” he manages to say, but the tremor in his voice gives him away, especially when another thrust sends him reeling, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly. “if you keep this up — shit — you’re gonna pay for it,” he mutters, voice breaking as he cusses under his breath, unable to hold back the obscene noises spilling from his lips.

“oh god, you feel so good, ken,” you whisper, watching his reactions, letting them drive you on.

“then don’t you dare slow down again,” he growls, his tone carrying an edge even as his own words dissolve into another groan, his muscles tensing beneath you. “keep — ah! — keep going, just like that… don’t stop —”

you can feel his body responding, trembling slightly, and you can’t resist leaning down to kiss him deeply, swallowing his soft groans. each thrust pushes you both closer, the sensations and his praise spurring you on until every nerve feels alive.

“good girl, just like that,” he gasps between breaths, his hands slipping to your waist to hold you close.

the intense vibrations pulse through you both, winding tighter with each second, leaving you breathless, clinging onto the last shreds of composure. with every desperate thrust, nanami’s low, guttural groans mix with your soft whimpers, neither of you able to keep up any semblance of control.

“nngh— kento,” you whine, every nerve in your body buzzing, each movement sending jolts of pleasure to your core, urging you to keep going, to sink even deeper into him. the pressure is so intense, his body trembling as he bites back a moan, each sensation pulling him closer to the edge.

“please,” he groans, voice thick with need, his fingers digging into your hips as he moves against you, meeting every thrust with his own, his face twisting in bliss. and finally, with one more rough thrust, nanami’s composure shatters completely, his hips arching off the bed as his climax hits, a spurt of warm release painting your cheeks as he gasps out your name.

“oh my god,” you whisper, surprised, wiping at your cheek, though you can’t help but smile at the way he lies back, panting, chest heaving, and the utterly spent look on his face.

“did you… did you just squirt?” you manage to ask, breathless, the vibrating hum finally switching off as you catch your breath and look down at him, a sly smile tugging at your lips. nanami’s face flushes, a rare sight, his chest still heaving as he looks away for a second, only to meet your gaze with a faint smirk.

“don’t get too smug about it,” he mutters, scoffing softly but unable to hide the lingering amusement in his eyes. “it was… an experience.”

“oh, definitely something,” you chuckle, nudging him playfully. he reaches up, brushing a thumb gently over the remnants of his release on your cheek, his touch unexpectedly tender. “you know, i may have stretched the truth a little back there,” you admit, biting your lip, feeling a warmth creep up as you confess. “about… using this before,” you add, eyes darting away for a second. “i just, well, wanted you to be my first in, you know… everything.”

he arches a brow, letting out a low, amused hum as he takes in your words, his gaze softening. “so you set me up?” he teases, voice laced with playful disbelief as he pulls you close, one arm snaking around your waist.

“maybe just a little,” you laugh, resting against him as he wraps you up in his arms, both of you still catching your breath.

❤︎ taglist: @ghost-buddies @no-irefusetotellumyname @byerno6 @anime-s1ut @stinkarinka @aldebrana

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lockefanfic · 3 months ago

Text

City of Light

The following is Chapter 10 in the Toy series, but it can (mostly) be read on its own. 🙂

15,477 words.

---

Even in the darkness of near-midnight, Paris was still beautiful.

The sparkling lights contrasted sharply against the decades and sometimes centuries-old buildings they illuminated. Even as you flew by them in the hired van, the weight of history was nonetheless impressed upon you by almost every structure you passed on your way to the hotel.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hirai Momo says, softly, as though she were talking to herself. You turn to find her similarly entranced by Paris’ lights, even as they painted her soft features in blue and white.

“It is,” you agree, as you return to watching large, particularly ornate buildings fly by your window.

“Some of these buildings must be centuries old,” she continues, her voice surprising you with its depth and thoughtfulness. “How many people have been inside them? How many stories have started and ended in their walls? Kind of crazy to think about. Feels like history is right there outside this window, passing us by.”

It was the kind of statement you’d expected from one of the more introspective members of Twice, but admittedly not from Momo, whom you’d assumed didn’t really give much thought to things like the histories of cities and the stories of the people within them. When she turns to give you a look she lets a slim smile play across her lips, as though she were proud of herself for having surprised you the way she did.

“What?” she prods.

“Nothing,” you answer, “It’s just…”

“Just that that was something you’d expect one of the other girls to say? One of the… smarter ones? Mina or Jeongyeon or… Chaeyoung?”

You are taken aback by how forward she was being - your conversations with her over the past few months were casual at best, and rare outside of the bedroom. Truth be told, though, she wasn’t too far off from the truth.

“Well, yes,” you admit.

“Figured,” she says. There is the slightest hint of disappointment in her tone as she turns back towards the glittering lights flying by the vehicle. “You’re not the only one that would think so.”

She doesn’t seem open to continuing the conversation, and so you leave her be. You ponder her words in silence for the rest of the trip, feeling suddenly guilty for having assumed so much about the young woman next to you.

---

The check-in process at the hotel was relatively painless, much to your relief. You’d come to realize that many of the high-end hotels the girls regularly stayed in had staff on hand that were fluent in English, saving you from having to rely on your high-school level French and a translator app.

The elevator you occupied with Momo opens its doors on the fifth floor, where your room was located. The company had splurged on a penthouse suite for Momo, as it often did with its performers. Despite this, the hotel as a whole was still one of the higher-end ones in Paris, and you were looking forward to grabbing some room service and much-needed sleep in a fancier room than you were accustomed to.

“The makeup people will be here early,” you say with a sigh as you grab your wheeled luggage and get ready to vacate the elevator. It was well past midnight now, and you both had a long, important day ahead of yourselves with Momo’s appearance at a fashion show. “I can give you a call around six, make sure you’re awake-”

Momo stops you, her hand grasping your forearm while you are halfway out of the elevator.

“You’re the only manager here,” she says, matter-of-factly. “So you’re all mine for this trip, aren’t you?”

You find a smile on her lips, and you quickly return it. You knew what she meant, both with her words and the look that accompanied it.

Truth be told, you had settled more into the managerial side of your “job” in the past month or two, and this week-long trip and Momo’s appearances at two fashion shows, five days apart, was your first time as the sole on-site manager with one of the girls. While you were still on-call for the girls’ more physical needs, you also knew this trip was an opportunity to really make something of yourself at the company beyond just being entertainment for the girls. As such, you found that you were more focused than usual at making sure it went off without a hitch.

But as serious as you were about making sure the trip went smoothly from a corporate point of view, you weren’t one to turn down an invitation, particularly when it was shaped like Hirai Momo.

“Of course, Momo,” you relent, stepping back into the elevator and hitting the button for the top floor.

---

Jetlag was a bitch, though.

Momo had decided to take a shower after you’d both entered the luxurious penthouse suite - and you were powerless to resist the call of the luxurious, expensive-looking couch that dominated the suite’s living area. A short nap while Momo unpacked and undressed, you thought, just a quick rest for your eyes, then you’d get up, sneak into the shower with her and give her the pounding of a lifetime-

The alarm on your smartwatch jerks you awake four hours later.

You wipe the sleep from your eyes as you groggily swing your legs down from the couch. The light emanating from the open bathroom door informed you of Momo’s presence in it, and so you drag yourself from the soft, warm, comforting couch to check on her.

“Have a good nap?” she says, even before you fully enter the ridiculously large bathroom. She shoots you a small smile in the oversized vanity mirror, and you manage to return it despite the sleep still lingering in the corners of your eyes.

The smile lingers on her lips as she watches you for a moment longer before returning her attention to the bathroom counter. Before her are an array of cosmetics that made up her daily skincare routine, and she fiddles with the small plastic containers and vials, apparently searching for something.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you admit, rubbing your face with both palms as you lean against the bathroom’s doorframe. “I just can’t get any sleep on planes.” Your first-class seats meant you were admittedly more comfortable than you’d ever been on a flight, but your inability to sleep on planes still resulted in fifteen hours of restlessness. Momo, being well-used to such luxuries, slept like a baby, which explained her high energy levels despite dawn being an hour or so away.

“I even left the bathroom and shower door open,” she admits, smile turning sly even as the elusive cosmetic continues to evade her. “Didn’t think you’d miss the invitation.”

The implication underlying her words stir something in you, and you step into the bathroom, drawing close to her. She smells softly like vanilla, and the sweet scent of her still-damp hair finally shakes the last cobwebs of sleep from your brain.

She loosens the neckline of her white bathrobe slightly to dab something against the soft skin of her neck and upper chest. The generous cleavage she reveals is unmissable in the mirror, still moist from the shower. Rivulets of water stream down her perfect, creamy skin. You reach around her torso, placing a hand softly on the knot of her bathrobe.

“Is this another invitation?”

Her gaze remains locked on herself in the mirror as she continues to dab the small cotton pad against the soft skin of her neck, although the smile curls into a mischievous one. You both linger there for a moment in silence - she must’ve taken pleasure in leaving you in suspense - until she finally decides she’d teased you enough. She places the cotton pad back on the counter, finding your gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

Without breaking your gaze, she undoes the bathrobe’s knot at her waist, pulling its folds apart to reveal her nakedness beneath. Round breasts, toned stomach, long, perfect legs - but it’s her eyes that draw you in. Round, full, somewhere between cute and lustful. Irresistible, either way.

You step close, planting your first soft kiss on the newly revealed skin of her neck. Your arms wrap around her body, your fingers finding her flat, toned stomach, and placing your palm flat against it, enjoying the feel of the slightly quickened pace of her breathing at this first intimate touch between you. Her scent, the feel of her skin beneath your palms, the small gasp she makes as you place a kiss behind her ear - it’s all so alluring, so intoxicating.

Her skin is warm, moist beneath your lips and your hands. Beads of water from her shower trace a path down her neck, past the round curves of her naked breasts, and onto the flat plane of her stomach.

“You’re still wet, Momo,” you whisper into her ear. She sighs softly. You drink in the sight of her closing her eyes in the mirror, canting her head to the side slightly to reveal more of her neck to your lips.

“You have no idea,” she whispers, softly. After a few more kisses on her neck, she turns her head so she is looking over her shoulder at you. You share a kiss, and the touch of her lips on yours is pure electricity.

She grasps the hand you’d placed atop her stomach, and drags it down her body. Your kiss deepens when your fingertips brush against the wet, warm heat between her legs.

She was right - she was dripping.

She lets a low, slow moan escape her lips as your fingertips graze the soft, warm flesh between her thighs, your middle finger tracing a slow path upward from the base of her opening to its tip, collecting her plentiful juices on the way.

“Since you refrained from joining me in the shower, I had to get myself started,” she says, softly, eyes still shut softly. Her lips have parted slightly, warm breaths of pleasure leaving them with each soft stroke your fingertips make between her legs.

“Sorry, Momo. Let me take care of you.”

She smiles to herself.

“You’re all mine this trip,” she says, softly, as her eyes slowly drift open, finding you staring at her reflection over her shoulder. Between her legs, your ring finger joins your middle one, tracing slow, careful strokes up and down her opening - barely penetrating, carefully spreading the lips of her pussy apart, preparing her for what was to come.

“All yours,” you say against the back of her ear, breathlessly.

“No other toys, no other girls. Just you and me. All mine, just mine.”

“Yes, Momo,” you gasp, suddenly short of breath. The feel of her slick pussy on your fingertips, that tight, hot body pressed against yours - it was so much to take in. “I’m yours,” you say, “whenever, however you want.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I am, Momo. I’m yours.”

She grasps your other hand from where it is clutching her hip, and draws it up her torso until it is cupping a full, round breast. Almost on reflex, you capture her taut nipple between your index finger and thumb. She sighs in your arms as you squeeze her breast and tease the nipple atop it, enjoying the heavy weight of it in your hand.

“I don’t believe it,” she repeats, turning her head again to kiss you. Your lips find each other, tongues not long after. Her body writhes like liquid in your arms. Her cunt leaks her juices onto your fingers and between them.

“I am,” you manage to say, between kisses that were quickly becoming heated, more intense. “I’m yours.”

The kiss continues. You’d kissed her before, of course, but never this passionately, never with this much intensity or intimacy behind it.

“Prove it, then,” she says, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out from between your mouths. For the first time since you’d entered the bathroom you look directly into her eyes, and not through the reflection.

Dark brown, round, filled with an intensity that takes you by surprise with its depth.

“Momo,” you say, unable to really conjure up more than her name. You can feel yourself being lost to her, feel yourself losing your higher faculties and becoming a simple-minded slave to your base needs. “I’m yours,” you repeat.

“We’ll see,” she relents, even as she brushes her nose and then her lips against yours, teasing a kiss that never comes. “But I still have my doubts. I think you’ll have to fuck them out of me.”

That’s it - that’s what snaps the last vestiges of your self control. You crush her lips with yours, driving them against hers with so much force that it might have hurt her - not that she cared, not when she wanted the same thing.

Your fingers tighten around her nipple, pulling and twisting, squeezing the soft flesh of her breast in your palm. Lower, your fingertips slide inside her.

She moans into your kiss, lips breaking contact for just a second to fill the bathroom with the sound of her pleasure. The kiss continues for a moment more, but she breaks it again when your fingers slide inside her to the hilt.

Her eyes drift slowly open, holding your gaze, even though your faces are touching, your noses and lips brushing against each other as you finger her slowly, sliding your fingers in and out of her slick, hot cunt. Your eyes remained locked on each other as you continue to finger fuck the young woman in your arms.

You’d fucked her before, roughly, sometimes with one or more others sharing the same bed, or couch, or shower. You’d seen her in the throes of orgasm as she’d cum on your cock, heard her spit filth into your ears, watched her as she’d lain there a sweaty, cum-filled mess after one of your sessions - but you’ve never seen her like this. Those were rushed, hard, messy sessions driven entirely by basic lust; this was something else entirely. Momo had never looked so soft, never looked so vulnerable.

It never felt so intimate.

“Mmm, fuck,” she gasps, “that feels so good.”

“I’ll take care of you, Momo,” you say, the words leaving your mouth almost faster than you knew you were saying them, your desires working faster than your brain. “I’ll take care of you this trip. I’m yours. I’ll make you cum, as much as you want.”

“Do it, please,” she replies, eyes fluttering, body writhing in your grasp. The hand over yours on her breast tightens. She begins to quiver, legs losing their strength as the pleasure builds between her legs.

“Please,” she continues. “Make me cum.”

Your hand leaves her breast, wrapping around her torso, pressing her back against your chest. Her eyes dart open for a moment, finding yours in the mirror’s reflection. Her lower lip curls under a tooth as your fingers move inside her.

Her eyes shut again when they find the right spot.

She moans, and the warm, lovely sound that leaves her throat bounces off the hard marble and glass of the bathroom, filling your ears with her pleasure. It increases in pitch and frequency as your fingers work between her legs - slowly building in pace, not too fast, not too much all at once. Just a slow, steady increase.

Her legs are jelly now, the arm you’d wrapped beneath her breasts doing more and more to hold her up against you than her limbs did. She reaches back with a hand to grasp your scalp. She arches her back, throws the back of her head against your shoulder as you pleasure her.

Her reflection in the mirror is sex - that perfect body of hers, perfectly shaped, perfectly fit, just perfect - writhing and quivering in your arms. And her face - my god, her face - wracked with pleasure, eyes shut and brow furrowed, mouth agape as it spills a chorus of moans and sighs from her lips.

Between her legs, she is so wet, so slick that her juices are running between your fingers, staining your palm the back of your hand, some of it dripping down to the cold marble in heavy drops as she makes a mess of you and the floor beneath her.

“Cum for me, Momo,” you hiss. Your lips are pressed against the soft skin behind her ear and while your words weren’t very loud, the effect they have on her is obvious. She tightens around your fingers, begins to pulsate. Her moans reach a new pitch.

“Cum for me, Momo,” you repeat, fingers merciless between her legs. You maintain your pace, no longer moving any faster inside her, simply staying at that speed and tempo. You knew she was right there, right on that delicious edge when building pleasure threatened to become an orgasm. You wanted her to stay there, even as your words tease her, tempt her into throwing herself over it.

“Mmm, no, don’t want to yet,” she says, the words tumbling from her drooling lips in a half-drunken slur, “no, don’t want to cum yet, want, oh fuck, want to, fuck, want to stay here, it feels so good, just like this, just like that-”

“Cum for me,” you snap. “Cum on my hand.”

“No, please, fuck, just a little longer please, don’t want to cum yet-”

You let her have her way - for a few moments more. You savor the sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her entire body is trembling. Her fingers are claws - one digging into your scalp behind her, the other on your forearm. What a sight; you want to freeze it, want to sear it into your memory for a lonely day.

“Yes, yes, so good,” she pants. Saliva drips from the corner of a slack mouth. She is a slave to the pleasure emanating from her cunt. She’s helpless, teetering on the precipice of a pit she wasn’t sure she wanted to fall into, not when the simple danger of it was so wonderful, when the threat of cumming so hard was so hard felt almost as good as actually cumming, when she felt so close to something she wasn’t sure she wanted, not yet, not when she felt so utterly-

“Cum for me, Momo.”

When she cums it is almost violent, the way the entirety of her body shakes and quivers and trembles in your arms. Her legs give way, until only your arm around her torso and fingers inside her cunt keep her upright. She tightens almost unbearably around your fingers. Her moans cut out momentarily, but only for a second, because when she finds her voice again the sound that leaves her throat is nothing short of a shriek.

You hold her close through it all, not moving your fingers inside her, simply holding her upright and letting her ride the waves of pleasure as they crash against her.

It takes a few minutes for her to recover. Longer than usual, not that you minded watching the unbearably beautiful, near-naked woman in your arms recover from one of the strongest orgasms you’d ever given her. She is wet, sweaty, slick. Flushed and pink, breathing heavily. Dripping sex, figuratively and literally.

While she is still recovering, you push forward slightly with your upper body until she finds the strength to brace herself against the counter with quivering arms. Then, placing soft kisses on the back of her neck, you slip your fingers from inside her. They emerge wet and sticky from her cunt.

You bring them to her mouth.

She begins to lick them clean. Eyes still drunk with pleasure, they manage to find yours in the mirror’s reflection. Her tongue gathers her own slick juices, slurps them up as best she can, licking up and down the length of your fingers and between them. She gets her juices onto her chin and cheeks, making them glisten with her wetness. Her eyes never leave yours.

“Fuck me now,” she says, half-moan, half-sigh as the last vestiges of her orgasm course through her veins. She swipes one last time at the juices that stain your fingers. “Fuck me like I want. Like you want. Fuck your cum into me.”

You slip your hand from her mouth, and she sighs at the absence of them. You strip the bathrobe from her shoulders, finally leaving her naked. Perfection in female form, all curves and perfect skin, marred only by sweat and spit and her own juices. Her eyes have never once left yours, locked on yours in the mirror’s reflection, until she turns over her shoulder to look at you directly.

She leans over the counter, arches her back, spreads her legs slightly. Her leaking cunt drips her juices onto the floor between you.

No further words. A few moments pass as you quickly undo the knot at your joggers and pull them down to your knees, revealing your aching, stiffened cock. You step forward, pressing her against the counter. One of your hands reaches out and squeezes a firm cheek of her ass, before sliding up her spine, fingertips tracing a path along the delicious curve there and resting on her shoulder.

Your free hand brings your tip to her dripping cunt. A stroke forward with your hips, and you’re inside Hirai Momo to the hilt.

Her pussy is tight, wet, slick - the feel of her body wrapped around your cock is sublime. Her ass is wide and full, her waist tiny, spine delightfully arched and shoulders possessing the right amount of tone - the sight of her bent over the bathroom counter, fully impaled on your cock, was enthralling, made you shiver with pleasure.

But it’s her face, her reflection in the bathroom mirror, that takes the cake. Her eyes, shut to relish the feel of being filled with your stiffness, slowly drift open before finding and holding your gaze. Her mouth opens to sigh at the feeling of fullness, that wonderful stretch inside her, before her tongue darts out to lick her lips. She says something, and you don’t hear it, but the message on her lips is easy to read, undeniable.

“Fuck me,” she mouths.

You slip your cock out of her halfway. The lips of her pussy clutch tightly to your shaft, not wanting to let it go. You glisten with her slick juices.

One stroke, then two. A third, a fourth. A slow build up of pace and depth and force. She takes it, letting small grunts and sighs punctuate each thrust you make into her body. Her arms brace herself against the counter. Her upper arms bring her breasts together, creating a delicious looking cleavage as they begin to be rocked back and forth with each impact of your hips on hers.

You tighten your grip on her, fixing her, keeping her still, rendering her unable to do anything else other than simply take each thrust you give her tight, wet little cunt.

You reach the rhythm you want, where you are fucking her, giving her long, smooth strokes of your cock. Her sighs turn into soft moans as she settles into your rhythm, matches it with her own with small movements of her hips, driving herself back at you, making each thrust that much more pleasurable for both of you.

You let your gaze wander. Everywhere you look is something you want to never forget - the round cheeks of her ass, her slim waist, even the soft curls and waves in her hair as they are plastered to her neck and upper back with sweat. And in the mirror, more; the dangling, bouncing mounds of her breasts and the tight nipples atop them, that lovely face of hers, soft features twisted and contorted with pleasure in the most beautiful way possible.

“Harder,” she says, softly. You oblige.

You reach forward, grasp her upper arms in your palms. You pull backward, lifting her upper body up off the counter, arching her back.

You resume fucking her.

She yelps at the first few thrusts in this position. She’s truly helpless now, fingers turning into claws as they helplessly search for something to hold on to and find nothing. Her breasts bounce wildly in the mirror, the large, round mounds impacted forcefully with each thrust you make into her cunt. They would be sore later, but she wouldn’t care, not if future soreness was the price to be paid for immediate pleasure.

She throws her hair back, sending sable hair flying. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her mouth slackens, able to do no more than moan and sigh. Saliva drips from the corner of her mouth, down her chin as she is fucked, hard, stretched cunt filled again and again with your cock.

You tighten your grip on her upper arms, pulling back slightly until she is almost upright. Throughout it all you are fucking her, pounding her tight little pussy, making her feel everything, giving her everything. Your brow furrows with the effort, your teeth grit.

“You’re so fucking tight, Momo,” you grunt, “such a tight little cunt.”

“Mmmmm, fuck--!” is the response from a breathless mouth. You up the pace. She takes it all, and every wordless moan that leaves her mouth at the peak of each thrust is proof that she loved each one. You fuck her hard, roughly. You take liberties with her body, using her cunt as you wanted, momentarily forgetting that you were there to serve her - and she loves every moment of it.

You’re the first to relent - as much as you wanted to fuck the young woman into oblivion in that position your arms simply couldn’t take much more. You release her upper arms, leaving clear marks on her fair skin, before sliding them up her torso. You cup her tender breasts in each hand, squeezing the heavy mounds, caressing and pinching her taut nipples. She cups her hands over yours.

“Mmmm, so fucking big,” she gasps. “So fucking big inside me, fucking me so good - and all for me, all mine.”

You bury your mouth in the side of her neck.

“All yours, Momo. I’m gonna fuck this little cunt, your mouth, your ass - all your holes, whenever you want. This cock belongs to you. I’ll take care of you, baby girl. I’ll take care of this body of yours.”

“Yes!” she gasps. “Yes. All mine. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re all mine, gonna, gonna fucking cum on your cock.”

You up your pace, but only slightly, just enough to make your impending orgasms that much more wonderful. The slap of wet skin on wet skin fills the bathroom. You let go of her breasts, but your hands don’t leave her, wandering to her hips, her ass, her shoulders - anywhere that let you hold her, grip her, tie her down. Anywhere that you could touch and squeeze.

“Gonna cum, baby,�� Momo says to your reflection in the mirror. “Gonna cum on your cock.”

“Fuck, me too, Momo.”

“Cum in me, okay? Give me your cum. I want-”

Her sentence is interrupted with a long, drawn out moan as she nears her orgasm.

“What do you want, Momo? Tell me. Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.”

“I want, I want-”

You continue to fuck her. She’s so close, right on the edge once more, and you’re not far off. Your cock fills her cunt again and again and again and she’s losing her grip, and you’re losing yours, and the whole world means nothing aside from the pussy wrapped around your cock, her perfect body and bouncing breasts, the words leaving the girl’s mouth-

“I want- oh fuck, I want---”

“Fuck, Momo-”

“I want your cum inside me,” she spits, finally, right on the edge of cumming. “Cum inside me. Just for me.”

She cums, and you do too.

You have to hold her down, lest the full-body spasm that wracks her pulls you off your cock before you’d had the chance to fill her with cum. With one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder you pin her down, pushing her over the bathroom counter until her head and upper chest are pressed against the mirror. One, two more thrusts and you bury yourself inside her, your cock spasming, filling her hot, messy cunt with warm, thick cum.

Your world explodes. Her world shatters into a million pieces. Either way, for a few beautiful seconds you’re both powerless. There is only the pleasure coursing through your bodies.

You grip her hip and shoulder so tightly you are afraid for a moment that you’ll bruise her delicate skin. And for a moment, you didn’t care if you did. All you wanted was to hold her spasming, quivering body still while you filled it with cum.

You both lie there, frozen, for a while - whatever a ‘while’ meant when your respective orgasms rendered your mutual concept of time meaningless. Your hands caress her body, sliding up and down her sides, squeezing a firm ass cheek or round, flushed breast, enjoying the feel of shower water and sweat and other juices beneath your hands. You feel hazy, drunk on pleasure, and everything takes on a blurred, unreal appearance, as though you were still asleep on the couch, and this was the sweetest dream you’d ever had.

A knock on the door is what brings reality crashing back into existence.

You both freeze - you’re still hilt deep inside her creamy, messy pussy. You find her eyes, still filled with a post-orgasm haze, in the reflection.

“The makeup staff,” you say, with a surprising, odd amount of clarity. “They’re here,” you add, as though it were some new bit of information that could shed further light on the ridiculous situation you’d both found yourselves in.

Momo squirms beneath you, but doesn’t move any further. She makes a small whimpering sound. It’s you that moves first when the second knock comes, easing yourself out of her cunt. Thick drops of cum and her juices drip onto the floor, and her whimper turns into a soft, low moan as she feels your cock leave her.

“I need to take another shower,” Momo says, softly, the pleasure still coursing through her body still making her feel high, feel drunk. “Tell them I woke up late. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” you agree, taking a moment to grab one of the hand towels off the rack and giving yourself a quick clean before bending to wipe the evidence of your act from the marble floor.

You pull your pants back up, and Momo sheepishly steps toward the shower on wobbly legs.

You are turning to make your way to answer the door when she stops you with a hand on your upper arm. When you turn, she plants a kiss on your lips.

“Thanks,” she says, before flashing you that smile of hers and hopping back into the shower. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks like a mess, but she is glowing.

You find a smile making its way onto your face as you turn to deal with the makeup artists.

---

She was bathed in light again.

This time the lights came from dozens of photographer flashes, each one belonging to a competitor vying for the best shot, the perfect visual capture of the young woman at the center of everyone’s attention. She relishes the moment, doing her best to pose the way they want, the way she knows will show off the best sides of her - not that there was any particular side that outweighed the others, because truth be told, Hirai Momo looked amazing from all angles.

“Fuck she’s hot,” Minnie says.

“Yeah,” you agree, your eyes not leaving the girl who was the center of attention of almost everyone else at the party.

“That fit - damn, not just anyone can pull that off.”

“I think you’d look fine in it.”

“Please,” Minnie scoffs, “don’t patronize me. There’s a reason why the cameras are pointed at her, and not me.”

“Yeah, you look like a real three day old bag of garbage,” you tease. You turn to her for the first time to flash her a smile, and she rewards you with a soft punch to the upper arm. In a similarly all-denim fit, Minnie looked pretty captivating in her own right, albeit in a more subdued, cute school classmate kind of way.

“I’m no slouch,” she admits as she takes a sip from her champagne flute, “but I look like a cardboard cutout compared to those curves.”

As much as you liked Minnie - she was close friends with several of the girls and thus you saw and interacted with her frequently - you couldn’t disagree with her. Momo’s all-denim fit, consisting of wide cut jeans and a halter top that was essentially a triangle of denim strapped to her chest that left her back bare, certainly put all those curves on full display.

You are both admiring Momo from afar when an older, well-dressed gentleman approaches you. Next to you Minnie straightens up and puts on her best smile, but she receives only a courtesy nod of the head from the newcomer.

“Excuse me,” he begins, in British-accented english that reminded you a bit of the way noblemen spoke in period pieces. “Am I correct in assuming that you’re Miss Hirai’s company handler?”

“Yes,” you answer, wondering for the millionth time at the series of ridiculous events that led to you being able to answer ‘yes’ to such a question.

The gentleman reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve a business card, on which he scribbles something onto the back with a fancy looking fountain pen. He passes it to you, and you take a note of the company logo on the front of it - one of the higher-end brands in the fashion industry, that was for sure.

“I’d welcome the opportunity to meet with someone in your company regarding a business arrangement with Miss Hirai,” he begins. “My personal number is on the back of the card, should she wish to conduct that meeting… personally.”

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Minnie give a scoff under her breath before turning away and taking another sip of her champagne. You succeed a little better than her in hiding your disgust behind a smile.

You’d had your suspicions about the man from the second he approached, and his words only confirm them to be accurate. You had no doubt he did indeed represent the company he claimed to work for, but the generally slimy, greasy aura about him rubbed you the wrong way.

“I’ll make sure someone at the company contacts you,” you respond. “Have a good night, sir.”

He seems a little surprised at your curt reply and abrupt dismissal - this was a man not used to being rejected. Regardless, he manages a tart nod towards both you and Minnie before he scurries off into the crowd.

“What a piece of shit,” Minnie says under her breath, the second his back is turned - perhaps she’d wanted him to hear it. She was nothing if not honest with her feelings.

You nod in agreement as you turn the business card over in your hand, glossing over the number scribbled onto the back.

“Still,” Minnie continues, “that’s a fucking top-tier brand. She’d look pretty good in their stuff, not to mention what it’ll do for her career.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she says, cutting you off. “There’s no way in hell I’d let her anywhere near that guy. But if you take it to the company maybe they can work something out - something that doesn’t involve slimeball execs luring models back to their hotel rooms in exchange for promises.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you agree, your gaze returning to Momo, who was beginning to signal to her audience of admirers that she was ready to end the little impromptu photo session. If the photographers picked up on her hints, they didn’t show it - the lights continue to flash, and they continue to call her name in hopes that she’d turn to give them the angle they were looking for.

“Anyway, since there aren’t any high-end brand slimeballs hitting on me, I’ll be in the corner getting wasted on free champagne,” Minnie says with a sarcastic but warm smile. You return it - she was a sweetheart, and you hoped to see more of her.

“See you around, Minnie.”

She gives your upper arm a squeeze and shoots you a smile and a wink before heading towards another corner of the room, where several other idols and celebrities in attendance were congregating.

You stand there alone for a few more minutes while Momo wraps up. She gives everyone small, polite bows and waves as she slowly makes her way towards you, having finally broken free of the throng of admirers and the incessantly flashing lights that accompanied them.

“Who was the creepy old dude?” she asks.

“This guy,” you answer, handing her the card. She makes an intrigued face at the logo on the front before flipping it over and noticing the number on the back. Her curiosity turns into an unamused smirk.

“If you want,” you begin, “we can pretend we never got that card.”

“No, the company will want to know about this,” she answers, with more than a hint of disappointment. “This could be a pretty cool opportunity.”

“I suppose. But you’re sure as hell not dialling that number and meeting with him alone.”

She smiles up at you. Her eyes glimmer in the light of some far-off camera flash.

“Really? Are you going to protect an innocent, naive little girl like me from creepy old execs that want to take advantage of her?”

You smile, and she covers her mouth for a moment to hide her giggle.

“He wouldn’t be the first geezer to think I’d suck his dick and spread my legs just because one of his assistants sends me a bag with a fancy logo on it,” she admits, her giggle fading quickly and turning into a forlorn glance at the card in her hand. “Probably won’t be the last. One of the drawbacks of being super hot, y’know?”

Despite the sarcasm in her tone and the weak smile on her lips, there is a sadness in her eyes that breaks your heart a little.

“Here,” she says, handing you the card with a dispirited look. “You should probably make sure someone in Business Development at the company gets that.”

You draw closer to her and take the card from her hands. You tear it in half.

She looks up at you, the surprise on her face becoming a sweet smile. There is genuine appreciation there, along with something else you couldn’t quite name.

“I appreciate it, I really do,” she says, softly, before returning to a sarcastic tone. “But, like, they’re a pretty big brand. I never want to see that dude ever again, but I like their stuff, so maybe someone from the company can call their company…”

“I can probably… tape it back together?” you say, sheepishly fiddling with the two halves of the card and making a show of trying to piece the two parts together.

Momo giggles again, and amidst the loudness of the event, it sounds like music. “You’re too sweet,” she says, with a warm smile, before she draws close to whisper into your ear.

“And just for the record,” she says, “it’s your cum inside me, your cum that’s dripping down my leg. I don’t want anyone else’s. I just want more of yours.”

She leaves you there, speechless, for a moment that seems longer than it really was. She bites her lip, the slightest bit of ivory poking into soft pink, before sliding her tongue across it.

“C’mon,” she says, finally, motioning towards a corner of the room where Minnie is flagging down another flute of champagne from a passing server. “Can’t let Minnie get wasted all on her own. She’s tiny - so she doesn’t hold her alcohol very well.”

“Right,” you answer, slipping the two halves of the card into your jacket pocket. You’d make sure the guys in Business Development knew to avoid that particular executive when approaching their company.

On your way to Minnie, Momo tugs at your jacket sleeve.

“Hey,” she says, eyes locked on yours, thoughtful look on her features. “Thanks. Again.”

“You’re welcome. I’m yours this week, remember?”

She pulls away, gives you a thoughtful look over her shoulder, and leads you both to where her friend is polishing off her fourth flute.

---

The Eiffel Tower shone like a golden spear, a beacon against the darkness, a monument to man’s mastery over light.

Unlike other monumental towers in other world-class cities, which were often nestled amidst downtown skyscrapers and other buildings, the Eiffel Tower stands alone and unchallenged against the Paris skyline. That made it difficult to miss, and impossible to ignore.

It is a fact you were thankful for. It gave you something to focus on, something to distract you, if even from a moment, from the woman between your knees.

The simple deck chair you are sitting on squeaks in protest as the pleasure slowly building in your body causes you to squirm atop it. Between your spread legs, Momo smiles around a mouthful of your cock as she slowly eases it from between her wet lips.

“Does that feel good, baby?” she asks, knowing full well what your answer would be. But she asks it anyway, because she wants to hear the answer, wants to hear your praise, wants to hear just how much every little move she made was affecting your body.

“It feels fucking amazing, Momo,” you answer, knowing that no amount of profanity could possible emphasize enough how you felt in that moment.

“Good,” she replies, returning her attention to your cock, planting small, soft, almost chaste kisses along its length. She cradles it with her left hand as she continues her kisses down your shaft, placing a few softer ones on each of your dangling balls.

You reach out, run your fingers through her hair. She raises her head from under your shaft and nuzzles against your palm. Her eyes drift closed for a moment and a smile perks up the corners of her mouth as she enjoys the feel of your skin on hers. The hand on your cock begins to pump slowly up and down your length.

“Just enjoy it, okay babe?” she says, softly, eyes drifting open to lock onto yours. “Let me know when you get close - pinch my arm - and I’ll slow down. I’ll go slow. I want it to last. I want it to feel good.”

“Okay,” you answer. Momo gives you a sultry smile before returning to her work.

Her mouth is sublime - warm, wet, tight - that skilled tongue of hers playing around your head at the apex of each movement, pressed against the underside of your cock on the downstroke. Her hand matches her movements, pumping up and down in time with the movements of her lips and tongue.

You feel the pleasure building, and so you return your attention to the Eiffel Tower.

You wonder for a moment at the sheer scale of it, and how such an impressive structure was created without the construction technology of today. You weren’t really sure when it was built - perhaps early in the 1900s? The late 1800s? Regardless of its actual date of construction you knew it must’ve been a long and difficult process without today’s cranes and Momo’s tongue sliding along the underside of the head of your cock, sending another spike of pleasure coursing up your spine-

That deserved a pinch on her arm.

You can almost feel her smile around your cock as she slows down her pace significantly. Her tongue doesn’t pressed as tightly against your shaft, having momentarily retreated from the offensive it was waging on the tip of your cock. You let a sigh escape your lips.

Back to the Eiffel Tower - gee, the electricity bill on it must be staggering. You were a few kilometers away from it, but from here it seemed like every inch of it was illuminated in some way. It glimmered as though it were made of fine gold and brilliant silver.

It must’ve cost quite a bit to have it lit up like it was, every night. But it was probably a cost that the residents of Paris bore proudly - it was the fucking Eiffel Tower, after all. If you’d had something as iconic in your backyard you’d bet you’d be lighting it up as much as you could.

The very tip of the tower contained some sort of slowly rotating searchlight that sent parallel spears of light out into the darkness, as though being a giant lit-up tower of solid gold wasn’t enough to draw your attention to it and Momo’s doing it again, capturing the head of your cock between her lips before swirling the very tip of her tongue around its head and under the sensitive ridge where it met the rest of your shaft. With her right hand she begins to fondle your balls with a light touch; her left hand continues to pump up and down your length and oh my god-

Yeah, a definite pinch on her arm.

She lets your cock leave her lips, and you look down to find an amused smile on her lips. Her tongue darts out, sweeping the spit and pre-cum from them. She can feel that you’re closer now than she’d like, so her hands leave your cock, and she returns to placing soft kisses against your shaft. She nuzzles her face against it, grazing it with her soft cheeks and nose.

The Eiffel Tower, though - wow, what a monument. It was, like, big and stuff, and lit up and it’s so tall and Momo’s reaching behind her now, fingers working quickly at the buckle that held up the ridiculous triangle of denim that was strapped to her chest and now it’s off, and those large, round, perfectly shaped breasts of hers are bare naked, tits you and half the population of Paris had had their eyes glued to for most of the day and now she’s topless and looking at you with lust in her eyes and her hands are cupping her own tits and her fingers are playing with her stiff nipples and and the Eiffel Tower is definitely a thing.

“Jesus, Momo,” you spit, almost on reaction, as the young woman straightens up her back, giving you a full view of her topless form in the low light of the hotel room balcony. You were thankful, not for the first time, that the balcony walls were made of plaster and thus limited any chance of prying eyes witnessing what was happening on it.

Momo’s response is to bring her breasts to your cock, capturing it between the full, warm mounds. She looks up at you, making sure your eyes were locked on her, before she bends her head to spit on the tip of your cock.

Her saliva lands on your tip, before dripping down your already spit-slick shaft. She squeezes her tits around your cock, and begins to slide them up and down your length.

Your head tilts back and you let a sharp, breathless gasp leave your mouth at the feeling of it. There was no relying on the Eiffel Tower, now, not that any monument in the world stood any chance of distracting you from what was happening between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” she asks, another question she knew full well the answer to.

“Yes, Momo. Fuck.”

“Do you want to cum on my tits?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“Mmmm,” she responds, continuing to slide her warm, full tits up and down your shaft. Warm, wet, slick. “I like you here, though, like this. Right on the edge…”

“Fuck, Momo, please.”

By way of response, she bends her head, does her best to swipe the tip of her tongue across the head of your cock as it appears from between her tits with each slide down your length. You’re getting close now, your limbs beginning to quiver, the pleasure building-

Momo lets your cock slip from between her tits. You sigh at the loss of that warm softness around your shaft. She returns to placing soft, simple kisses on its length.

“I didn’t pinch your arm,” you state, frustrated. You were right there, just a few seconds away, one or two more thrusts between her tits.

“I know,” she replies, a mischievous smile on her lips, before her tongue darts out and gives you a slow, careful lick from the base of your shaft to its tip. “But you look so good like this, all antsy, wanting so bad to cum all over me. So fucking hot.”

“Momo,” you say, her name almost a plea.

She relents - quicker than you were expecting, and saving you from having to beg - perhaps she’d been looking forward to your orgasm just as much as you were.

“Alright,” she says. “I’m not a monster. Don’t hold back, okay? Just cum. Cum for me.”

She straightens her back, slides your aching cock between those full, round, perfect breasts of hers once again. You don’t miss the way she captures her nipples between her thumbs and index fingers as she squeezes the full mounds around your shaft.

She spits on your cock again. Then she slides her breasts up and down your cock.

For a moment your mind flashes back to that very first night with her and Chaeyoung - the night that, without exaggeration, changed your life. The blowjob they’d started with was amazing, of course, but when you started fucking Momo’s tits for the first time - that was when it really sunk it. Before then it had felt like a dream. With her breasts around your cock, and that look of utter pleasure on her face as you fucked her tits - it suddenly felt very real.

And now here you were, in Paris, no less, with that same, beautiful woman on her knees before, your cock between her breasts again as she pumps them up and down your length. But you were alone, now, just you and her, and it somehow felt more intense than even than the first time. Was it the city? The fact that you were alone with her, with no other girls or toys to get in the way? The fact that there was something in the way she’d been acting in the past few days that made you think, for a moment, that this all meant more to her than a simple appearance at a fashion show?

The thought flees your head quickly amidst the pleasure coursing through your veins. It chases almost everything else away, leaving only the feel of her soft, warm tits wrapped around your cock. It feels amazing. It feels sublime.

Momo is sighing now, the pleasure she was giving you inspiring a similar pleasure in her. She continues to tease her nipples, even as she slips your cock in and out between her breasts. She wishes she were naked, that she could slide a hand down her body to the wetness between her legs - but the thought of it, that delicious itch that she wasn’t quite able to scratch - brought her almost as much pleasure.

“Fuck, Momo, I’m gonna cum,” you hiss, between gritted teeth. You are watching her now, hand tight on her bicep and the other woven into her hair. She raises her head to look at you, eyes glazed with almost as much pleasure as yours.

“Fucking cum all over me.”

Almost as if on command, your orgasm hits you - hard, intense, overwhelming. Your cock spasms in the soft warmth of her tits as it spurts thick, warm semen, thick ropes of it landing on her neck and chin, her upper chest, those perfect breasts. You want to shut your eyes, want to relish the pleasure overtaking your brain, but you force your eyes open, force yourself to watch as you paint Momo with your cum.

She lets a long, soft moan leave her mouth from the moment your cum lands on her skin. She continues to slide her breasts up and down your shaft, but at a slower pace now, the added lubrication of your cum making her feel even more slick and wet around your still-spasming cock.

You quiver at the pleasure in a way that you didn’t often during sex. The environment, the circumstances, the utter sexuality of the perfect young woman pleasuring you - it was almost too much to handle.

Your hands leave her body, and you slump backward in your chair as the orgasm finally winds down. Momo finally stops moving, settling her breasts down until they are wrapped around the base of your cock. Her tongue darts out playfully, sliding across your tip. You shudder, completely at her mercy.

Eventually she raises her head, releases your spent cock from between her reddened, cum-slick breasts. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes half-lidded with lust. Thick ropes of your cum paint her body, the white streaks contrasting against her perfect creamy skin, dripping down her chest in slow paths of glistening wetness.

She stands, and without a further word she steps inside the hotel room.

Just beyond her the Eiffel Tower stood proudly, a monument to humanity and everything it was capable of - not that you gave it a shred of your attention as you follow her into the room.

You watch, dumbfounded, brain hazy, as she undoes the buckle at her belt and lets the thick denim fall down her long, perfect legs. The small black lace thong she wore beneath it follows suit as she bends to slide it from her body, leaving her naked.

When she reaches the bed, she turns around and sits on its edge, beckoning you toward her with her eyes. You follow, slave to her, a thrall to her whims.

She lies back on the bed. She spreads her legs as you approach the edge of the bed, allowing you between them.

You reach out, caressing her warm, full thighs. They are flushed and pink, wet with the juices freely flowing from her opening. The slick wetness of her cunt glistens in the low light of the hotel room.

“I should be getting you back from what you just did to me,” you say.

She smiles - a sensual, sultry curve of her lips. “I’d say we’re even, considering what you did to me this morning in the bathroom. And besides,” she says, eyes locked on yours as she captures a rope of your cum from her upper chest with her fingertips, “you liked it.”

She slips her glistening fingers into her mouth, sucking your cum from them.

In response, you place your newly stiffened shaft on her body - the length of it lying atop her shaven mound. She gasps at the feel of it on her.

“What if I want to leave you like this, Momo? Look at my cock. Look at how deep inside you I’d be.”

She glances down between your bodies, to where your aching, stiff cock is lying atop her mound. She bites her lip, reaching down to caress its wet length, imagining it thrusting mercilessly inside her, comparing its length to her body and seeing how deep inside her it would end up.

“You won’t leave me like this. You don’t have the guts. You want to fuck me. You want to ruin this little cunt of mine, leave me here on this bed a little cum-stained, cum-filled thing.”

“Maybe I want to. Maybe I don’t.”

“You do,” she snaps. “And besides, it doesn’t matter what you want. You’re mine, remember? You do what I want - and what I want is your cum in me.”

You feel yourself giving in. How could anyone resist such a sight, such words? She’s perfect - hot, wet, legs spread, your cum is on her chest and she’s irresistible, in every possible way a woman could be.

“Fuck, Momo,” you sigh, defeated.

Her free hand continues to caress your cock, forming a ring with her index finger and thumb and pumping it up and down your aching length. She captures another rope of your semen from her upper chest with her fingers, before capturing the nipple atop her right breast and teasing it with cum-stained fingertips. She moans at her own touch, you gasp at the sight of her. Your hands, caressing her thighs, tighten around the soft, yielding flesh, holding on to the last vestiges of self-control remaining inside you.

“Do you like me like this?” she asks, breathless.

You grasp your cock with your right hand, bringing your tip to her dripping lips before sliding inside her. It rips a sharp moan from her lungs. You linger there for a moment, hilt-deep inside Hirai Momo’s tight, slick cunt.

“I like you like this.”

You begin to fuck her - as much as a part of you wanted to get back at her for the way she’d edged you out on the balcony, the tight, slick heat you were pumping in and out of did much to dissolve any thoughts of revenge from your head. The session in the bathroom this morning, the teasing at the fashion show, the way she’d pleasured you on the balcony - it had all boiled over, leaving no room for things like teasing or taking things slow.

There was only pleasure, now, and the hard, firm pace you set puts you both on the path to achieving it as quickly as possible.

At first she gasps and sighs as you fill her again and again, her body adjusting to the way you were taking her, her cunt stretching around you. She was still so slick and so very wet - perhaps some remnant of the cum you’d left in her this morning contributed to how messy she felt, or perhaps it was mostly her own juices. Either way, she was dripping even before you’d entered her, and now, as you hammer in and out of that juicy pussy, she was almost drenched.

“Fuck, fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. She raises her upper body on her elbows, giving her a better look between her own spread legs where you are pistoning in and out of her body. She looks up at you, and for a few long minutes you stay like that, eyes holding each other's gaze as you fuck.

Her breasts are given a delightful bounce with each thrust into her body. The streaks of your cum begin to flow down their curves, leaving glistening trails behind them. You rip your eyes from hers to watch them bounce, hypnotically, mesmerized by their perfect shape and the way they moved on her body.

She gets the hint - returns her back to the bed, reaches and cups her tits with both her hands, squeezing their cum-streaked flesh, teasing her nipples again with needy fingers, giving you a show even as she pleasured herself.

It works, and the sight of her spurs you. You up your pace slightly.

“Fuck, yes, right there, just like that,” she spits, as you reach a new tempo. “Fuck me like that, fuck me like this.”

She continues to play with her tits, pinching and teasing her nipples, but you want to see them free, want to see them bounce wildly with every stroke into her cunt. You reach forward. Trapping her wrists in yours, you pull back towards yourself.

She is helpless now, her upper arms bringing her tits together and creating a delicious looking cleavage as they are rocked by each thrust into her tight little cunt. Her heels dig into your butt. She wants more, needs more. She’s moaning and sighing wordless little sounds of pleasure, of need. Your cum is on her bouncing, jiggling breasts and her perfect abs clench and her thighs are flushed and she’s so much, all at once, all for you, she’s made of sex and she’s yours to take.

But that’s not enough - you want more, want to see her lose herself to the pleasure, want to see her cum around your cock. You let go of one of her wrists. With your hand free, you reach down and begin to thumb her clit.

The moan that is halfway out her mouth turns into a shriek, a scream, at your touch. Her arm, free of your grip, finds your forearm as it works at her wet, slick flesh. Her nails dig into your skin, and the pain is a delicious spice to the pleasure you find in her cunt.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she says, words falling from her lips in a tumble. “Fuck, keep fucking me.”

You do just that - hammering in and out of her tight, juicy little cunt as you thumb at her clit. She clenches and pulsates around you and you know you’re building her up to an orgasm that you hoped would be as powerful as the one she gave you on the balcony.

“Oh god,” she sighs, a sign that your hopes had a chance of being fulfilled. “Gonna cum so hard. Gonna cum on your cock.”

“Do it, Momo. Cum.”

“No, I don’t want to,” she says - a theme, now, with her, a kink you hadn’t known she’d had, discovered and out here in the open. She loved it here, right on the precipice. Loved the threat of orgasm, almost as much as when it actually came, for you and for her. She loved being teased about it, loved being goaded into an orgasm she pretended to resist, pretended not to want. Faux-resistance. Pretend. In reality she wanted, needed the orgasm - but every denial of it made it so much sweeter when it finally came.

“Momo, cum. Cum on my cock like a good little girl.”

Her free hand darts up to capture a cum-stained, bouncing breast. She squeezes herself, hard. Her free, bouncing tit glistens in the light with sweat and cum.

“No, no no,” she insists, eyes shut and head shaking no, even as her cunt tightens around your thrusting cock, mercilessly pounding into her, spreading her apart, making her yours. Her pulsating pussy betrays her needs, even as her mouth spits defiance. “Don’t want to cum yet. Don’t let me cum, I’ll be good, I promise-”

Your thumb works against her clit. It brings her right to the edge-

“No, no, I don’t want, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. You cum first, cum in my cunt, please, cum in me first then I’ll cum on your cock I promise, I swear, fuck, fill me with cum please-”

It hits you all at once. You’d thought you were a ways from your own orgasm, especially since you’d cum on her chest just minutes before, but the sight, the sound, the feel of Hirai Momo is too much. It hits you like a thunderbolt, and it feels like lightning coursing through your veins. You bury yourself inside her and fill her, your cock pulsating with each rope of hot, thick semen it leaves inside her messy, tight cunt.

“Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, please, don’t stop-”

You are struggling to remain at least somewhat coherent given the pleasure coursing through even inch of your body, but her words still reach you, and you still find it in you to obey them. You keep thrusting, keep fucking her tight, cum-filled mess of a cunt, and she loves it, loves each entry and exit you make in and out of her body.

After a brief pause as your orgasm overtakes your senses for a moment, your thumb continues its work on her clit, slowly sliding from side to side across the slick, taut bud.

You open eyes you hadn’t known you’d closed and there she is, Hirai Momo, object of desire and beauty and captured with a million megapixels and bathed in flashing lights mere hours before - now a cum-filled, cum-stained mess, legs spread, skin flushed, moaning and sighing around a cunt filled with hot semen, being fucked into an orgasm she resisted and wanted at the same time.

What any one of her admirers from hours before have given to be you at this moment, see what you see, feel what you feel. But no one else is here - there’s only you, and her, and this sublime, intensely intimate moment between you.

There is only one thing left for you to ask, one thing left for you to say.

“Cum for me, Momo.”

She quivers and shakes when she cums, body submitting completely to the pleasure overtaking her. Her thighs close around your hips. Inside her, her cunt clenches down on your cock so tightly it is almost painful. You let out a groan of pleasure, but it is drowned out by the long, loud moan that leaves her.

The moan ends, and she lies there - quivering, trembling. Her juices and your cum overflow from her filled cunt, dripping onto the bedsheets, ruining them. You release her right wrist and your thumb leaves her clit, and you brace yourself atop her. You’re both breathing heavily, chests heaving, lungs empty.

She’s dirty now, filthy - a far cry from the perfectly dressed, perfectly made-up model beneath the flashing lights of mere hours ago. Your cum stains her body, fills her cock-filled cunt. Sweat glues her once perfectly-styled hair to her flushed face. She is a mess and utterly, completely perfect, somehow all at the same time.

Her eyes glimmer in the darkness of the bedroom. She manages a smile, through the utter exhaustion.

You return it, and bend to kiss her.

---

“Y’know how people call Paris the City of Light? It’s because it was one of the first European cities to use gas street lamps, in, like, the 1860s. So it was, like, literally, a city of light.”

For not the first time on the trip, you are taken aback by the knowledge Momo liked to drop at her whim, at random times, as though she could have told you these facts at any time but was waiting for the right moment to do so. She wanted to catch you off guard with them, at a time you least expected, right when you’d convinced yourself that there really wasn’t much going on in that head of hers aside from wondering what delightful culinary treat awaited her at her next meal.

She is leaning on a railing of the many bridges that traversed the French capital. Overly ornate gas lamps formed a part of the railing every twenty or so feet, and you follow her gaze up to one of them. You wonder, briefly, how many men and women had looked up at it and wondered about its history over the decades, just as you now did. The history of the city around you weighed heavily on you at the moment, as it often did as you wandered its streets.

It was the fourth day of your trip - after recovering from the exhausting travel and her appearance at the first fashion show, you’d both spent the last few days taking in Paris’ sights and sounds. She had another scheduled appearance in a couple of days before you both returned to Korea the day after, but until then you were both free to wander the French capital.

You’d hit most of the usual tourist traps first, of course - seeing the Eiffel Tower up close, visiting the popular museums and art galleries, eating at upscale restaurants and casual cafes. The sex was wonderful, of course, but so was the company of the young woman next to you.

You’d thought you’d figured her out long ago. Every day you spent with her proved you more wrong. Every day you spent with her convinced you that you never really knew her at all.

After a moment you return your eyes to Momo, who is still staring with a mix of wonder and amusement at the lamp, a small smile of amusement on her lips. She notices you looking at her and she gives you a quick look, her smile turning warm. You share that moment for a while.

Eventually your gazes drift down to the river below you, and the banks on either side of it. Despite it being the middle of a weekday, there is no shortage of crowds. Citizens and tourists both have taken up spots on the grassy banks, many enjoying the cool shade under the trees lining the walkways that offered some respite from the late summer heat. Some are enjoying a quick lunch, some are sitting and chatting idly, still others are simply sitting in silence, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city around them.

Many of them are couples. Many are flirting - feeding each other bites of cake or salad, whispering sweet nothings in ears, laughing and smiling at every little thing their partner did in the way young people in love did.

“Paris is the City of Love, too,” Momo says, as though reading your mind.

“I can see why,” you answer, looking around you at the green spaces and blooming flowers, the benches and walkways seemingly built for two, the cute restaurants and cafes. Everywhere you looked there was a place ripe for romance, a place for it to bloom, a place for sparks to turn into fires. Falling in love here would be easy. The city itself seemed to encourage it.

Momo slips her arm in yours, her hand giving your bicep a squeeze.

You are instantly on alert. All it took was one random fan with a phone and an image of one of Korea’s most popular stars would be on screens everywhere, accompanied by the salacious rumors and comments that often came part and parcel with such images. Given your recent experience with the photos someone had taken outside Nayeon’s apartment, you knew full well about what could happen when images of you and one of the girls popped up on the internet.

“Momo,” you say, softly, beginning to slide your arm away. But her grasp on you is stronger than you were anticipating, and she holds on to you.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” she says to you, a soft look in her eyes and in the smile on her lips. “Let me have my day.”

She pulls you away from the railing, and you continue your stroll down Paris’ alleys and streets, her arm still locked with yours.

---

The crowds were much thinner here, on this random, relatively secluded park somewhere in Paris, some distance from the tourist traps and busy main streets. You and Momo are lying on your sides on a navy blue blanket she’d bought from a nearby craft fair, having just finished off what were probably the best sandwiches you’d ever had in your entire life. Momo had ordered them for the both of you at a local shop, displaying a rudimentary but adorable French accent as she did so.

You are lying on a slope facing a small wooded area, and the trees, greenery, and fading sunlight of late afternoon provided you some privacy. But you could still hear people chatting faintly some distance away, and nothing was stopping an errant child or curious couple from cresting the small hill and finding you both on its other side. Not that that stopped Momo from playing with the waistband of your pants.

“We really shouldn’t,” you say, as her fingers trace the outline of the belt at your waist, both of you knowing your resistance wouldn’t last long. “I can hear people-”

“Mmm?” she hums, as though she weren’t quite listening to what you were saying, or was simply dismissing it. “Want me to stop?”

“If they see us-”

“I see that you’re not saying no.”

You smirk. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We can-”

“I want you here,” she says, eyes suddenly intense. “Now.”

“We can’t - we’ll make too much noise-”

“Then be quiet,” she responds, her hand having undone your belt, the top button soon following suit.

“And will you?” you tease.

“I won’t be the one cumming at a public park.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she says, drawing her body closer to you on the blanket. With her hand she pulls down your pants only low enough to reveal the bulge in your boxers. With a delicate touch, she slides your underwear down to reveal your cock. You shiver as she touches you, her soft fingers closing around your girth.

“So what, you’re just going to lie there and give me a handjob, and that’s it?”

“Well, no,” she admits, that sultry, sly smile on her lips as she bends forward slightly to give you a short, soft kiss. “I fully expect you to fuck me the way I like back at the hotel. I expect you to leave me dripping. But here…”

“-but here?”

“Here, well, I wore this dress for a reason.”

She’s wearing a loose, floral pattern sundress, one that leaves the perfect, creamy skin of her shoulders and upper chest bare. It is daringly low-cut, displaying a delicious-looking cleavage that you’d snuck more than one glance at over the course of the day. Its material is thin and airy, making the outline of the thin white thong she wore beneath obvious to see - as was the absence of a bra.

Her hand closes around your cock, begins to pump up and down in earnest. You reach up, slide your hand against her cheek, and kiss her.

Your tongues find each other, resume the duel they’d been waging on and off in the four days you’d been in Paris. Your hand slides down her neck, lingering there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her pulse beneath your palm. Between you, her hand continues to pump up and down your shaft, fingers tight around your stiffness.

Your hand drifts to her shoulder, sliding beneath the thin spaghetti strap of the dress and sliding it down her upper arm. The dress slips over her breast, baring it to your hand.

You caress the firm, round mound, her nipple already poking into your palm. She sighs into your kiss as your fingers close around her bud and tease, pinch, pull. She breaks your kiss for a moment, and you lie there a while, noses grazing each other, breathing heavily against each others’ lips as your hands play with each others’ bodies. Sometimes your gazes are locked, sometimes one or both pairs close, sometimes they are half-lidded. But they always find each other again.

Her hand leaves your aching cock for a moment, and she brings her hand to her mouth. You hear her spit into it. Her eyes are locked on yours the whole while, until the feel of the wetness of her pumping hand around your shaft sends a shiver up your spine that causes your eyes to shut.

“Fuck,” you hiss, through gritted teeth. Momo’s lips find yours, and you sigh your pleasure into her mouth.

“Does that feel good, baby?” she says, softly. Her hand tightens around you, her pace increasing slightly. “Do I look good for you?”

She reaches up with her free hand, slips the other strap of her dress down her shoulder, baring her other breast. She pulls it down further, until she is naked almost from the waist up. For the millionth time on this trip, you are utterly entranced by her chest - their perfect shape, the weight of the one in your hand, the feel of her soft, creamy skin, the way they sat on her chest and moved slightly with every pump of her hand on your cock.

“You… like my tits, don’t you?” she continues, slightly breathless now. There is a tremble in her voice. It was clear to see in her voice, in the flush on her cheeks, the tightness of her nipples - pleasuring you pleasured her equally.

“I do, Momo. I love them.”

The word elicits a soft, wordless moan from her lips, as though it had triggered something inside her.

“Cum on them, okay? Cum on me.”

Despite the sharp spikes of pleasure that every movement of her hand sent throughout your body, you find yourself surprised.

“Really? No teasing, no edging this time?”

Momo smiles, despite herself, but the relief is brief, and quickly her eyes become intense again.

“No. I want to see you cum. Just for me, please. Just for me. You said you’d be mine. Just mine. Cum, please. Just for me.”

Your hand leaves her breast, finds her cheek, brings it close for a fierce, passionate kiss. You sigh and moan into each others’ mouths as the pleasure she is creating between your bodies begins to reach a peak.

She breaks the kiss to look into your eyes.

It strikes you all at once - the intimacy, the closeness, the vulnerability. You are entirely at her mercy in that moment, heart and soul laid entirely bare. She knows who you are, knows your secrets. You can hide nothing from her, and she knows it.

Somewhere else in the park children are playing, dogs barking, elderly couples going for a late-afternoon stroll, but none of it matters; the entire world is boiled down to the three foot square of the blanket and the wonderful woman you shared it with. Not one other thought - not of the other girls, of this trip, or of the bustling city around you - existed. There was only you, and her, and the pleasure she was creating for you in this private little moment that you two shared. A moment she’d created for the two of you only, that neither of you would tell another soul of - it belonged to the both of you, and no one else.

The past several months had been filled with some of the most intense, erotic, carnal moments in your life - but none as close, as intimate as this.

“Cum for me, please?” she says, almost pleading now, for her as much as for you. “Please, baby. Cum all over me.”

Your breath cuts out, your hand clenches around the side of her head - between you, your cock spasms and spurts thick cum all over Momo’s chest. It lands in heavy streaks across her breasts, her nipples, her collarbones. She sighs with each rope that lands on her skin, the same way she sighed when you filled her cunt - as though it were an equally enjoyable experience for her as it was for you.

“Yes, baby,” she whispers beneath her breath as her pace on your cock slows, fingers still tight around your shaft as she milks each drop of cum from your body. “More, please, more.”

You are drained by now, both of cum and of breath - but your body manages a few more weak spurts of semen that land on the dress bunched beneath her breasts, staining the fabric with thick drops of creamy white. Your hand still clutches at her cheek, your arm trembling slightly as your orgasm winds down.

You open your eyes to view the mess you’d made of her body. It wasn’t the first time on this trip that you’d seen her chest streaked with your cum, but in the fading sunlight of the Paris afternoon it was somehow more beautiful than the times previous. The thick ropes of semen begin to slide down the round mounds, leaving behind glistening streaks that mark their paths across creamy, perfect skin.

Your eyes find hers. To your surprise you find them eyes glassy, as though on the verge of tears. The intensity of the moment you’ve shared hits you both, and you find your eyes watering as well.

“Momo,” you say, because she is what your existence is filled with. In that moment, she is all you know.

“I’m here,” she says, softly, lips finding yours.

---

Morning dawned on Paris. Bright rays of gold bathe the city, make it glimmer and shine. It slowly makes its way across its buildings and roads and parks, inevitable, inexorable.

It makes its way through the open balcony window of the hotel suite you’d shared with Momo over the past week. It illuminates the messy sheets and the remnants of mostly-eaten takeout and room service trays, over your mostly-packed luggage, over the navy blue blanket she would take home and treasure, because it would remind her of a week when she felt loved.

Finally, it illuminates the bathroom - unlit by artificial light, it’s a little dimmer than the rest of the suite, meaning the only light that reached Momo’s naked, wet skin is that of the sun.

But you didn’t need much light. The feel of her body against yours, her arms wrapped around your neck and one leg raised against your hip, heel digging into your backside as you slid in and out of her - that was enough.

You tighten your grasp on her ass, holding her upraised leg up, opening her up further, spreading her, stretching her. Your foreheads press against each other, breathing heavily, moaning softly into each others mouths. You kiss, sometimes - little, involuntary movements, acts of affection amidst the passion. You open your eyes to find hers locked on yours, and the shower water flowing down her face makes her appear as though she’s crying. You need to touch her face, need to cradle it, need to make her feel safe.

You raise your hand to her cheek. Her hands wind through your hair, holding your head, pressing it against her forehead again. Through it all your are fucking her softly, slowly. No teasing or edging here, no playful banter or filthy talk. It is close, intimate, raw.

“I’ll do whatever you want, you know?” she gasps, the rising tone of her voice betraying the depth of her words. “I’ll be whoever you want. Just say you’re mine, please, and I’ll be yours.”

“Momo-”

She presses a finger against your lips. There is need written on her features, of course, and pleasure and lust, but also an genuineness, a realness that you rarely saw in her. Everything about her is laid bare, and the honesty on her lips is plain to see. She meant every word she said.

“Even if you don’t, even if you don’t want me, pretend, okay?” she whispers, barely heard over the patter of the shower on your bodies. “Even if it’s not true, just say it, I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours, Momo. I’m yours, I swear.”

The breath leaves her lungs in a long, wistful moan as she cums around your cock. Her cunt tightens, her body quivers. Only your hands on her body keep her upright, keep her back pressed against the cool tile of the shower.

Through the haze of her orgasm she locks eyes with you, her hands cradling your face. There is nothing between you, nowhere to hide, no secrets or mysteries. It feels vulnerable and it feels safe and it feels wonderful, all at the same time.

“Cum inside me,” she says, softly, and soon enough you do, burying yourself inside her, sighing against her shoulder as you fill her yet again. She moans into your ear as you fill her, nails digging into your scalp.

Your orgasms wind their way throughout your bodies, just as they did dozens of times over the past week. But this one doesn’t last as long - perhaps it was the impending end of the week, perhaps it was the words that remained unspoken between you - either way, eventually Momo lets her leg drop from your hip, and you slide out of her body.

You both linger there awhile, the shower dousing you both. Your warm cum leaks out of her, dripping down her still-quivering thighs, joining the water trailing down her leg. She pulls you close, buries her head into your neck. Your arms wrap around each other.

“Momo,” you say, softly, some indeterminate amount of time later. Your flight home was later that morning, and you were already running later than you would have liked. “We have to-”

“I want to stay here,” she says into your neck.

“I know. But we can’t. We have to go.”

Time passes. You remain there, the both of you, breathing heavily against each other. The shower continues to run. The sun continues its advance into the bathroom, illuminating most of it now. Momo turns away from it, nuzzling deeper into your neck, knowing that its appearance signalled the end of the week, the end of the trip.

For many the Paris dawn is beautiful. For Hirai Momo, the light is merciless.

“Momo,” you begin.

“I know,” she answers.

Without any further words or looks, she leaves your arms, leaves the shower and grabs a towel on her way out of the bathroom. You hear the bedroom door shut behind her.

Your gaze follows her, watches her leave. From the doorway of the bathroom you can see the open balcony across the room, where the sun has chased away the last of the night.

Beyond the balcony Paris continues about its day, adding another tryst, another love story - whatever word could possibly encapsulate the last week you’d spent with Hirai Momo - to the countless others it has borne witness to over the centuries of its history.

---

“So yeah, I guess I’ll see you Thursday? We’re filming the next episode of Time to Twice-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Momo answers, leaning on the doorframe of the apartment she shared with Nayeon. As much as she loved spending time with her members, she liked filming these “reality” shows much less - they were when she was expected to act like the hot but utterly clueless bimbo that the world believed her to be.

“Make sure you get a good night’s sleep the night before. I snuck a peek at the script and they need you to-”

“I know, I know,” she repeats. “Play the dumb airhead.”

You sigh under your breath, knowing how much she hated being portrayed the way she was. You wished you could tell her how much you loved seeing that other side of her - the one that was smarter than she let others believe, the one that knew about the gas lamps in Paris and could speak elementary school French.

You both linger there in silence for a while as the words you wish you had to comfort her never materialize.

“Momo, about this past week…”

“Just two fuck buddies doing Paris,” Momo declares with surprising zest, although there was something in her eyes that doesn’t quite match with the words leaving her lips.

“So all that stuff about-”

“Just pillow talk,” she spits, almost on reaction, as though she wanted to cut off that particular line of conversation before it got any further - or if she’d been preparing for you to raise the question and had rehearsed an answer for it. “Just stuff to get me off. Got a romance kink, I guess. Paris, city of love, city of light, you know how it is. That’s all it was. Don’t go thinking I’m in love with you, or anything.”

You aren’t sure you believe her. She felt too honest, too real, too raw on your trip. If she was faking it all - acting - then she was in the wrong profession.

“Okay, then,” you begin, slowly. “I guess I’ll… I guess I’ll see you later.”

“See ya.”

You turn away and begin to head towards the waiting elevator. Midway there you turn to find her still leaning against the doorframe, watching you. A sad smile makes its way onto her lips.

“Hey, Momo?”

She perks up, expectant.

“Thanks.”

Her smile deepens, but her eyes betray her - there is disappointment in them, as though the word that left your mouth wasn’t what she was expecting, or hoping, to hear.

“No worries! See you Thursday,” she says, as brightly as she could, before closing the door.

She leans her forehead against the closed door for a moment, eyes closing, doing her best to process the past seven days. Her heart pounds against her chest, and she places a hand over it, willing it to calm down.

In her pocket, her phone vibrates. It’s Nayeon. She sighs as she declines the call - dealing with her was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.

With tired legs, she shuffles her way into the living room of her apartment, where Sana is lounging on the couch with Woody, who has fallen asleep, head on her lap. The younger Japanese girl is idly scrolling through her phone, but she sets it down on the coffee table when Momo enters the living room.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Sana asks as she begins to play idly with Woody’s hair as though he were a pet and not a whole other human being. She’s wearing only a loose t-shirt and Woody is naked aside from the throw blanket thrown haphazardly across his midsection, making it clear what they were up to mere moments before Momo had arrived.

“About what?” Momo replies, sighing to herself as she enters the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. The trip had left her drained, and without the energy to deal with Sana and her incessant nosiness.

“That you picked him,” Sana continues, finally looking up to fix Momo with a look. “That you picked him out at the concert that night. He should be your toy, not Chaeyoung’s.”

Momo lets out a sharp breath.

“It doesn’t matter,” the older girl replies. “He’s Chaeyoung’s now. He doesn’t need to know anything more than that.”

“But you wish he did.”

As annoying as Sana could occasionally be, she was often more adept at reading a person than the other girls were. Given how much time they’d spent together, she knew Momo better than most, making it obvious to her from the second she’d arrived what had really happened in Paris.

“He’s not hers yet, not completely,” Sana continues. “If I were you, and if you really have feelings for him, I’d tell him how you feel before Chaeyoung does. Wait too long, and she’ll have him wrapped around her dainty little fingers.”

“You’ve seen the way he acts around her,” Momo replies, setting her water bottle down on the counter and bracing herself against it with her hands, letting her head fall down between her shoulders. “He’s probably on his way to see her right now. He likes her.”

“Does he? I think you should fight her for him. She doesn’t deserve him. You do. He should be yours, not hers.”

Momo raises her head, closes her eyes. It was all too much, all too much to think about right now, minutes after getting home from one of the more eventful weeks of her life. She was exhausted, physically and mentally and emotionally.

She looks down the hallway at the door he’d just occupied. She wanted nothing more than to return to that hotel room in Paris, with him, and…

She shuts her eyes and leaves the room, hoping some sleep would at least provide her with a temporary reprieve from the million thoughts running through her head.

When she hears Momo’s bedroom door close, Sana picks up her phone from the coffee table and brings it to her ear.

“Did you hear that?” she asks the person on the line.

“Yes,” Nayeon answers. “That was well done.”

“Thanks, unnie. Don’t you worry - I’ll make sure those two are at each others’ throats. Whoever he ends up with, it won’t be either of them. Then he’ll be all yours for the taking.”

She begins to stand, gently lifting Woody’s head from her lap and placing it on the couch so as to not interrupt his sleep. She is still talking softly with Nayeon as she makes her way to the bathroom.

When he hears the bathroom door close, Woody, who’d been awake from the moment Momo arrived, reaches for his own phone on the coffee table.

He begins to write a text.

---

Author’s Note: lol longest piece I’ve ever written and of course it had to be Momo. she’s the reason why I’m here, after all. :)

Be kind to yourselves and to each other. <3

#twice #momo #twice momo #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #hirai momo

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thewulf · 8 months ago

Text

Calming Storms || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - It's aaron hotchner x reader, and reader is the mother of one of Jack's new friends (let's call him Marc for now but you can change it obvs), and one time the bau have a kind of short case but away, Jessica is away also so Jack says he could do a sleepover at Marc's and everything goes fine until the second night where Marc's dad gets so angry at reader that she locks the kids in Marc's bedroom... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew this ones a doozy. Very sweet but triggering. Talks of violence against reader/kids. Please be cautious while reading if this triggers you!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

TW: Talks of DV, drunk absent fathers, scared kids

The evening unfolded with a rare promise of simplicity, a brief respite from the relentless whirlwind of investigations that consumed the Behavioral Analysis Unit's days and nights. Aaron Hotchner, taking charge in Jessica's absence, found himself overseeing operations with a steely determination. With each passing case, he was reminded of the fragility of life and the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.

Amidst the chaos of their lives, Aaron made it a priority to ensure that his son, Jack, found moments of normalcy and joy. Tonight, he had arranged for Jack to have a sleepover with his best friend, Marc. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that Aaron hoped would offer Jack a brief respite from the realities of their world.

As Jack eagerly packed his overnight bag with the essentials—a favorite stuffed animal, a handful of snacks, and a well-loved book—Aaron couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for Marc's friendship. In the short time they had known each other, Marc had already become a source of light and laughter for Jack, a sense normalcy in the chaos.

With a reassuring smile, Aaron watched as Jack bounded out the door with excitement shining in his eyes. It was moments like these that reminded Aaron of the importance of cherishing the simple joys in life, even in the darkness that surrounded them. The best thing about Jack’s friendship with Marc though? You. His mother. The woman that walked into his life, took a seat and had taken ahold of him in a hurry.

When Aaron Hotchner looks at you, he sees more than just physical beauty. Sure, you're undeniably pretty, with features that catch the eye and an elegance that's hard to ignore. But what really captivates him is something deeper, something that goes beyond mere appearance.

In his eyes, you carry yourself with a quiet strength and confidence that sets you apart. There's a grace in the way you move, a poise that speaks volumes about your inner resilience. Your eyes, he notices, hold a depth that hints at a wealth of experiences and emotions, drawing him in with their intensity.

Everything about you attracts him to you. It's the way you approach challenges with unwavering resolve, the way you stand by your principles even in the face of adversity. He admires your determination, your ability to stay true to yourself no matter what. To Aaron, you're not just beautiful. You're a testament to strength and resilience, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always the possibility of finding light. And as he looks at you, he can't help but feel a sense of admiration and respect for the remarkable person you are.

Aaron got to know you through a series of casual encounters that gradually evolved into something more meaningful. It started with the occasional coffee break during team meetings or after-work gatherings where the BAU team would unwind. As the kids played and laughter filled the air, Aaron found himself drawn to your presence.

At first, your interactions were brief and centered around small talk—discussing work, sharing anecdotes about the challenges of balancing career and family. But over time, those conversations grew deeper, more personal. You discovered shared interests and common values, forging a connection that went beyond the confines of the office. As Aaron spent more time with you, he began to appreciate your unique perspective and unwavering dedication to your work. He admired your intelligence, your ability to analyze complex situations with clarity and precision. And as he got to know you better, he found himself drawn to your warmth and kindness, your willingness to listen and offer support when needed.

Before long, those casual coffee breaks evolved into something more—a genuine friendship built on mutual respect and understanding. And as Aaron navigated the complexities of his own life, he found solace in knowing that you were there, a steady presence amidst the rocky days, offering comfort and companionship when he needed it most.

After he dropped Jack off at your house he went back to work, even though he had no desire to go back after the already stressful week. As the night settled in and the BAU headquarters grew quiet, Aaron allowed himself a moment of respite, a rare chance to breathe amidst the chaos. He found solace in the knowledge that, for tonight at least, Jack was safe and happy, surrounded by the warmth of friendship and the promise of a new day. And as he settled into his own quiet routine, Aaron couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope among the darkness—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always the promise of light.

As laughter and chatter filled your home, your watchful gaze swept over the scene, a silent sentinel guarding over the children's fleeting moments of joy. The sound of their innocent giggles echoed through the room, a melody of pure happiness that brought warmth to your heart.

But then, like a sudden squall, that joy was ripped from everybody in the room. Marc's father, a distant figure with visitation rights, arrived in a whirlwind of anger, his shouts piercing the tranquil evening air. His words were sharp, laced with bitterness and resentment, tearing through the peaceful atmosphere like shards of glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as his presence loomed over the room, casting a dark shadow over the innocence of childhood.

Taking a peak outside the window you were hit with a sense of overwhelming dread. He was drunk. There was no mistaking the glassy look in his eyes, the slurred speech that spilled from his lips like poison. This was why you moved time and time again, running away from the man that scared you senseless, the specter of his rage haunting your every step.

In that moment, instinct propelled you into action. With trembling hands, you gathered the children, ushering them into your young sons bedroom. Their faces were a mixture of confusion and fear, mirroring the turmoil raging inside your own heart. Marc, wide-eyed and trembling, clung to your side, seeking comfort and safety in the shelter of your embrace.

You locked Marc’s bedroom door behind you, the click of the bolt a final barrier between the children and the storm brewing outside. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grew thicker, suffocating in its intensity. But you stood firm, a pillar of strength amidst his fury, shielding the children from the darkness that threatened to engulf them.

As you huddled together in Marc's room, Marc clung to your side, his small frame trembling with fear. "Mommy, what's happening?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide with uncertainty.

You knelt down beside him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. "It's going to be okay, Marc, Jack," you reassured him, your voice steady despite the turmoil. "We're safe here."

Jack, sensing the tension in the air, looked up at you with wide eyes. "Are we in trouble Miss Y/N? Daddy says if I’m in trouble I should call him." he asked, his voice tinged with worry having had to go through this same scenario one too many times for being such a young kid.

You shook your head, mustering a reassuring smile for both boys. "No, sweetheart, we're not in trouble," you said gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "We're just going to stay here until everything calms down, okay?"

The boys nodded, their trust in you unwavering despite the chaos unfolding outside. Together, you formed a tight-knit circle, finding solace in each other's presence amidst the uncertainty. But you knew you couldn’t just wait it out in Marc's bedroom. You had to do something though, anything. You couldn’t wait for Marc’s father to break down the door.

Your mind raced with possibilities as you scanned the room for any means of defense. Should you grab a knife? Look for any baseball bats around? With a sense of urgency, you sprang into action, determined to protect the children at all costs.

As the tension in the room thickened, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what needed to be done. With a gentle hand, you lifted Marc's chin, meeting his frightened gaze with a reassuring smile. "Listen to me, Marc, Jack," you began, your voice firm but gentle. "I need you both to be brave for me, okay? We're going to find a hiding spot, and I need you to stay quiet and stay hidden until I come back. Can you do that?"

Marc nodded; his eyes filled with determination as he squeezed your hand. "We can do it, Mommy," he whispered, his voice steady despite the fear that lingered in the air.

Jack hesitated for a moment before nodding, his small frame tense with uncertainty. "Okay, Miss Y/N," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads, a silent promise to keep them safe. "Good," you said softly, your voice filled with determination. "Now, I need you to find a hiding spot and stay there until I come back. I'm going to call your Dad, Jack, and he's going to help us, okay?"

With a nod, the boys scrambled to find a hiding spot, their small figures disappearing into the shadows of the room. As they huddled together, you felt a surge of pride and love welling up inside you. They were scared, yes, but they were also brave, just like Jack’s father.

The sound of fists pounding against wood echoed through the room, a chilling reminder of the danger lurking just beyond their sanctuary. Every blow sent a jolt of fear coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest as you fumbled for your phone, the air thick with terror.

With trembling hands, you dialed Aaron's number, each digit feeling like an eternity as you prayed for his swift arrival. The urgency in your voice betrayed the gravity of the situation as you finally managed to connect with him.

"Hotchner," his voice was calm, a reassuring anchor that threatened to engulf you.

"Aaron, it's me," you managed, your words tumbling out in a rush, your voice trembling with fear. "Something's happened. Marc's father—he's here, and he's... he's furious and drunk. I don't know what to do."

There was a brief pause, the silence heavy with unspoken understanding. In that moment, you could almost hear the gears turning in Aaron's mind as he processed the gravity of the situation. But despite the fear that threatened to consume you, his voice remained steady, a beacon of strength in the darkness.

"I'm on my way," he replied, his words infused with determination.

As you hung up the phone, a sense of relief washed over you, knowing that help was on the way, but the danger still lurked just outside. With trembling hands, you made your way to the window, your heart pounding in your chest as you peered outside.

Marc's father stood in the dimly lit street, his figure looming menacingly in the shadows. His shouts filled the night air, a chilling reminder of the mayhem that threatened to engulf you all. You could see the anger etched on his face, the twisted expression of rage that sent shivers racing through your body.

Your stomach churned with fear as you watched him pace back and forth, his movements erratic and unpredictable. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to hide, to protect yourself and the children from his wrath.

But you stood your ground, rooted to the spot as you watched the scene unfold before you. You were the first line of defense to those kids, and you wouldn’t let him through. Not in your wildest dreams. You knew that help was on the way, that Aaron would be here soon to put an end to this nightmare. But until then, all you could do was wait, your heart pounding in your chest as you prayed for safety and protection for you and the children.

As you strained to listen, the angry shouts of Marc's father pierced through the stillness of the night, each word a sharp dagger of fear that lodged itself in your chest. His voice was laced with venom, filled with threats and curses that sent chills down your spine. Through the window, you saw him pacing back and forth, his movements frenzied and erratic. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and every now and then, he would pound on the door with a force that made the wood tremble.

The streetlights cast eerie shadows across his face, distorting his features into a grotesque mask of rage. His eyes burned with a wildfire, his gaze sweeping over the house with a predatory intensity that made your blood run cold. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grew heavier, suffocating in its intensity. You held your breath, your heart hammering in your chest as you prayed for Aaron's swift arrival.

And then, just when you thought you couldn't bear it any longer, you heard the distant sound of sirens wailing in the night. Relief washed over you like a wave as you realized that help was finally here, that Aaron had arrived to put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

From your vantage point at the window, you strained to hear over the pounding of your heart. Marc's father's voice grew louder, his words slurred with anger and alcohol. He stumbled, his movements unsteady as he continued to rant and rave. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared on the street. Aaron emerged from the darkness, his presence commanding and authoritative. He approached Marc's father with caution, his hand resting on the holster of his gun.

"Sir, I need you to calm down," Aaron's voice cut through the night, firm and unwavering. "You're causing a disturbance."

But Marc's father didn't heed the warning. He lashed out, his fists swinging wildly as he advanced towards Aaron. In one swift motion, Aaron drew his weapon, his stance defensive yet controlled.

"Back off," Aaron commanded, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

But Marc's father refused to listen. He lunged forward, intent on causing harm. With a steady hand, Aaron moved to subdue him, the click of handcuffs echoing through the night as he wrestled Marc's father into submission.From the window, you watched as he engaged Marc's father in calm but firm conversation, his authoritative presence making it clear that his priority was the safety of you and the children.

After what felt like an eternity, Marc's father finally relented, his anger simmering down as he was escorted away by the authorities. With each step he took, the weight of the tension that had filled the room seemed to lift, leaving behind a sense of calm in its wake.

As the chaos outside began to subside, you approached the door cautiously, your heart still pounding in your chest with each step. Peering through the peephole, you saw Aaron's familiar silhouette standing on the other side, strength amidst the darkness. With trembling hands, you reached for the door handle, the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what lay on the other side, but the urgency of the situation spurred you into action.

Gripping the handle tightly, you slowly turned it, the creak of the door breaking the eerie silence that had settled over the house. As you swung the door open, Aaron's concerned gaze met yours, his expression filled with determination and resolve. Without a word, Aaron stepped inside, his presence a comforting reassurance in the midst of chaos. And as you closed the door behind him, the weight of the tension that had filled the room seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of calm and security in his presence.

But just as he looked at you with the utmost concern, a sudden realization hit you like a bolt of lightning. The kids. They needed you. Panic surged through you like a tidal wave. Without a moment's hesitation, you broke free from Aaron's grasp and rushed past him, your mind consumed by one thought: the safety of the children.

"Aaron!" you called out, your voice trembling with fear. "We have to check on them, Marc's father—he can't hurt them, right?" Your words spilled out in a frantic rush as you bolted towards the bedroom door, your heart hammering in your chest knowing they were fine but fear bested you in the moment.

Every worst-case scenario played out in your mind, fueling your panic as you reached for the doorknob. But before you could open it, Aaron's strong hand gripped your arm, halting your frantic movements.

"Wait, Y/N," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos of your thoughts. "Take a breath. The children are safe. You need to trust that."

Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to rein in your panic. "But what if something happened?" you choked out, tears blurring your vision. "I can't bear the thought of them being scared and alone."

Aaron's gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes as he pulled you into a reassuring embrace. "I know, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of your fear. "But right now, we need to stay calm for them. They need you to be strong. Kids can sense these things." His BAU training was working diligently as he calmed you down just outside Marc’s bedroom door trying to stay as quiet as possible. He, better than anyone, knew how these things could traumatize kids. He had seen it time and time again as he worked these cases.

While his words sank in, you felt some of the tension begin to ebb away, replaced by a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil. With Aaron's steady presence grounding you, you took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling yourself for whatever lay ahead. With a newfound sense of determination, Aaron gently guides you back to the living room, his steady presence a calming force amidst the chaos. As you sink onto the couch, still trembling with adrenaline, he kneels beside you, his eyes filled with reassurance.

"Listen, Y/N," Aaron begins, his voice steady and calm. "I'll go check on Marc and Jack, okay? You stay here and try to relax. They need to see that everything's going to be alright."

You nod, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you at Aaron's words. With a reassuring squeeze of your hand, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards the bedroom door. As he disappears from view, you can't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your mind. What if Marc's father returns? What if Aaron can't calm the children down? But you push those thoughts aside, trusting in Aaron's ability to handle the situation. You focus instead on taking deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart as you wait for news.

Moments later, Aaron returns, a small smile playing on his lips. "They're okay," he says softly, his voice filled with relief. "A little shaken up, but okay. They’ll be right down; they’re changing for bed."

A wave of relief washes over you, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. "Thank you, Aaron," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for coming so quick.”

He nods, his eyes filled with understanding as he takes a seat beside you on the couch. Together, you sit in companionable silence, the tension slowly dissipating as you find solace in each other's presence. As you sit together on the couch, the weight of the situation in the air slowly beginning to dissipate, a tremor of unease still lingers, casting a shadow over the room. Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hallway, and before you can react, the two kids come bounding into the room more concerned about you than anything.

In a flurry of motion, both Jack and Marc jump on top of you. "Miss Y/N!" Jack cries out, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you okay?"

Their presence is like a balm to your frazzled nerves, and you reach out to them, pulling them into a tight embrace. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you hold them close, feeling the weight of their love and concern wash over you like a soothing tide. Aaron watched from beside as the two little boys clinged to the loving presence that you were.

"I'm okay, sweetheart," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm okay."

But Marc's small frame trembles with fear as he clings to you desperately, his tears mingling with yours as he buries his face against your shoulder. "I'm scared, Mommy," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared of Dad. I don't want him to hurt you."

Your heart breaks at his words, and you hold him close, offering whatever comfort you can in the face of his overwhelming terror. "I know, baby" you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. "But Dad's gone now, and he won't hurt us. I promise you that."

As you speak, Jack wraps his arms around you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. "We'll protect you, Miss Y/N," he says firmly, his voice filled with determination. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you look at your son and defacto son now, feeling an overwhelming surge of love and gratitude for the brave, compassionate young boys they've become. With their arms wrapped around you, you know that together, you can face anything that comes your way, united in strength and love.

Marc clinged to you, his trembling form gradually relaxing in your embrace. Jack's voice cuts through the tension-filled air, filled with desperation and fear. "Daddy, please stay," Jack pleads, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks up at Aaron. "I don't want anything to happen to Miss Y/N or Marc."

Aaron's gaze softens as he looks down at his son's friend, his heart breaking at the fear in Jack's eyes. Without hesitation, he nods, his voice filled with reassurance. "Of course, Jack. I'll stay."

With a sense of relief washing over the room, Aaron gently guides Marc and Jack to their beds, tucking them in with care and tenderness you hadn’t seen from a father before. As he leans down to brush a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads, you can't help but feel a swell of gratitude towards him as you watch from the doorway letting him take control.

Once the boys are settled, Aaron returns to the living room with you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and determination. The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm, intimate light over the room, accentuating the vulnerability in both your gazes.

"I don't think any of us should be alone tonight," he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity, as if he's making a silent vow to protect you from any harm that may come your way. "Would you like me to stay?"

Your heart skips a beat at his offer, a blush rising to your cheeks as you meet his gaze. The rush of warmth flooding through you at the thought of having him by your side through the night is overwhelming. It's more than just a gesture of protection; it feels like an unspoken promise of comfort and solace, wrapped up in the tenderest of sentiments.

"Yes, please. If you don’t mind," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes shining with gratitude and a hint of something more.

With a small, gentle smile that lights up his eyes, Aaron settles himself beside you on the couch. The soft brush of his hand against yours sends a flutter of butterflies through your stomach, igniting a spark of something that feels incredibly special. “Not at all.”

As you lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own, a sense of peace washes over you. In that moment, with Aaron's strong arms wrapped around you, everything feels right in the world.

His gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice filled with sincerity and affection. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N," he whispers, his words carrying a warmth that melts your heart. "You're not alone. Never will be."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you snuggle closer to him, reveling in the sweetness of the moment. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the warmth of your connection.

With a contented sigh, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you know that together, you can face anything that comes your way, united in a love that feels sweeter and more precious than you ever could have imagined.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

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w4ndal0ver · 2 months ago

Text

The Art of Submission (3)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

chapter summary: You go to dinner at Wanda's apartment and you have a tension filled conversation about your wants and limits, and she lays down her rules for you.

whole summary: As a growing author, you're grappling with a frustrating writer's block while trying to craft your next lesbian erotic novel. With a lack of personal experience holding you back, inspiration seems just out of reach. But when a captivating neighbour steps in, offering unexpected support and a tantalizing invitation to explore the depths of desire, you find yourself on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and fiction, leading to a discovery that you definitely weren't expecting.

content warnings: continuing the insane amount of sexual tension, mentions of: edging, orgasm denial, bondage, wax play, temperature play, chastity, gagging, clothing control, praise, degradation, threesomes, role reversal, safewords, time control.

note: So this is the third instalment and I managed to bulk this chapter out, so finally everything begins in the next instalment. enjoy <3

The Art of Submission - Chapter 3

You sit alone in your apartment, the stillness of the room doing nothing to settle the arousal inside of you. The aftereffects of your time with Wanda cling to you like a second skin, every touch she left on your body burning like a golden tattoo, haunting the most sensitive parts of you. It’s impossible to focus on anything else, but her presence is everywhere. You hadn’t even dared go to your kitchen after the scene that played out in there the previous night.

The memory of her fingers brushing your skin, the weight of her eyes on you, plays over and over in your mind. The way she took control so effortlessly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Yet, the thing eating you up inside was how quickly you surrendered to it, willingly offering yourself up with barely a second thought. It was like she made your body respond before your mind had a chance to catch up.

You replay the moment continuously in your mind. The memory of her eyes, those captivating depths of emotion etched in your thoughts. You can almost see her now, the smile against her lips and the way her hair cascades in waves, framing her face perfectly.

You try to shake it off, to distract yourself, but your thoughts keep looping back to those moments. You’re caught in the aftermath of her power over you and you can’t escape it. You don’t want to. Your phone sits beside you on the bed, a looming presence in the silence, as heavy as the tension in the air. You’re waiting. There’s a knot of dread in your stomach yet beneath it lingers an electric current of anticipation. You’re torn between desperately wanting to hear from her, and dreading what she might say. What more she could demand of you.

Time drags on, but every second feels stretched, each one heavier than the last. You glance at your phone again, chewing your lip, fingers brushing over the screen as though you could summon a message from her. Then, at last, it buzzes. The screen lights up and there it is, a text from Wanda.

You were even easier to break than I imagined, maybe I should take it easier on you next time.

Dinner tonight, my place, 8pm.

W x

Your breath hitches at the message, even her teasing over text could make your arousal pool between your legs and you felt so insanely vulnerable, a feeling that was driving you up the walls. You looked at the message again, but your eyes darted to the time. 6:30pm. Now your heart was racing, she’d barely given you any notice and you had no idea what to wear or how to prepare for this.

You dart to your wardrobe, sifting through your options, fingers brushing over soft fabrics and cool textures, each piece pulling you in different directions. Part of you craves something casual, comfortable enough to ease the tension bubbling beneath your skin. However, another part yearns for something subtly alluring, a way to communicate your excitement.

Your gaze lands on a sleek, short black dress hanging elegantly in the corner of the closet. It’s simple yet enticing, with its deep neckline and fitted silhouette that hugs your curves just right. The thought of slipping it on sends a thrill through you, the way it would accentuate your figure and showcase the confidence you’d failed to convey before.

As you take the dress from the hanger, laying it out on your bed you recall the lingerie you recently bought. The image of the intricate patterns crafted from a soft and delicate scarlet lace dancing across your body sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You wonder if Wanda would appreciate the effort, if she’d see through the fabric. Would she smile that knowing smirk, her eyes sparkling with approval?

The clock ticks steadily, each second a reminder of the approaching dinner. You can feel your nerves creeping up, coiling tighter around your neck. You rush to the mirror, brushing your hair away from your face, analysing every inch of your reflection. You change into both the lingerie and the dress, taking a deep breath to try and calm the fluttering in your stomach.

As you step back, fully dressed and finally feeling the allure of the ensemble. The black dress hugs your body perfectly, the lace edging of your lingerie peeking through. You bundle your hair into a bun, pulling a few strands and purposefully messing the tight grip of the hairband so you look slightly unravelled already. You thread the silver hooped earrings through your lobes, matching it with a small pendant necklace, a small heart that sat against your chest. Finally, you add a touch of red lipstick to complete the look, imagining the insides of Wanda’s thighs painted in red kisses.

With one more final look, you shake your head trying to get out of it before heading towards the door and crossing the hall. You approach her apartment door, your pulse beating loudly inside your head. With a deep breath, you knock on the door, the sound echoing softly in the dimly lit hallway. The moment stretches out, each second laden with expectation, until the door swings open, revealing Wanda with a radiant smile, quickly turning into a flushed and unexpected look. You looked completely different to how you’d been caught out last night, and finally you gained the satisfaction you’d been longing for.

As you step into Wanda’s apartment, she takes a moment to assess your outfit, her eyes lingering appreciatively over your figure. A slow, sultry smile spreads across her lips and you notice the way her eyes familiarly darken.

“Wow.” She breathes, leaning casually against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest. You feel your cheeks redden at the arch of her eyebrow and the way her bottom lip catches itself between her teeth. She was wearing a white silk blouse that gleams softly under the warm light, the fabric draping elegantly over her form. The buttons are casually undone, teasingly revealing a hint of her cleavage, drawing your gaze and setting your pulse racing. Her fitted black trousers hug her curves perfectly, accentuating the shape of her hips and the subtle arch of her ass which you couldn’t help but glance at as she walks past you.

As Wanda welcomes you, her presence adds an extra layer of warmth to the space. The combination of her vibrant red hair and the sleek, modern furnishings creates an enticing contrast that draws you in further, making you feel both at home and a little breathless. The entire apartment radiates a sense of luxury and comfort, an ideal backdrop for the evening that lies ahead.

“You look incredible.” You say as Wanda grabs a bottle of wine from the rack on her kitchen counter, she turns her head over her shoulder, her eyes dropping from your lips all the way down to your ankles before reaching back up to meet your stare.

“You want to be careful princess; I could get used to you dressing up like this.” The lust behind her voice wasn’t even disguised by flirtation anymore. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve made you dinner.” She leads you to the dining table, perfectly laid by Wanda, a few candles scattered atop the surface, plates of spaghetti bolognese already plated up and placed opposite each other.

She follows you around the table, pulling out the chair for you before you reach to do it yourself. The soft clink of the plates only sound for a moment, the food smells incredible, but you mind it elsewhere. If you thought you were distracted before, now with Wanda sitting opposite you, there was no way you were going to be able to get through this dinner.

Wanda takes a sip of wine, her eyes casually tracing over your face as she sets the glass down. “You seem distracted,” she says, her tone light but the smirk playing at her lips tells you she already knows why. Taking a bite of her food, Wanda doesn’t break eye contact, the intensity making it impossible for you to focus on your meal. She chews slowly, deliberately. “You’re still thinking about it.” she states, “How you crumbled so easily.”

Her words hit you with the same impact as the moment itself and it’s like you’re right back there, on edge, waiting for her permission. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing coherent comes out at first. Wanda chuckles, a slow, indulgent sound, “I knew you would be,” She adds, eyes never leaving yours.

You fidget slightly in your seat, feeling the flush rise in your cheeks. It’s like she can read your mind. You finally manage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, about you.”

Wanda’s smirk widens, her eyes darkening with satisfaction. She leans back in her chair, her posture relaced, but you can feel the control she has over the room, over you. “I thought so,” She murmurs, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. “It’s written all over your face.”

After a long, purposeful sip of her wine, Wanda finally sets the glass down and rests her hands on the table, her fingers lightly drumming against the wood. Her expression softens, but the intensity in her gaze remains. “I’ve done this before,” she admits, her tone shifting to something quieter, more serious. “But this isn’t just about me. This is going to be about what you want, your needs, your desires, and your limits.”

She lets the words hang between you for a moment, letting you absorb their weight. “I need to know what you want from this, what you’re ready to give, and what you can’t. Because if we’re going to do this... I need your full trust.”

You swallow hard, her words wrapping around you like a promise. There’s a steadiness in her voice that makes your pulse quicken—Wanda knows exactly what she’s doing, but she’s asking for your consent, your trust. You feel your heart race as you nod, realising just how much you want to give that trust to her.

Wanda leans forward slightly, her eyes locked with yours. “It’s important you understand that, no matter how far we go, you can always stop. That’s where the safeword comes in. And I’ll ask you to use the traffic light system,” she explains and even with the seriousness of the conversation you couldn’t help but feel how wet you were becoming. Her authoritative pose, the command in her voice, and you were her muse, she wanted to do this with you.

Her gaze doesn’t waver as she continues. “So, tell me,” she says, her voice soft but unyielding, “what do you want, tonight? What’s your limit? What’s that one thing you want to explore?”

Your hands tremble slightly as you take a deep breath. You’ve thought about this moment for hours, but saying it out loud is different. You hesitate for a heartbeat too long, and Wanda’s eyes narrow slightly, a warning glint in them. “No holding back,” she murmurs, her voice dipping low. “Tell me what you want. All of it.”

The weight of the moment presses on you, but her calm gaze feels like a lifeline. You swallow nervously before nodding. “I want to explore everything,” you admit, voice low, but clear.

Wanda’s lips quirk up in a teasing smile. “Everything?” Her tone is soft, but there’s a sharpness beneath it. “Be specific for me.” She leans forward slightly, one elbow resting on the table, her chin perched on her hand, her eyes locked with yours.

You take a breath and dive in, feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Edging, I want to explore orgasm denial,” you say, each word feeling bolder than the last.

Wanda’s smile deepens. “Good,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as her eyes darken slightly. “There’s nothing quite like having that power—to make you beg for it, only to hold you just on the edge, desperate.” She tilts her head, the teasing tone back in her voice. “You think you can handle being denied?”

You shift in your seat, the tension rising. “I... I want to try.”

Wanda’s gaze sharpens, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “I’ll enjoy testing your limits on that one.”

You take another deep breath. “Impact play,” you continue, barely believing you��re saying this out loud, but something about the way Wanda watches encourages you to continue. “Spanking, hair pulling, physical stimulation.”

Wanda’s eyes flash, and she bites her bottom lip slightly. She straightens up, her voice carrying an undercurrent of heat. “You like the idea of me making you feel it? Leaving a mark?” Her eyes flicker with excitement. “I’ll make sure you feel every moment of it. But it’ll be on my terms, at my pace.”

Her gaze lingers on you for a second, then, as if to emphasise her control, she casually reaches over and brushes a lock of your hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing your neck ever so lightly. The touch sends shivers through you.

“Bondage,” you say next, your voice softening. “I want to feel restrained.”

Wanda’s hand stills, her eyes locking onto yours. “I could tie you up, I have a lot of stuff I can use” she says, her voice dropping even lower, more deliberate. “Make you helpless. You won’t be able to move, won’t be able to stop me from doing whatever I want.” She leans forward, her voice a low purr. “How does that make you feel? Knowing you’ll have no control at all?”

Your pulse quickens as you nod, barely able to speak, and Wanda’s lips curl up in satisfaction, clearly enjoying your nervous excitement.

“Praise,” you continue, but your breath catches as you add, “and degradation.”

Wanda’s eyebrow arches, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it’s quickly replaced by a pleased smirk. “Interesting,” she says, her voice laced with approval. “You want me to call you my good girl, shower you in praise for obeying me... but then you want me to turn around and tell you how desperate you are for it?” She leans closer, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous kind of delight. “I’ll give you both and you’ll love every second of it.”

Her words make your stomach flip with a mix of nerves and excitement, and you find yourself nodding again, almost breathless. You hesitate, but then add, “And breath play, I want to try that.”

Wanda’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced with a look of seriousness. She sits up straighter, her gaze sharp. “That’s a lot of trust you’re giving me,” she says, her voice more measured. “You know how dangerous that can be, right?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I trust you.”

Her expression softens slightly, and she nods, her eyes never leaving yours. “Good girl, you’ll always be safe with me.”

You can feel your body trembling slightly as you push forward. “I want to try wax play, you know, temperature play.”

Wanda chuckles softly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “So you want me to drip hot wax on your skin... make you squirm beneath me as I play with the heat?” she asks, her voice low and teasing. “I can make sure you feel the contrast, the cold right after the burn.”

You shift in your seat, and finally admit, “I’m curious about chastity, and gagging.”

Wanda’s lips curve into a slow, satisfied smile. “Of course you are,” she says teasingly, her voice rich with approval. “I could make you wait, make you ache for days without any relief. And when you finally get it, you’ll be begging.” Her smile widens. “As for gagging... you’ll learn to communicate without words. But don’t worry, I'll understand exactly what you want.”

You nod, feeling your pulse quicken, the tension between you growing unbearable.

“And,” you add hesitantly, “what about involving other people?”

Wanda’s fingers tighten slightly around her wine glass, a flush creeping into her cheeks for the first time. Her eyes flicker with something unreadable, her smirk growing as her expression turns serious. “We’ll see,” she says, her voice softer now, her control wavering for just a moment. “We’ll talk about that when the time comes.”

You take a steadying breath, feeling the weight of the next words. “Role reversal,” you admit, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

Wanda’s smile falters for just a moment, surprise flickering in her eyes before she regains her composure. “You want to take control?” she muses, her voice low, almost considering. “Even just for a moment?” She pauses, her gaze sharpening. “I might allow it, if you earn it.”

Her reaction makes your heart race, a thrill running down your spine. Wanda is sitting completely back in her chair, her food resting on her chair, her arm crossed over her knee as she watches you spill everything that you wanted to do with her. She couldn’t deny how intrigued she was by your willingness to talk about everything, and be so vulnerable in her presence.

“What about limits honey?” Wanda continues, knowing there can’t be much left that you hadn’t admitted you wanted to do.

You look down, your heart racing. “I don’t really know my limits,” you confess quietly, “I just want to try everything. No blood, but everything else.”

For the first time, Wanda’s calm, teasing exterior falters. Her cheeks flush, and she squirms slightly in her seat, her fingers tightening around her glass. Her lips part as if to say something, but she pauses, taking a deep breath. “Everything?” she repeats, her voice lower, more breathless than before.

You nod, feeling a surge of confidence as you watch her try to maintain control.

Wanda’s eyes darken, and she leans in slightly, her voice soft but filled with promise. “I’ll make sure we explore everything... but remember,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a dangerous smile, “I decide when and how.”

Wanda leans back in her chair, her eyes locked on you, her tone steady but charged with authority. “First, let’s set some rules. For now, everything stays in this room.” She glances around the space, making the limits clear, her gaze landing back on you. “Whatever we explore, whatever we try, it stays between these walls. This is where you’re mine.”

You swallow, a nervous excitement building in your chest. “Just in here?” you ask softly, almost unsure, though something about the confinement feels safe.

Wanda nods, leaning forward slightly, the intensity in her eyes unwavering. “Yes. Just in here. I want to see how you handle things before we take it any further. Think of this room as our world. Here, I’m in control, and you” her lips quirk up into a teasing smile “you’ll follow my lead.”

Your pulse quickens at her words, and you can’t help but shift slightly in your seat. Wanda doesn’t miss it, her eyes narrowing with amusement as she continues.

“I’ll set a few ground rules.” Her voice is firm, and the weight of what she’s about to say lingers in the air. “First, you don’t touch yourself without my permission. You don’t come unless I say so. Understood?”

Your breath catches. The idea sends a shiver through you, and you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Understood.”

Wanda tilts her head, her gaze softening just slightly. “Good girl. You’ll ask for permission every time, and if you don’t, there will be consequences.” She pauses, her expression growing even more serious. “Do you understand the power I’m giving you here? You have control, too. If something is too much, you say ‘yellow’ or ‘red.’ I want you to be honest with me, always.”

“I will,” you murmur, feeling both nervous and reassured by the clear boundaries.

Wanda’s expression softens just slightly, her eyes narrowing as she explains, “There will be no hesitation or questioning when I give you a command,” She continues, her voice firm, “When I tell you to do something, you obey. No second guessing.”

Your breath hitches as you take it all in, Wanda watches you closely, her fingers drumming softly on the table, waiting for you to confirm.

“I understand,” You say, your voice soft but steady.

Wanda has a playful glint in her eye. “When you’re here, I decide what you wear or if you wear anything at all. Sometimes you’ll be completely exposed to me, other times I might want to keep you dressed for my pleasure. But it’s never up to you. Understood?”

The thought sends a thrill through you, and you agree softly, “Yes.”

Wanda’s smile turns darker. “Time is mine to control. I’ll decide when we’re done, not you. You won’t be allowed to leave until I say so. Whether you’re pleading for more or begging me to stop, the final decision is mine.”

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, the mixture of anticipation and submission making your skin prickle. “Okay.”

“And finally,” Wanda leans back in her chair, her eyes smouldering as she watches your every move, “you’re not allowed to touch me unless I allow it. You want to touch me? You ask first, and only if I give you permission do you get to. There will be no crossing boundaries I haven’t set.”

She watches you carefully, waiting for the weight of her words to sink in. The idea of not being allowed to touch her unless she says so makes your heart race.

You swallow, feeling a flush creep over your skin as you whisper, “I understand.”

Wanda watches you for a moment, satisfied with your responses. “Do you think you can handle all of that?” she asks, her tone teasing but with a dangerous edge.

You meet her gaze, the air between you crackling with unspoken energy. “Yes.”

Wanda’s smile deepens, and she leans back, clearly enjoying how easily you’re falling into place. “Good. Then we’ll see just how well you follow those rules, won’t we?” At this point, the carefully made dinner had been completely disregarded. Both of you having a handful of mouthfuls between you, your wine basically untouched. You needed her and she wanted you, there was no way you were going to continue eating after that conversation.

Wanda leans back in her chair, her eyes flickering over you like she’s considering her next move. The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows over her face, making her look both dangerous and mesmerising. “Come here,” she says, the command laced with promise. The air in the room feels thicker, like it’s holding a collective breath. You stand, and your legs feel unsteady, but you obey, moving toward her.

Wanda doesn’t touch you yet. She just looks up at you, her lips curling into that knowing smile. “You’re going to wait,” she murmurs, her voice like silk wrapping around your nerves. “You don’t get what you want right away. Not here.”

Wanda's eyes never leave you as she sits perfectly still, just watching you. The silence between you is deafening, but it speaks volumes. Her gaze drops down, flicking over your body as though she's calculating every inch. It makes your skin feel hypersensitive, like she’s already touching you without laying a hand on you yet.

“Strip,” she says, the word so calm yet utterly commanding. Your heart pounds at the simple instruction, and your fingers fumble as you reach to unzip your dress, but you can’t quite reach the zip. You turn your back and Wanda takes the zip between her fingers, slowly unzipping the length of the dress, revealing more of the scarlet laced lingerie that you picked for this moment. As you turn back to face her before pulling the lengths of the dress down, she leans further back in her chair, sucking her tongue against her teeth as you reveal your figure tied in lace.

“You’re learning, already,” she says, almost purring. “This is gorgeous, all for me hm?” You nod, instead of being the same levels of shy that you thought you’d be, you found confidence in your willing submission to the redhead. “What do you want to explore first, let’s start as easy as you want to.”

You hesitate, feeling a rush of nervous energy at the thought of saying it out loud. Wanda catches it immediately, her eyebrow lifting. “Don’t hesitate,” she says, her voice sharper now. “If you want me to give you what you crave, you’re going to have to ask for it. Say it.”

Your breath quickens, and you meet her eyes, knowing there’s no way out but forward. "I want you to make me wait," you say with an unexpected amount of confidence.

Wanda’s smirk deepens, her approval radiating from her. “Good. You’re finally starting to listen. But not just that.” She stands now, slow and deliberate, stepping toward you, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from her body.

She’s not touching you yet, but it’s like she doesn’t need to. She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she speaks, “You don’t get to come unless I give you permission. I’m going to take you to the edge, and you’re going to beg for it. If you do it right, maybe I’ll let you have it.”

Wanda’s fingertips graze your shoulder, and the lightest contact sends a shiver racing down your spine. She moves behind you, slowly circling like a predator, her touch just skimming your skin, enough to make your breath catch but not enough to satisfy the ache building inside of you.

“You’re already shaking,” Wanda whispers, her breath warm against the back of your neck. “And I haven’t even started.”

Your pulse races, heat spreading through you like wildfire as she steps back in front of you, her eyes dark and commanding. Wanda steps back, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. “On your knees,” she orders, and you drop immediately, your heart pounding in anticipation. She stands over you, looking down, clearly in complete control.

“You’re going to be good for me,” she murmurs, her voice firm but laced with a dangerous softness. “And remember, you only come when I say you can.”

Your breath hitches as you nod, your skin burning under her intense gaze. She smirks, the power in her stare making you feel like you’re already completely hers. “Good,” she says. “Now, let’s see how well you really listen.”

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justasecretflower · 2 months ago

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🥀 Meeting Jeff! The killer again after dating him before he was a proxy🤍.

A/N- The long awaited sequel to my. Dating Jeff the killer before he was a proxy. Yes, I am still doing requests, except I’m writing really slow because I’m sick :(.

~fluff.

___________________________________________

- you met him again at a dingy old convenience store while you were out with your friends.

- he didn’t come back from murdering someone, he was just kinda hanging out and getting some junk food and that’s when he saw you, and you saw him.

___________________________________________

One of my friends pushed open the door with an exaggerated heave, laughing with my other three friends. After a long night of bar hopping with my friends f/n suggested that we stock up on gas station junk food then have a movie marathon at their house. Everyone agreed of course, being absolutely wasted and it being a Saturday night.

I walked into the local convenience store. The flickering lights reminded me of a worn down elementary school, the metal shelves top to bottom filled with up with sugary sweet candy to salty and spicy chips. bunch of junk food and a slushy machine was turning and making 3 flavors of slushy. Mindlessly, I walk towards the chips aisle. My shoes lightly tap on the dirty cold floor, crossing my arms to gain warmth in the cool atmosphere while my eyes roll over the options. I hear someone strolling through the aisle with me, instinctively I look over to see..Jeff?

He was looking at me, his head turned and his eyes glittered in such a peculiar way that I had to make sure I was seeing things right. His cheeks were cut, making him have a permanent smile, his black hair now shoulder length and tousled, dirty black converse, and a white hoodie stained with some slightly dried up blood stains. He looks so different, so..not him? Like after he went away he lost all sanity, fell into the depths of a black hole to never return, never find himself again. Nonetheless his eyes were still the same the same ocean blue, the ocean that I fell into and happily let myself drown in, the eyes that looked at me, one day, with a deep affection, with love and care, the eyes that would scan over mine, and without any words create poetry in my soul. My heart squeezed and started thumping hard and fast, like out of instinct to try and reach out for him. Reach out for his touch, his voice, his arms. I couldn’t even get a word out before f/n stuck their head into the chips aisle and asked if I was done in a chipper voice.

I just take a bag of hot fries, eyes still trained on Jeff, and walk away from him, sensing his eyes still burned into my back. Like he was having a hard time taking his gaze away from me out of pure subconscious instinct. I may be reading into it too much.

But it seemed like we both wanted to say something to each other.

___________________________________________

- Jeff would follow you to your friends house that night.

- it took him awhile to muster up the words bubbling in his throat, stalking you and just..standing in front of you all the time.

- eventually he rasped out your name in the most desperate, lost, love-filled tone that made you literally almost fall down to your knees.

- his tone was more so of desperation because of the void left in his heart after he became a killer and you had left his life. He had needed you back, to fill it.

- he tells you what he does now, killing, in a casual manner. But inside? He’s freaking out that you’ll leave him again.

- he can’t let anyone know he’s freaking out though…

- comes through your window to your room all the time?

- dates are just the park at night like when you were kids. Alone in the slide together just talking about random stuff.

- that or you’re having a movie night.

- he doesn’t give physical affection that much. But he likes receiving it.

- he’ll just wait for you to be in the right position for him to lay down his head so you can play with his hair

- calls it “stupid” (he loves it)

- bullies you /srs

- doesn’t introduce you to the other creeps not for your safety but because he’s jealous.

- randomly likes going into the forest just to aggressively push you up to a tree, grip your hair like there’s no tomorrow and kiss you hard.

- then walks away😟

- whenever you say “I love you” he says “you better”

- I don’t think he’s ever actually said “I love you” as an adult to you.

- if you do ever end up visiting the mansion in his room, he’ll push you off him if someone walks in his room.

- scarily overprotective

- he’s such a meanie too.

- he’s overprotective, unstable, and mean.

- if you’re arguing, he’ll punch a wall near you just to scare you.

- I’m sorry I romanticize him a lot you guys need this..

- when he’s gone for missions he doesn’t call or text.

- but when he gets back he’s super clingy even though he denies it.

- yes, he’s toxic. But he’s also just a really really mentally broken man that needs some love here and there.

- he’ll never give you a white picket fence dream. He’ll give you like..random 7-11 runs at 1:30 am, and chug a monster while discussing random stuff

- he doesn’t call you pet names. If he does it’s baby and that’s when he’s being super soft or sarcastic.

- definitely gave you a necklace with his blood in it…

Hope you liked it!!

Working on a bunch of drafts rn✍️

Tags

#creepypasta x you #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta jeff the killer #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x y/n #jeff the killer headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #i love you #justasecretflower

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little-forest-goblin · 2 months ago

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Forget-me-nots

(In this Five x lila never happened. They only sibling bonded in that damned subway. also in this they didnt cease to exist and become marigolds they ended up going into a different timeline with none of there powers even existing)

Synopsis: After the cleanse everyone had ended up forgetting who they were in the messed up timelines and lived normal lives. But what happens when you remember your husband that doesn’t quite remember you.

———————————————————————

Well this is an interesting turn of events.

You always did feel like something was off. Like something was missing but now knowing you were right is quite freaky to say the least. As a kid you wondered why you had strange dreams. dreams of another life. When you were a kid you’d lay down in your little bed tucked in cozy and snug and look out the window at the stars and moon until you would sleep and then the odd dreams would start. You would always ask your mom about it but she would tell you that its your imagination and that its just dreams and nothing to worry about but every night its like you were in another world. You began to look forward to these dreams brushing your teeth and hopping into bed as quick as possible. There was one thing that kept you coming back. Him. The boy in your dreams. As you grew up he grew up with you in the dreams. You and him got closer in the dreams. When you were younger you found it odd that his name was a five hargreeves. like the number five. you asked him about it but he never did give a straight answer. Either way you and him had your fun pissing off the father in your dreams, reginald. You hated that man even though he was just in your dreams. You hated how he treated vanya(viktor) but you were powerless against his cruel gaze and sharp words.

Around when you turned 13 your dreams took a turn. You and five had crushes on each other and were together all the time. One day in your dreams at the dinner table everyone was eating and doing their own things. Reginald was at the head listening to the record, luther and allison where giving eachother goo goo eyes, klaus was probably rolling a joint under the table, vanya(viktor) ate quietly trying to avoid any scrutiny from reginald, diego was also silently eating and ben was casually reading. Suddenly five took his knife and stabbed it into the table. reginald looked at him “Number 5?” he said in that monotonous tone of disinterest and mild annoyance. “I have a question.” Reginald looked back down at his food “Knowledge is a admirable goal, but you know the tules no talking during mealtimes. You are interrupting Herr carlson” Five looked over at you and you gave him a look basically telling to ‘please tread lightly we both know how father is’ five smiled softly at you before looking back over at reginald with annoyance “I want to time travel” reginald shook his head softly using that damned tone “No” five was quick to answer “But im ready” he pushed out of his chair slowly making a light wood on tile scrape “I’ve been practicing my spatial jumps, just like you said” to prove it he demonstrated said spatial jumps by appearing next to reginald at the head of the table “See?” reginald sighed and picked up his glass “A spatial jump is trivial when compared to the unknowns of time travel one is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.” you silently looked and saw vanya(viktor) silently shaking her head telling him that its not a good idea to continue with this. you must’ve missed some of the conversation cause soon five over to you taking your hand and walking outside pushing open the gate and walking down the street. you were a little shook “Five, what are you doing?” you asked with concern. he didnt look at you and kept walking straight ahead. “We are going to time travel.” you were gonna protest saying what if reginald might be right which he of course countered saying that reginald was mean old bastard and that he doesnt know what he is talking about. You finally agreed and nervously but excitedly jumped with him. you were amazed by the things you saw. you looked around at what is the city but in a different time with a big smile. you laughed as you jumped again and he smiled at you with a small blush tinging his cheeks that you didn’t notice considering you were looking around eventually they jumped into the winter time. you gave a small yelp at the suddenness of the cold and laughed with him as he chuckled at your yelp and then you humped again and were plunged into a hellish landscape. the world destroyed. Fires that burned and raged on. Buildings crumpled and destroyed. dust and smoke lay thick in the air. “F-Five! what happened?! whats going on?!” you panicked and looked to him. he looked just as confused and worried as you “I-I dont know! hold on im getting us back home!” he tried to use his time traveling powers but it just didnt work his hands glowed blue ans crackled to life but it just wouldn’t work. you and him panicked and you and him ran back to what was once the academy. there you saw it crumpled and you saw him fall to his knee’s in shock and distraught. you came over to him and held him even though you were shaking and panicking yourself you tried to help him the best you could.

From that day on your dreams had changed significantly. Every night your dreams felt like years. you and him trapped in that apocalyptic hell surviving on what you can whether its bugs and rotten food. sickness and weariness. you both had each other and thats all that you needed. You and him grew closer in the dreams. Eventually when you were both around the age of 18 you and him officially dated. You and him together and your love uniting you two to be a surviving duo. Though you wished the situation was different but you are glad you could do it with him. you both even made a good friend named dolores. God she was great funny and had a kind heart and had sass to her. Eventually when you where both in your mid twenties you and him had been dating for 6 or 7 years you and him married. He had made matching wedding rings he had made for the metal scrap. it was beautiful and you said yes immediately. You and him were now Mr and Mrs hargreeves. Dolores was the biggest supporter of this happening. Now you wish you could say the dreams didn’t affect you in the waking world but oh they did. You felt wrong every time you had a boyfriend or girlfriend cause you felt like a married woman and hell you even caught yourself saying ‘me and my husband’ a few times which threw people off and you’d have to correct yourself apologizing and making up any excuse that fit. Either way you felt dirty and disloyal for dating so you stayed single and waited till night to be by your husband again.

Eventually at a certain point in the dreams you and him grew old and eventually the handler came along recruiting you and him into the commission to be assassins. He never stopped writing in that journal of his to help you and him leave this and go back home. Eventually you and him did it and got home and to summarize that apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse until you and him were older and he worked for the CIA and lila and diego and all that. Until one day everything clicked in place after a certain dream of being in the cleanse and letting the universe reset and it felt like your life now and the dreams collided into one being merging into you until you woke with a start with a remembrance of everything. Holy shit those aren’t dreams those are real. That was your life. Its like realization hit you like a truck. No wonder you never dreamed of anything else. No wonder you had trouble getting in relationships. No wonder something felt missing but felt right when in the dream.

For a while you fell into this depression missing your husband and missing being with and around him. Missing the small things and missing the shared moments whether it was comfortable silence. One day you were out getting coffee at a coffee shop cause you just needed something to wake you up before heading to work. you walked out the shop and accidentally bumped into someone. You paused and turned to them “Oh my god im so sorry!” the man turned to you and you felt goosebumps down your legs and spine. It was five your beloved husband. You stared in shock and he looked at you and fixed his suit “Its alright. I should’ve been more careful.” He seemed to avoid your eye as he fixed his suit not looking at you at all until he walked away without giving a glance. you stared dumbfounded as he walked and turned the corner. You stood for a moment considering following him but your rational thought told you thats a bad idea cause you’ll look like a creep but eventually the desperation got to you and you followed after him making sure to try and stay hidden. God you felt like a creep but you just needed to know.

Eventually you found he lived in an apartment building a few blocks from your own. why you never saw him? you don’t know. Either way when you got home you tried to figure out a way for him to maybe recognize you. Did he remember you? Did he also have what he thought were dreams? You thought for days until you got an idea and you rushed grabbing your purse and keys and headed out to your car.

~Fives POV~

Its been a few days. A few days and that strange woman wont leave my head. Its been tearing me apart. Who was she? why does she seem familiar? When she bumped me why did my skin tingle and alight like a fireplace having a lit match thrown in. For days now i’ve been sitting and pondering about her but i’ve tried in vain to make her leave my head. I’ve tried to distract myself to no avail. Its a Saturday afternoon and its oddly peaceful. Im making my normal cup of coffee though i should drink water. I can hear her in my head telling me to drink water instead of so much coffee all the time. I smile softly looking back at the dreams. I look at my ring finger seeing the ring i made in my dreams. I couldn’t bare to part with it i had to make it. I wanted her to be real and put that ring on her finger all over again but in the waking world. Suddenly a knock at the door interrupt my thoughts. I groan and went to the door. Who is here at this time of day? i look through the peephole seeing no one. odd. i open the chain lock and look around seeing nobody until i look to the floor and there laid a bouquet. Not just any bouquet its full of scorpion grasses or more commonly known as forget me nots. where did i read or learn about this? i have no clue. wait where did i learn this? I look at there blue color and then suddenly there’s a throb in my head and i remember something in my dreams. Forget me nots… the untouched field…his proposal…

With shaking hands i picked up the bouquet and looked at it gently feeling one of the petals. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

~in the “dream”~

The sun beat down on you and him. Thankfully there was a light breeze and they had gotten to a more rural area. countryside if you will. the years they spent here cause the plants to come back but in full force growing over things and vining up walls and over bricks and glass. You and him carefully were searching the ruins of the house careful for glass and rust. Five called to you “Careful for any glass, love!” you chuckled and looked to him as he searched under some bricks of what used to be a kitchen portion of the small farmhouse “You act as if we haven’t been doing this since we were 13.” he gave a lopsided smile and stood up from his crouched position “Yes but i also remember you distinctly cutting your arm on some collapsed metal rafting after i told you to be careful for them.” you looked at him in amused disbelief “That was one time! one time! You still hold that over my head?!” you laughed in amusement and incredulously. he put his hands in his pocket and walked closer to you “Not holding over your head, love, just watching out for my clumsy girl and no its been multiple times now.” he stopped infront of you with a smug but loving look. You were about to protest but opted to stay quiet and continue you and his search for sustenance all while grumbling about how yo it not all THAT clumsy. He laughed amused by your silence “What was that love?” you looked to him and narrowed your eyes playfully “Shouldn’t you be helping me out here?” he chuckled and went over to the kitchen to search cabinets. After some time of you searching with no avail you stood dusting your gloved hands off and looked around till you looked out a broken window to behind the house seeing a field. you curiously went to the unhinged door and stepped through to find a flower field. A field of forget me nots. You took in the beauty. it’s been a while since you saw beauty such as this in a dead end world. You smiled walking of the old porch and into the middle of the field and laid down in the middle of it smiling closing your eyes and sighing. Meanwhile five had found some food in a cabinet and thank god for it being unopened canned food and not twinkies. he shudders when he thinks of that. he calls to you “Babe! i found some food. We even got some canned pie filling. i call dibs on…” he trails off when he doesnt hear you answer. he turned his head and walked to the once was the living room. “Babe?” he looked around till he saw your figure laid in the field. he smiled and went out the back door and went to you standing over you. “enjoying yourself, love?” you opened your eyes looking up at him smiling and nodded. he chuckled and looked around at the peace and serenity of the moment. he looked back to you and decided now was the tight time. “Babe, i wanna ask you something.” you furrowed your brows a little and sat up “What is it baby? something wrong?” he chuckled and smiled and watched as you stood “No nothing wrong infact better then ever.” he took your hand kissing the top of it then bringing your hand over his heart. “My love, you have been the best thing to happen to me. Before dating, before getting stuck in the apocalypse and before things went to shit. I love you and always will. You have been the best thing to happen to me.” your eyes went a little wide as he lowered to own knee “Five…” he smiled up at her pulling out the ring that was to fit her finger “Y/N L/N will you be my wife?” you smiled and tears fell down he cheeks and she nodded “Yes!” she leaped on him in a hug laughing he felt relief flood him like a tidal wave. he hugged you back tightly till he pulled back and took your hand sliding the ring on your fingers and kissing you to seal the deal.

~End of “Dream”~

He was wide eyed shocked as dreams collided with reality and realization hit his face “Oh my god….”

~Your POV~

you where hiding as you watched him from the door. a little stalkerish? yes. then again thats your husband and it seems as though he is remembering. You smiled as everything went according to plan now all you had to do was walk out and reveal yourself but sadly your shoe laces had come undone and you fell out in the open with a ‘Umph’ you groaned and sat back up “Ow son of a bi-“ you then remembered and looked to five who was looking at you with shock and love and desperation. “babe…its you…Y/N” you looked to him nervously swallowed and nodded “Five?” you and him felt whole again seeing eachother but the desperation to be closer pulled you in and you ran into his arms as fast as you had fallen. You peppered his face in kisses “Oh i never thought i’d see you again! I thought i’d be destined to be alone.” he chuckled and held you close then captured your lips in a tender kiss till he pulled back and laid his forehead on his. his hands on either of your cheeks. “I cant tell you how much i missed you.” She smiled and held his own face between her hands. “I love you five” he smiled and kissed you again pulling back softly “I love you too”. Everything my felt right again. Whole. Complete. You had your husband back and he had his wife back. For the rest of the day both you and him where wrapped up in each others arms. embraced. Catching up with whats been going on and laid down in bed kissing and cuddling. Everything was as it should be.

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Hey y’all i hope you guys liked this story! Im not to good at writing but I’m trying my best. I hope you enjoyed and hope you have a good day ❤️

P.S sorry for any grammatical errors

#five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreaves x you #the umbrella academy x reader #tua s4 #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #tua season 4 #tua #tua4 #number five #number five x reader #number five x you

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saints-who-never-existed · 2 months ago

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So we all know that Blanky is cool and badass as fuck. That goes without saying. There's a sense, right from the get-go really, that he pretty much always knows what to do in any given situation.

Blanky knows when humour will lift a mood, and when seriousness is required. He knows when to give grace and kindness, and when to dole out much-needed tough-love.

I think it always worth repeating, though, that none of that would be possible without an extremely high degree of empathy and emotional intelligence. To me, that's Blanky's real greatest strength. It's the root of what makes him so cool and badass as fuck so I want to ramble more about some examples of it.

In Episode Two, for instance, we have his nighttime conversation with Crozier where Blanky matches the captain's energy beat for beat.

He laughs with him first about the erstwhile reindeer and while he remains optimistic throughout the rest of the scene, he's also honest, both acknowledging Crozier's various fears and drilling down to the root of them immediately - "Aye. You trusted Ross and you trusted Parry."

When Crozier remarks on his perceptiveness, Blanky's incredibly tactful and kind too - a casual "No, it's just that I know you." when in reality Crozier's been doing a horseshit job of concealing his thoughts and they're visible from fuckin' space.

In the following episode, I think the response Blanky gives to Little's fearful teatime diatribe is great.

In contrast to Crozier's vague and even condescending reply which only seems to rile him up further, Blanky shuts Little down clearly and firmly but without being unkind. I think a simple, factual response was the right tactic for the lawful-good sort of guy Little is.

I think his accurate judgement of Little's character is further confirmed later in the episode vis a vis the clandestine rescue party. He's right when he says "Lieutenant Little will never agree to it."

Another example that's very special to me personally is in Episode Five and it's not Blanky delivering his warning after Crozier punches Fitzjames, or even when he lightens the mood with jokes and toasts before having his own fuckin' leg sawn off (although I could talk about those forever).

It's actually a wee almost throwaway line Blanky utters to McDonald right before he heads up on deck:

"He's ill with it now..."

Crozier's behaved abhorrently to everyone around him up until that point. He's been vicious and manipulative, cruel and thoughtless. Threatening to throw Silna out into the elements and actually following through with Blanky, ordering him out into weather he knows full well is so cold that it literally just killed a man.

It would be so easy for Blanky to decide that that was final straw, that he was done with Crozier's bullshit. But no! Even then, even then, Blanky seems to be able to take a step back to some degree. To recognise Crozier's alcoholism for what it is - a debilitating illness and not some great moral failing.

It used to confuse me to some degree why Blanky would greet Crozier so warmly at Carnivale (other than the fact that the absolute mad-lad is drunk off his ass). Like, that's the man who made the decision that lead to you nearly dying and losing a limb - how can you just hug him as if none of that happened? But the more I thought about that earlier line, the more clearly it spoke of the incredible depth of understanding and feeling Blanky has for Crozier and the more beautiful that relationship became. He can forgive him so quickly because he can see so clearly the true person under the difficult surface.

We talk so much about Blanky remaining outside of the horror story the rest of the characters come to inhabit, refusing to dignify it with his presence. And, again, I just think an important part of the reason he's able to do so is that he sees the world around him and the people within in it for exactly what it is and for exactly who they are. It's just a lot harder to jump-scare a man who sees the mask you're wearing from a mile away, and understands precisely why you've donned it.

#I have SO MANY more thoughts about this but the post was long enough already #I'm going to think more about it and chime in further later #Like I want to talk again about Blanky's relationship with and mentorship of wee Tom Hartnell for one thing #Another moment I love that needs more scrutiny is his admonishment of Little in E08 too #It's another instance of him being tough and firm with the man without being unkind #And I love that Blanky even follows it up with physical reassurance - a language we know Little understands and responds to #Anyway #Further coherence impending!#The Terror #The Terror AMC #Thomas Blanky #Francis Crozier #Observations #Meta #Long Post

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lacesoflove · 9 days ago

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NOW SHOWING: LOVING YOU

WARNING – afab!reader. nsfw. smoking. not proofread. there’s a bit of misogynistic language from y/n/narrator’s (?) pov. y/n has anxiety but it’s only mentioned and used once for a single line. it sort of turns into a lot of yapping at the end lol because i cant edit dialogue for shit

AUTHOR’S NOTE – been in a bad writer’s slump due to depression but miraculously got this out in 30 mins on my notes app ?? like hello ?? what ?? (its very obvious it was written in 30 mins though) also, for non smokers a pen is like a vape but with weed idfk. and this is based off of a redactedasmr’s patreon video!

YOU HAD TAKEN A LIKING TO BEING ON YOUR KNEES LIKE THAT.

You remembered the catalyst - which is what you refereed to do as the day it started. It was late and you had found out your boyfriend had blown you off because his trust fund bimbo ex girlfriend had walked back into his life and one “it’s you, it’s me” conversation over, later, you were single and desperately horny. You had remembered your hot neighbour next door and suddenly you were knocking outside his door and there he came, opening the door, a blunt loosely held in his fingers and his eyes low. You can’t recall what you said to get in, but next thing you knew you were on his couch, smoking his blunt and it felt nice. And in the depths of your delusional high, it felt like he was your boyfriend and this was your life.

You’d run into each other more frequently, you’d come over more. It was never serious and it was always friendly until you had made some dumb joke about ovulating and he had laughed and then something in the room shifted and then you both shifted and then suddenly he was eating you out on his couch. And it was like that mostly, you’d come over, you’d hang out, talk to him about shit and then you’d both fuck. You’d never understood friends with benefits but maybe you did - sometimes you didn’t because you wanted more, but sometimes that just felt like small but of loneliness nagging.

Then it became more serious and you started going places together and he’d introduce you to his friends; the very same couple you’d see occasionally. And they’d share knowing glances when they both knew his eyes had travelled up your legs far too often and that he knew way too many minute details about you for someone he introduced as a, “casual friend and neighbour”. It was obvious but he was just a neighbour? Right? Right.

Until he wasn’t, until it was about two months into your entanglement and you were in between his legs, your cheeks hollowed as you took him in your mouth. He stared at you with a fucked out gaze, there was something underneath that gaze that, at the time, you couldn’t point out.

“Fuck, you take me so well.” He managed to get out, in between his soft whimpers and whines. “That feels good?” You asked him as you pulled away, with a string of saliva following. “You like when I do that?” “Yeah.” He breathed out.

You took him back in again and he fell back into the Heavens.

“You like this?” You mumbled, full of him. “F-fuck I’m gonna-“ he threw his head back. “Take me so good. Always take me so good.” You just nodded, as you waited for the inevitable now that his hormones were right at the rim. Like clockwork, his warm seed eventually spilt out. You stared up at him, doe-eyed, practically covered in his cum. A silence fell over the room. You were waiting for him to let out a small quip about sex - what you weren’t expecting was an I love you.

Neither was he. He felt a sense of shame wash over him. Had he actually just told you he loved you, during head?

“Hamzah what? What do you-“

“I’m sorry,” he was rambling, every corner, syllable and entire tone was laced with an anxiety even you, some diagnosed with anxiety, couldn’t comprehend. “I love you but I didn’t mean to say it now during head. I’m sorry. I mean - I’m not because I do love you a lot Y/N, I’ve liked you since I moved in here and couldn’t make a move and I’m sorry for ruining this.”

In his waterline you could notice the welling up of tears. “I’m so sorry, but I love you-“

You stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, but then it came to you and you realised, honestly? You did love him too. You had loved the way he understood you, you had loved coming over to his apartment and seeing his cats. You had loved when you texted him to come help you take groceries into your own apartment. You had loved how he understood your body and made everything you detested about your body something you loved. You had loved the way he held your hands as he ate you out or kissed your forehead in missionary. So yeah, you did love him - you had come to realised.

“Yeah no. I love you too? I think.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. I do?” “I’m serious when I said I love you,” Hamzah whispered with a slight stutter. “You don’t have to love me back though. I don’t want you to think I said that shit because of the heat of the moment or the weed. I’ve been wanting to tell you. Ask Mandy or Martin or even your friend, Ashley about it.” “Baby, I know you love me.” You said smiling. “You do?” “I do.”

“C’here!” He said scooping you up from your knees and up onto the couch into his lap. You kissed him silly and he kissed you back. “In the morning, I’ll take you out to that cafe you like. And I’ll get you what you want. And then we’ll go to that park you like afterwards.”

“Uh-huh,” you couldn’t help the grin coming onto your face.

“And we’ll go to the lake that you like?”

“What about what you like?” You interjected.

“Don’t worry about it - what I like is you.” He said dismissively with a smile. “And I’ll tell you ‘I love you’.”

“You just did.”

“I can never stop telling you that - and this time it’ll be proper and not during sex or anything and shit, you know what? I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend.”

“And I’ll say yes?” You asked him, coyly, as you began playing with a loose curl. Entranced by the way it bounced back when you pulled on it. Everything about him entranced you honestly.

“Of course. I’ll even propose to you with those fake plastic frog rings you like.”

“And I’ll be your girlfriend?” “And you’ll be my girlfriend.” He said, staring at you with a love that felt like a thousand burning suns. “And I’ll be your girlfriend.” You affirmed. “And then you’ll marry me and I’ll be Mrs. Fantastic?”

“Okay!” He giggled, as he kissed the crook of your neck. “Let’s not get too far.”

“It has a nice ring to it.” “It does.”

“Fuck I love you.”

“I love you too.”

taglist: @adiormoi @lordofthefrogs11 @venus-planetof-love @homesick4la @titus-androgynous-69 @cheesecakeluver @Ifegoeson @iluvhamzah

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x reader #hamzahxreader #slushy noobz #slushynoobz #hamzah imagines #hamzahthefanatasticxreader

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smelt-starverse · 5 months ago

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On the Amphibia Timeskip Designs

Hi! I know I normally don't do analysis posts like these, but I got into an interesting conversation (read: infodumped hard to a couple of unsuspecting friends) about the subject on Discord earlier and I felt like it might be enjoyed by you all. Anyways, to begin...

I think the best place to start is Marcy. The thing that jumps out to me about her new design the most to me is her color scheme.

Across the board, everything is brighter and more saturated. Her dark blue coat has been swapped for a bright blue jacket, her dull green skirt has been traded for some vibrant green pants, her shirt has gone from a light gray to an off-white, and her debatably brown boots have been replaced with light brown, almost orange shoes.

Through the entire series, her hair is neat, properly combed (when not messed up by water or helmet-hair, anyways), and it's got this layer of gloss to it. It's a pretty innocuous set of details...

...but I think the picture comes together better when we compare it to her hair in the finale. It's less neat, it's messy in places, but it's not greasy anymore. It's not constrained at all, it's healthy and doing its own thing. And I think, in a way, that applies to her outfit as a whole. Throughout the "present" of Amphibia, Marcy is nearly always wearing a uniform of some kind; her school uniform, the Newtopian Night Guard uniform, the Core's greaves, it's always a look forced on her. In the finale, though, she finally gets to make her own decision on what to wear. It's casual, but it's her, emphasized by the personal touches like the pins on her jacket and the figures on her bag that expand out from little expressions of freedom on her original design. She's even got ear piercings, something typically associated with rebellion and freedom. She's finally allowed to be her own person. Not anybody else's, just... herself.

My thoughts on Sasha and Anne are a bit less in-depth, but there's definitely interesting stuff to mention regardless.

It might not seem like Sasha's changed much visually during the timeskip. Her hair is cut pretty much the same way, she still has a pink accessory on her head, she's still wearing a skirt and a jacket (like she did over her school uniform), and... I think that's intentional. It's a subtle sign that most of Sasha's growth wasn't off-screen during a ten-year time jump...

...it was during Season 3. With every redesign she got from her Barrel's Warhammer redesign onwards, her design got softer. Less spikes, more rounded edges, less rigidity. She even undid her ponytail, not holding her hair back anymore. Her reds got less area on her design, until on the timeskip look they were pretty much replaced entirely with a simple purple skirt. All that aggressiveness is gone, replaced with a comparatively soft design...

...and with the addition of a blue shirt to her color palette. It comes off as a little random, but considering her new profession as a therapist, I think a light and soft color palette featuring hues that are easy on the eyes is an important part of that. It's subtle, but I think it helps a lot.

And finally... Anne.

I find Anne's timeskip design to be the most difficult to talk about in this context, because it's mostly just a regular uniform. The green polo, beige shorts, white undershirt, and lanyard are just what she has to wear to work, and I find it a little difficult to find meaning from it... but that doesn't mean there's nothing there.

Let's get the obvious one out of the way. The leaf scrunchy is a cute way to call back to Anne's hair leaves, a pretty defining aspect of her original design dating all the way back to the first episode of the show that followed her all through her journey in Amphibia. It's a fun little way to reminisce on her past... but it's not the only part of her outfit dedicated to reminiscing.

That little blue flower band on her wrist is also easy to miss, but pretty obvious what it's referencing once you notice it.

It's most obviously a callback to the blue flower crown from earlier in the same episode, but Anne's almost always been associated with blue and flowers, with even her energy aura in her Calamity form taking the shape of blue flower petals.

But those are just simple callbacks. I think the two things that tell us the most about Anne's growth and who she is now... are these.

For her entire exodus in Amphibia, Anne's had one ragged shoe to keep her company. She wasn't ready for an adventure in the swamp. Now, she has proper rain boots, something designed to actually withstand the kind of work she does now. She's fully become comfortable with where she is and who she wants to be. And, of course, there's that little bandage on her leg. Perhaps it's a sign that she's still going out there, undergoing little adventures, taking risks and getting into trouble. Maybe it's a sign that that spirit we come to know so well over the course of the show is still alive and well... or maybe it's where she takes her estrogen shots

#amphibia #marcy wu #sasha waybright #anne boonchuy #character design

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fernandopiastri28 · 3 months ago

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tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter, all pics from pinterest

warnings: daddy issues, poor father-daughter relationship, jealousy, (this chapter is just like pure fluff though 😚)

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 5: Allow yourself to be happy, even if it scares you

The next few weeks drifted by in a blur of monotony, which honestly, was a nice break from everything that had been going on in the last months. She barely saw Oscar as he was away racing, which was disappointing especially since she wanted to spend time with him now that they’d finally reached an understanding that they would try to be something.

They did call nearly every day, managing and manouevering around time differences. They were only about 7 hours apart, so it was always midday for one of them, and night or morning for the other. It usually ended up that it was always midday for her, and night for Oscar, who was at the track during the day.

Even though he was a couple thousand miles away in Russia, it didn’t feel that far each time they called. Sometimes they’d do facetime- sometimes it would just be their voices. Whatever it was, it was always nice to have his voice on the other end of the line, familiar and warm.

In the days before Mark headed off to Russia, she found herself trying harder with him. She’d learned that showing an interest in Oscar was the key to unlocking even the most guarded parts of Mark, so she’d use it to her advantage.

It was definitely a bitter pill to swallow- realising that her dad would likely always favor his protégé over her, but accepting it made life easier- tension at home, which had been a constant undercurrent for as long as she could remember, seemed to ease. Conversations with him became bearable, even if they were mostly about Oscar and nearly never about anything to do with her own like.

And, if she were honest with herself, it was nice to hear more about Oscar, even if it was through her dad’s lens. It gave her insight into his life that she didn’t always get from their calls. When they called, it was hardly racing related beyond the initial question of How’d the car feel today? or, How was training?. They’d talk like any other couple their age would- favourite movies, music and artists, things they wanted to do when Oscar got back.

She actually did want to ask Oscar more about his racing, because she couldn’t help but feel like he was sometimes intentionally swerving around the question because he assumed she would hear about it enough at home.

In reality, she had an interest in racing because of Oscar. It was boring coming from her dad, but when it came from Oscar- all the passion and excitement that his voice carried when he spoke about it, she was fully content for it to be the only thing they ever talked about.

She could’ve just asked Oscar directly, ask him to talk to her about it because she actually is interested, but there was something about the idea of being seen as clingy that held her back. They’re separate people still, and maybe Oscar avoids racing when speaking to her because it’s his thing separate from her, it’s his thing.

And she didn’t want to intrude on that and make him feel like he has to let her in on every bit of him. He’d probably get silently annoyed with her over time, being too nice to say anything- he’d settle with silently stewing in irritation. The idea of being a clingy and over invasive girlfriend that her boyfriend secretly hates truly haunted her.

Girlfriend? Boyfriend? It wasn’t something they had officially decided on. They hadn’t discussed labels, hadn’t defined what this was, but it was clear they were exclusive. They were in that liminal space between something casual and something real, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

It’s something they’ll hopefully discuss after the race week is over, because she’s been driving herself a little crazy wondering just how real this is. She knows that the depth and truth of a relationship don’t rely on a label, but it’s something she’s always valued. She doesn’t just want to be with Oscar- she wants to be able to call him her boyfriend, to tell people she’s in a relationship, hear Oscar refer to her as his girlfriend.

When Mark did head off to join Oscar in Russia, the house became just her’s for the next couple of weeks, the emptiness giving her a full sense of freedom. She could’ve hosted so many parties- invite absolutely anyone she wants to and however many people. Yet, she’d rather have been with Oscar in Sochi.

Her dad didn’t give her a reason why she wasn’t coming to this race, he just didn’t come into her room one day and tell her to pack a bag with clothes matching the weather in wherever the F2 race would be hosted.

The solitude of being completely alone in the house wasn’t too bad though- it gave her time to think, to reflect on everything that had happened.

One evening, as the sun dips low in the sky and paints her room in shades of orange and pink, she lays sprawled out on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The quiet is almost too loud, her breathing being the only thing to break the stillness.

It’s been too long of being just her in the house. Even though it’s not as if the house is always loud and busy. It’s often just her and her dad, both of whom are naturally rather quiet, yet, there’s always some sort of noise, whether that’s one of them having a friend over or someone being on a call, there’s some sort of background constantly there.

Inviting some friends over is obviously an option, but she doesn’t think she’d be great company right now- too busy moping around and missing Oscar. To try and fill the emptiness, she reaches for her phone, scrolling aimlessly through instagram.

She follows both alpine and prema for pictures of Oscar, and embarrassingly even occasionally checks a fanpage for him- one that posts every single new piece of content of him. There’s one posted only a few hours ago- a candid shot of him taken at the track, his helmet under his arm, looking off into the distance with that serious expression he often wore before a race.

He looks adorable, even all stone faced and emotionless. Before she can talk herself out of it, she sends off a quick message.

Hey, hope everything’s going well in Russia. I miss you 😚

Simple, to the point, and not too clingy, she hopes. Neither of them are strangers to a heart or kiss emoji after their texts, so she doesn’t worry that she going too far with it.

A response comes in quicker than expected,

Miss you too. Can’t wait to see you when I’m back ❤️.

Even though it’s just a few words on a screen, simply knowing Oscar’s on the other end of the phone and thinking about her is enough to set her mind at ease. She shuts her phone off, content with just knowing he’s on the other side. She can’t spend all her days patiently waiting for him to get back, empty eyes and unmoving.

Peeling herself off her bed, she heads into her bathroom to take a shower and think about what she should do these next few days to get her mind off Oscar while she gets ready.

Even though it seems like forever, the days do eventually pass and she doesn’t spend them all rotting in her room. She hates that she feels somewhat dependent on Oscar, so this time away from him needs to be something that she becomes comfortable with and used to, a time that she spends focused on herself, instead of forcing herself do go out and live life solely so she isn’t missing him.

Her time is filled with small things- reading, going for walks, meeting up with friends, cooking. But always, in the back of her mind, there’s that anticipation for when Oscar finally returns. She wondered what it would be like when he was back, if things would feel different, if they’d finally have that conversation about what they were to each other.

But for now, she was okay with the uncertainty. For now, she could wait.

She watches the feature race, Oscar starts on pole and wins the race. It’s his third pole and third win for the season, and based on a quick call she has with her Dad, it seems to be the deciding point of the season. It’s obviously not yet confirmed that Oscar will be the F2 champion, but it’s certainly looking like that.

They don’t speak about it on the phone, not a single word about the championship or even just the race weekend. Oscar doesn’t bring it up, so she doesn’t either. They instead talk about seeing eachother when he gets back, which his flight is the next day. They’ll have the house to themselves for two days since Mark is staying in Sochi for another week for meetings and other race related commitments.

When the day comes, she offers to drive out to the airport to meet him, but Oscar insists that he’ll just take a taxi since he gets back at like 7am, and doesn’t want her to have to be getting up and out of bed before the sun is even up.

That gives her extra time to spend on getting ready, making herself look her best before she sees him. It’s not like he’s not going to like how she looks if she doesn’t do anything, hopefully, but she still wants to make an effort to look good for him.

Clothes cover her hardwood floor, tossed aside in the search for the ‘perfect’ outfit. Her hairs still a mess, and her lips are cracked and dry, and seriously picking out her outfit is the least of her worries right now when she still hasn’t showered, eaten, brushed her teeth, or made her bed.

She only gets two of those things done, shower and teeth, before the doorbell rings. Luckily, she’s already got a denim skirt on, so she grabs the closet top and pulls it over her head as she rushes downstairs. She almost trips over her own feet on the scramble down the stairs, but manages to catch herself and be nearly fully composed by the time she’s opening the front door.

And there Oscar is, in all of his perfect glory. He’s got a race winner glow to him, bright eyes, a soft smile, just oozing confidence. He looks good, even more than he usually always does. “Hi,” Her voice barely comes out, more winded and out of breath.

“Hey,” He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. He pushes his suitcase slightly to the side so there’s nothing inbetween them, just far too much space. They both just look at each other for a moment, the air thick and heavy. It feels as natural as breathing when he finally moves and wraps his arms around her waist and rests his head against hers.

She meets him halfway, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck. “I missed you,” She murmurs into the collar of his cotton shirt. It smells so good, not even of his cologne, but just of Oscar. The faint undertone of hotel body wash, and just him.

He tilts his head, kissing her cheek. “I missed you too,” He smiles against her, his voice a whisper. “You look so pretty,” He pulls away slightly to look at her, his eyes scanning over her bare face. She feels her cheeks heat up, suddenly very conscious about her lack of makeup and likely presence of redness and dark undereyes.

His thumb slides across her cheek, his lips slightly parted. He looks like he’s about to say it again, tell her how she’s so pretty. “Stop it,” She pushes his hand away slightly, feeling the heat from her cheeks travel down to spread across her neck.

Oscar chuckles softly, his hand lingering near her face as if he can’t quite bring himself to fully let go. “I’m serious,” he insists, his voice warm and genuine. “You’re so so pretty,” He ducks his head for a kiss, his lips slipping against hers.

He feels like home, warm and soft and all hers. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen me in a while.” She rolls her eyes as he pulls away, resting his forehead against hers.

Oscar huffs, exasperated and sarcastically dramatised. “Nah,” He shakes his head, a teasing glint in his eyes, “You know I’d say that even if I saw you every day,” His arms tighten, squeezing her waist tighter. “I think you’re pretty every single day,”

Her heart does a little flip at that, and she can’t help but smile back at him, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and happiness bubbling inside her. It’s been a while since she’s felt this light, this carefree in someone’s presence. It’s like Oscar carries this effortless ability to make her forget about everything else- her dad, the complications, the uncertainty of what they are. In moments like these, it’s just them.

“Okay, okay, I accept it,” She giggles, her hands moving to hold onto his shoulders, getting a good look at him. “So, how was Russia?” she says, trying to change the subject, though her voice is still tinged with laughter. She avoids asking directly about the race, but she’s pretty sure just asking about the country is a safe discussion topic.

“Cold.” He grimaces, raising his eyebrows slightly, “Nice though, definitely worth it.” It seems like he might be steering the conversation towards discussing racing, but then he quickly pulls back. I’ve got something for you.” He reaches into the pocket of his sport shorts and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped package. “Open it,” He grins, his cheeks as rosy as hers.

She carefully unwraps the package, revealing a delicate golden necklace with a tiny, intricate pendant shaped like a star. “I remembered you saying you like gold jewelery, so I went to four different shops trying to find this specific necklace.. because everywhere else they only sold it in silver,” He sways slightly, seemingly a bit nervous.

It’s simple, yet beautiful, and her breath catches in her throat as she looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Oscar,” Her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s smiling. She’s so incredibly fond of him. “It’s beautiful.” She looks back down at it, resting the charm in her palm, “You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to,” he interrupts gently, his voice coming out in a single breathe. “I saw it and thought of you. It’s just a little something, you know, to remind you that I’m thinking of you even when I’m halfway across the world.”

She nods, still processing. “Thank you,” she finally says, her voice soft, filled with emotion. “It’s really nice, it’s gorgeous,” She quickly corrects herself. “I love it.”

He smiles, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge how she really feels. She watches as the stress and panic drains from his face and is replaced with relief and a smile. “Can I put it on you?”

She nods again, turning around and lifting her hair to expose the back of her neck. He shruggles with it for a few seconds, clearly not having much experience of putting on necklaces. Luckily, his uncut nails help him out, hooking onto the metal.

His fingers brush against her skin as he fastens the clasp, and she shivers slightly at the contact, her pulse quickening. “There,” he murmurs, his voice close to her ear. “Perfect.”

She turns back to face him, her hand reaching up to touch the pendant resting against her collarbone. It feels like a promise, a small piece of him that she can carry with her wherever she goes. His eyes are directly just staring at her chest where the pendant lies, and probably the surrounding skin too. “Thank you, Osc,”

Oscar’s smile softens, and he steps closer, his hands finding her waist again. And then, before she can say anything else, he leans in and kisses her, slow and sweet, like he’s savoring every moment. She melts into the kiss, all her worries and doubts fading away as she loses herself in the warmth of his lips, the feel of his hands on her, the steady beat of his heart against hers.

When it does finally end, she looks up at him, their noses still nudging against each other’s. Her palms grow sweaty and her skin prickles up in goosebumps from how he looks down at her. She knows he’s about to say something, something that’s about to change everything. She doesn’t want to assume what it is, but she’s got a pretty good idea of what it could be.

And if it is what she thinks it is, the answer is going to be the most definite yes ever.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

y/n.webber

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 3,105 others

y/n.webber you're caught between a dream and a movie scene 🌺

user1 is this mark webber's daughter?

-> y/n.webber yes lol

-> user2 ohh so thats why logan and oscar both liked this

-> user3 who r oscar and logan?

-> user2 formula 2 drivers! oscar is managed by her dad

user4 ahhh so prettyyy

-> y/n.webber thank you love!!!

bsf/n shut up im so excited for summer

-> y/n.webber AND ZAYN TOUR HOPEFULLYYY

oscarpiastri

liked by frederikvestiofficial, aussiegrit and 28,193 others

oscarpiastri Super happy to get my third pole position in a row, and back-to-back feature race wins. Always a pleasure, cheers Sochi 🤟

user5 CONGRATS OSCAR!!

-> user6 i need him in f1 like rn

-> user7 so true

aussiegrit 👏💯

logansargeant lesss goo mate

user8 deserves that 2nd alpine seat next year

last chapter, next chapter

after such a sad chapter last time, they're finally happy!!! yayayay :)) sorry this chapter took a while, hopefully it was worth it :) also enjoy the inclusion of spider being a zayn fan in the sm part bc i am projecting onto her and literally making her my twin 😋

taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party, @forza-charles, @sltwins, @sweetwh0re, @lucktales, @ellen3101, @nxlx96, @notantou, @cloud-55, @wisestarfishbouquet,

#oscar #oscar piastri #mark webber #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren #lando norris #f1 2024 #fernandopiastri28

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synsacra · 10 days ago

Text

catharsis

pairing: modern best friend's dad shanks x fem!reader

contents: smut, unprotected piv, ooc shanks maybe, soft shanks, age gap, kitchen sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), praise, loooots of pet names (darlin', sweetheart), aftercare

words: 4.1k

a/n: not proofread also this is my first time writing shanks and i know barely anything abt him i just know he's silly and hot as hell so yeah :P this fic stems from my SEVERE daddy issues and need for comfort if u dont like, dont read

You're sitting on Uta's bed, the soft hum of the air conditioner a comforting backdrop to your thoughts, and the scent of that sickly sweet vanilla candle that Uta loves fills her bedroom. You’ve been here countless times before, but today feels different. Your heart races as you glance at the door, half-expecting it to creak open. You can almost hear Shanks' deep voice echoing in your mind, sending shivers down your spine.

Uta is downstairs, chatting away with her dad while he makes lunch. You should be there too, joining in on the conversation, laughing at their jokes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your fingers trace the outline of a photo on the bedside table–a candid shot of Shanks and Uta from last summer. He’s grinning, his only arm slung casually around her shoulders, his red hair glowing under the sun. His eyes, though, are what draw you in. They seem to hold a depth of experience and warmth that makes you squirm.

You feel a flush creep up your neck as you imagine those eyes meeting yours, boring into your soul. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought, but it lingers, growing stronger with each passing moment. You close your eyes, picturing him standing before you, towering over you with that easy confidence that always seems to dominate any room he enters.

"You okay?" Uta's voice snaps you out of your daydreams.

You jump, startled, and turn to see her standing in the doorway with a concerned look on her face.

"You looked like you were miles away," she says, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile. "Just... thinking."

She plops down beside you. "About what?"

You hesitate, not sure how to answer. The truth is too embarrassing. Instead, you shrug and say, "Nothing important. Just school stuff."

Uta raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. She leans back against the pillows, propping her feet up on the bed. "Dad made sandwiches if you're hungry," she chirps.

Your stomach flutters at the mention of him. "Sounds good," you murmur, still unable to shake the image of Shanks from your mind.

As if on cue, the door opens again, and there he is. Shanks stands framed in the doorway, holding a tray laden with sandwiches, chips, and drinks. His presence is magnetic, commanding your attention without even trying. He strides in and sets the tray on the bed between you and Uta.

"Thought you girls might be hungry," he says with a smile, his eyes briefly meeting yours before darting away. Something in his gaze, something unreadable, sends a jolt through you. You nod shyly, picking up a sandwich and taking a bite.

Uta chatters on about her plans for the weekend, but all you can think about is Shanks. What would it feel like to have those strong hands on you, to feel the heat of his body so close? The thoughts make your breath quicken and your skin tingle.

Shanks excuses himself after a few minutes, heading back downstairs to give you some privacy. As soon as the door closes behind him, you exhale sharply, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

"He really is the best, isn't he?" Uta says, her eyes bright as she eats.

"Yeah," you agree softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "He really is."

The afternoon drags on, each minute feeling like an hour as your thoughts circle back to Shanks. You try to focus on Uta and engage in the conversation, but it’s useless. Your mind keeps drifting, imagining scenarios that leave you breathless.

After a while, Uta yawns and decides to take a nap, leaving you to your own devices. You lie back on the bed next to her, staring up at the ceiling, but your thoughts are far from restful. Images of Shanks flood your mind–his smile, his laugh, the way his body looks beneath his shirt–until you can’t stand it anymore.

You slip out of the bedroom, moving silently down the hall towards the stairs. Your heart pounds with every step, but you don’t stop. You need to see him, if only for a moment.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you pause, listening for any sign of movement. The house is quiet, save for the sound of water coming from the kitchen. You take a deep breath and step forward, your pulse racing as you approach.

And there he is, standing at the counter, his back to you as he rinses a dish under the running water. The sight of him fills you with a mix of fear and excitement.

“Shanks?” His name slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling slightly.

He turns, wiping his hands on a towel, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, slowly, he smiles, a warm, knowing smile that makes your knees weak.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth and low. “What can I do for you?”

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I… I was just wondering if you needed any help. With anything.”

He chuckles softly, setting the towel down and leaning against the counter. “You don’t need to help me, sweetheart. But I appreciate the offer.”

His casual tone only heightens your nervousness, your resolve wavering. You take a tentative step closer, your eyes dropping to his chest, where his shirt is open.

“Are you sure?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, studying you for a long moment before he speaks. “Is everything okay, darlin’?”

His words are soft, but they carry a weight that makes your chest tighten. His gaze pierces through your composure, and you find yourself frozen, unsure of what to say or do next.

“I…” Your voice falters, the excuse you had in mind dissolving under the intensity of his attention. You glance at the floor, desperately trying to collect yourself.

Shanks pushes off the counter and takes a slow step toward you. His movements are deliberate but unthreatening, his head tilting slightly as if trying to read your thoughts. “You seem a little off,” he says, his tone gentle but probing. “If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment before the rush of emotions becomes too much, and you glance away again. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he replies, his voice steady. “But you’re not a very good liar.” There’s a flicker of amusement in his tone, but it’s tempered with genuine concern.

Your cheeks burn. The words are on the tip of your tongue—an apology, an excuse, anything to break the tension—but they never come. Instead, you say, “I just… wanted to talk.”

It’s not a lie, exactly, but it feels like one. Shanks leans back against the counter again. “Alright,” he says, his expression softening. “I’m all ears.”

The weight of his attention presses down on you, making it hard to breathe. You shift nervously, your fingers twisting together as you search for the courage to speak. The room feels too quiet, the hum of the refrigerator doing nothing to mask the thundering of your heart.

“I…” You trail off, biting your lip. Just say it. Get it out. But how? How do you confess something that feels so big, so impossible?

Shanks doesn’t rush you. He stands there, patient and calm, his steady gaze encouraging but not overbearing. Somehow, that makes it even harder.

You glance at him, taking in the way the light catches his red hair, the ease in his posture, the warmth in his eyes. “I’ve been… feeling something,” you begin, your voice trembling. “And it’s been hard to ignore.”

His brow furrows slightly, though his expression remains kind. “What kind of feeling?” he asks gently.

Your mouth is dry, and your hands won’t stop trembling. You force yourself to meet his eyes, your resolve strengthening just enough to push the words out.

“About you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seems to shift. Shanks straightens slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He waits, letting you continue at your own pace.

“I know it’s wrong,” you say quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You’re Uta’s dad, and you probably think I’m just some kid who doesn’t know what they’re feeling, but… I can’t help it. Every time I see you, I feel like- like I can’t breathe, like anything other than you doesn't matter.”

You pause, your chest heaving with the effort of saying it all out loud. The silence stretches on, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for his reaction. Shanks runs a hand through his hair; his expression is complicated–a mix of surprise, understanding, and something you can’t quite place.

Shanks stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening as a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if amused. “Well,” he says, his voice gentle, “that’s not what I expected to hear today.”

You feel your cheeks flush with heat, embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. You lower your gaze, fidgeting with your hands again. “I’m sorry,” you blurt, your voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s crazy. I just… needed to say it.”

Shanks steps closer, closing the gap between you. His expression isn’t one of pity or condescension but of genuine care. “Hey,” he says softly, his deep voice washing over you like a balm. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Feelings are tricky, darlin’, and they don’t always make sense.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. His words are kind, but the tenderness in his tone sends a fresh wave of longing through you. You bite your lip, unsure whether to say anything more or just let the moment hang in the air.

“Shanks…” you begin hesitantly, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to make things awkward. I just… I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

His expression softens further, and his lips quirk into a small smile. “It’s not awkward,” he murmurs, his hand lifting slightly as though he’s about to reach for you but stops short.

You can’t hold his gaze any longer. You glance down at the floor, wishing the ground would swallow you up. But then you feel the warm, gentle touch of his fingers under your chin, tilting your face back up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he says softly. You obey, your breath hitching as you take in the intensity of his gaze. “You’re not crazy for feeling what you feel. And… you’re not alone in it.”

Your heart stops. Everything around you seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet space of the kitchen. “What do you mean?” you whisper, not believing what you just heard.

Shanks exhales slowly, his thumb brushing lightly against your chin before his hand falls back to his side. “I’ve been feeling things too,” he admits, his voice low. “I’ve been fighting it, telling myself it’s wrong, but… you’re hard to ignore.”

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do. But it’s complicated, darlin’. So complicated.”

For a moment, Shanks seems torn, his internal conflict written all over his face. Then, with a sigh, he gives in to his desires. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin as he leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.

You don’t.

When his lips meet yours, it’s like the world stops spinning. The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant, as though he’s testing the waters. But it deepens when you press closer, your hands gripping his shirt to anchor yourself. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

The kiss is everything you imagined and more–warm, consuming, and full of unspoken emotion. When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you try to steady your racing heart.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you stand there, clutching Shanks' shirt as you try to catch your breath. His hand still cups your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body, his scent filling your senses.

"Shanks," you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with longing.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft yet intense. "I know," he murmurs.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is deeper and more passionate. You can feel the hunger in it, the pent-up desire he’s been trying to deny. His tongue slides against yours, teasing and exploring, and you melt into him, your body responding with a need that surprises you with its intensity.

His hand travels down your back, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You can feel the firmness of his body pressed against yours. The sensation sends a shiver of anticipation through you, and you find yourself grinding against him, eliciting a low growl from deep within his chest.

Shanks pulls away slightly, breathing heavily as he asks, “Can you hop up on the counter for me, sweetheart?”

You do as he asks, climbing onto the counter with a soft smile, your heart pounding in your chest. The cool surface beneath you contrasts with the warmth of his presence as he steps closer, his hands gently resting on your thighs. He steps between your legs, and his hand slides under your shirt, exploring the softness of your skin. You arch into his touch, yearning for more, as his fingers trace the curve of your waist before moving higher, brushing the underside of your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back as you give yourself over to the sensation. Shanks takes advantage of your exposed neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down to your collarbone. His teeth graze your skin, nipping lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Your hands tug at his shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. Shanks breaks the kiss just long enough to pull the garment over his head, revealing his muscular chest.

The sight of him takes your breath away, and you can't help but reach out to touch him, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, the scars that tell the story of his life. He watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, his breath hitching as you explore his body.

With a swift motion, Shanks removes your shirt as well, his gaze roaming over your figure with an appreciation that leaves you feeling both vulnerable and empowered. He leans in to kiss you again, his hand cupping your right breast through the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing your nipple into a stiff peak.

You fumble with the clasp of your bra, eager to feel his skin against yours. Shanks moves to assist you, his fingers deftly unhooking the garment and sliding it down your arms. His gaze locks onto your exposed breasts, and he groans with desire before leaning in to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, and you clutch at his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on one breast and then the other.

As the intensity between you builds, Shanks' hand slips between your legs, pressing against your aching core. The thin fabric of your pants provides little barrier to the heat of his touch, and you buck your hips forward, seeking more.

"Please," you gasp, your body trembling with need.

Shanks meets your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want," he commands, his voice rough with his own need.

“Want you," you breathe, your voice shaking. "So bad… need you so bad."

Shanks hums in acknowledgment, and he moves his hand away from your clothed cunt, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants. His touch sends a shiver of anticipation through you, and you can't help but gasp as he starts to peel the fabric down your legs slowly.

The cool air of the kitchen brushes against your bare skin, making you hyper-aware of your own vulnerability. But the hunger in Shanks' eyes as he takes in the sight of you, clad only in your underwear, makes any sense of unease vanish.

He steps closer, his body pressing against yours as he kisses you again. His hand roams across your skin, exploring every curve with a gentleness that takes your breath away. You can feel his clothed cock pressing against you, and the knowledge that you have this effect on him fills you with a sense of power.

"You're so beautiful," Shanks murmurs.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, and he hooks them under the soft material. You lift your hips, helping him to slide the garment down your legs. He takes a moment to step back and drink in the sight of you, completely bared to him, and the raw lust in his gaze makes you feel like the most desirable person in the world.

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before trailing a path of fiery kisses down your neck. His fingers trace the curve of your hip, his touch light and teasing.

You gasp as he suddenly grips your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. Shanks drops to his knees before you, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your body tense with need.

His fingers gently part your folds, exposing you to his hungry gaze. You feel a flush of embarrassment at being so thoroughly on display for him, but the desire in his eyes quickly chases it away. "So perfect," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

The first touch of his tongue against your sopping cunt makes you cry out, your back arching in pleasure. His hand moves to grip your hip, holding you in place as he explores you with a thoroughness that leaves you trembling. His tongue circles your clit, each flick sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You can't help but grind against his face, your fingers tangling in his red hair as you lose yourself in the sensation. He groans against you, the vibrations sending a surge of heat straight to your core.

Shanks' fingers join his tongue once you’ve stopped squirming, first one, then another, sliding into you with ease. He curls them upward, finding that sensitive spot inside you that has you seeing stars. His movements are slow and deliberate, designed to drive you mad.

Your breath comes in short, desperate pants, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each passing moment. The pressure builds within you and threatens to shatter you into a thousand pieces.

Just when you think you can't take any more, Shanks sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers pumping into you with renewed vigor. The combination sends you spiraling over the edge, your vision whiting out as the orgasm crashes over you.

You cry out his name, your body convulsing around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Shanks continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're left a boneless, panting mess on the counter.

He stands, his lips glistening with a mixture of your slick and his spit. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and satisfaction.

Shanks doesn't give you a chance to recover, quickly pushing his pants and underwear down his hips and kicking them away. His cock springs free, hard, and ready, and your heart races at the sight.

His hand grips your hip, lifting you slightly as he positions himself at your entrance. You look into his eyes, seeking reassurance, and he gives you a small, reassuring smile. "I've got you, sweetheart," he says, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

He holds your gaze, his expression intense as he slowly starts to push inside you. You feel your pussy stretch to accommodate him, your body welcoming him with a warmth that leaves you both gasping for air.

The feeling of fullness is almost overwhelming, but Shanks gives you a moment to adjust before he starts to move. His strokes are long and deep, each one hitting just the right spot to have you crying out his name and your back arching.

“Shhh… quiet, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna wake Uta up, would we?”

Shanks’ words have your walls clenching around his cock; the thought of your best friend walking in on you fucking her dad strangely arousing.

You cling to his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping fills the kitchen, accompanied by the occasional growl from Shanks as he struggles to maintain control.

"You feel so good," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight... so perfect."

You can feel another orgasm building, the pleasure coiling low in your belly. You cling to Shanks, your fingers digging into his skin as you move together.

With each thrust, Shanks fucks you closer to the edge, until finally, with a cry that echoes off the kitchen walls, you reach your peak. He follows soon after with one last thrust, his cock pressing against your cervix as his cum floods your cunt.

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, and there's a tenderness there that you've never seen from him before, mingling with the remnants of desire. His lips part as though he's about to say something, but instead, he just presses a gentle kiss to your mouth.

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he pulls out from you, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure. He catches you looking and offers a lopsided grin that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

Shanks steps back between your legs, his hand coming up to cradle your face. He studies you for a long moment, his thumb stroking your cheekbones in a tender gesture that brings a lump to your throat. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice a bit rough.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "More than okay," you assure him, your voice still shaky from the force of your orgasm.

His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time, with a languidness that speaks of contentment. You melt into him, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. It's a sweet, lingering kiss that speaks volumes.

When he finally pulls away, it's only to press a series of soft kisses along your jawline and down the side of your neck. You sigh happily, your fingers threading through his hair as you tilt your head to give him better access.

After a moment, Shanks steps back, his hand moving to take your right hand in his. He helps you off the counter, and you can't help but wobble a little on your still shaky legs. Shanks wraps his arm around you to steady you.

"Easy there," he murmurs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Wouldn't want you falling over."

You laugh, the sound light and airy, and you lean into him, comforted by his warmth and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. For a long moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, neither of you in any hurry to move.

Eventually, though, reality starts to creep back in. You become acutely aware of your nakedness, and with a flush, you begin to gather your clothes from the floor. Shanks watches you with a heated gaze, his appreciation evident in the way his eyes roam over your body.

As you're pulling your pants on, there's a soft creak from the hallway. You both freeze, your eyes darting to the doorway of the kitchen. Shanks puts a finger to his lips, signaling for you to be quiet. The last thing either of you wants is for Uta to catch you like this.

The sound doesn't repeat itself, and after a tense minute, you both let out a sigh of relief. Shanks moves towards you, a playful smile on his face. "Almost got caught," he chuckles, and you can't help but giggle with him.

#one piece smut #shanks smut #shanks x reader #shanks x you

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