#maybe even seeing a psychologist

[chuuyascumsock]

Ao3 user Woundilingus, what the fuck man. Can’t have shit in this fandom 💀 (or any fandom tbh).

[icewindandboringhorror]

................ he 

[sobredunia]

Do I really have to make myself breaking-down-sobbing miserable over not doing something every single time I am not perfectly productive for you to believe that I have a disability that disables me from being perfectly productive

[toytulini]

I thought Ursula was pretty Biologist-core but in the end her arc was less Biologistcore than others. Levi was also pretty Biologistcore. maybe even Ghost Bird core?

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

welcome to a new episode of "crisis", today about researching inattentive adhd and trying to find out whether you're being rational or trying to find excuses-

[homosexualcitron]

WE'RE FINALLY GOING TO THE FAIR TOMORROW YEAYYYY CAN'T WAIT!!!!!

[youremyonlyhope]

Don't be like me, kids. Don't accidentally take your antidepressant at night when you meant to take your insomnia meds.

Let's see who wins, will I fall asleep or will I be up all night?

[fable-x4]

Doing this because it makes me happy •Ꮂ•. Im making it difficult on all of you though.

1 note- I'll go drink water

10 notes - I'll set alarms to actually care for myself

50 notes - set up a daily productivity system so I stop wasting my time doing nothing.

100 notes - ask my friends to help me buy a skirt

500 notes - get a bra & a whole bunch of other affirming clothing !!!

1k - tell my dad that my gf is also trans

2.5k - ask my dad to address me by my prefferred name & pronouns 1k went pretty poorly, so I dont feel super comfortable making an attempt on this.

5k - try to get therapy/psychologist

10k - girl mode at all times (start actively wearing makeup/clothing/doing voice training around people at all times)

50k - try for HRT (0% chance) (also no guarantee on this one)

Asfgg. It feels surprisingly good to have a bunch of strangers who want me to be happy

I have now set up alarms for eating, waking up, and hygene related stuff. I seriously doubt we get to 500, but this has made me significantly happier •Ꮂ•

Doing some math... 25 notes in 4 hours. 6.25 notes per hour. 8000 hours or 333 days until this hits 50k. Hrt in a year ig.

Um. Wow. Its been a day, and we're almost at 300. Everything 500 & below was supposed to be things I'd do with minimal intervention. But now, we're getting to the scarier stuff. I am very intimidated, but also excited

My gf really badly wanted to be here when I buy some of the clothing, so the skirt will be this week, the rest of the clothing will be when she comes back from vacation

Saying that you're force femming me is so not allowed. This is unfair. You have no right to make me feel the ways Im feelingggg. Stop making me happy.

Welp. I told him about my girlfriend. And things went about as poorly as expected. He said that Im parroting what other people think. Slowly taking little parts of them, and applying them to myself. Specifically, being trans. He didnt even leave it to maybes. He said with certainty that I was copying everyone else. I know 9 trans people total. Only 2 of them are my close friends. Everyone else, Im barely aquaintences with. I should have told him that regardless of whatever theories he has, this has boosted my confidence massively. Slightly less excited for 2.5k notes. At least everything after that is very positive. And at least this lets me talk about my girlfriend for ages. I dont have to say her deadname through gritted teeth. Oh context. He already knows Im trans but was ignoring it.

I GOT A SKIRT!!!!!

Thank all of you so much. At first when I got the skirt, I was pretty intimidated by the idea of showing my legs. I thought everyone will just see me as a man. But there's a degree of confidence you all have given me. Yeah. Im pretty. Yeah, Im beautiful even. Yeah. Its a friggin fantastic skirt. And anyone who thinks otherwise is dumb. Im happy, and thats what matters.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Sebastian (Pressure) fluff. I need it.

"I gotta ask, do you have personal beef with those Squiddles? Because you sure like harassing them with that light of yours."

"I don't do it on purpose! If that damn Angler stopped killing the lights in every big room, maybe I could see my own hand in front of me!" You scowled up at the sea creature while standing in his humble shop.

Why was Sebastian always taunting you whenever you died to something unexpected..only to act all friendly-like in this place?

Well, you had to be grateful he was the only thing down here that wasn't trying to kill you, and that no other monsters could barge into the shop when you least expect it.

So for once, you could breathe easy..

Until he decided to remind you of those creepy squids who were somehow always in your way.

He must get a kick out of watching you perish.

"Oh of course, blame everybody except yourself." He tsked. "You have more than enough clues on how to survive each creature you encounter...but maybe they should've spoonfed all the details to you instead-"

"I don't need this from you." You huffed. "My damn hands are cramped from holding a locker shut against Pandemonium, Eyefestation gave me a killer headache, nobody bothered to tell me about the people in the walls-"

"And don't forget about those Squiddles, hehe."

Silence.

"Okay, okay. I've had my fun. I'll shut up about them now."

"Thanks. You have any medkits available?"

"Right on my tail, buddy. Hope you got enough data."

"More than enough." As your eyes surveyed the items strapped to his tail, they eventually wandered over to the desk with batteries laying out.

But it wasn't them that caught your interest, but rather the file on the table. 'How curious..is this for a monster I'm gonna meet soon?' You went over to investigate.

"Is the document for sale?"

"Wow, you might be the first to ask me about that and be able to afford it! The others before you barely had enough for a flashlight." Sebastian chuckled, clasping his hands together. "If you're interested, give me a thousand data, and I'll have it ready for you to read when you return to the surface. And don't worry, it's all there. So I won't have to kill you to to reveal any information."

You blinked, realizing what he meant by that as you read the folder's cover and why he was asking so much for it.

Sebastian's Document

Of course, you knew he'd be recognized as a specimen, too, but to be put with Pandemonium, the Anglers, and all those other monsters that tried to eat you alive?

For some reason, it made you frown a little.

"This is your file, and they let you keep it?" You turned back to him.

"...I stole it. And I'm not gonna lie...I regret reading it." He muttered, suddenly looking a bit tense..and sad, even, although he was quick to mask any signs of vulnerability when he realized you were staring. "Anyways, it's a steep price. I'm sure you'd rather spend your assets on-"

"What if I buy it and take it off your hands right now?"

For a moment, his ear fins perked up with surprise, glowing eyes widening. But he was quick to give you a suspicious gaze. "Really? You're that nosey about my lifestory? Pretty weird if you ask m-"

"It's more of a courtesy to you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean..you look like you're carrying a heavy weight just from that folder being there. You haven't stopped looking at it since I mentioned it." You pointed out, seeing his ears twitch again. "You've always told me "out of sight, out of mind" with the Anglers. Couldn't I say the same about you and that document?"

".....using my own words against me, eh? What're you, a damn psychologist?" He teased, although his words didn't hold as much spite or sarcasm as usual. "But no, you're right. I'd rather forget about it forever. So if you want it that badly, be my guest." His third arm made a grand gesture towards the table. "Just don't get caught parading it around. And don't come crying to me when you realize you needed something else instead of-"

"I won't, trust me." You exchanged the data, taking the folder. "I'll be on my way now. I got a crystal to find."

With that, you began ducking down to renter the vent and continue your journey into the abandoned site-

"Hey."

You paused and looked back at Sebastian, tilting your head as you wondered why he seemed nervous again--wringing his hands together.

"Um..thank you, genuinely..for taking that off my hands." He cleared his throat, sweeping back his dark bangs. "I hope that whatever you find in there doesn't..get in the way of our "partnership". I'd hate to lose my number one customer."

Nodding, you gave him a reassuring smile. "You won't lose my business, Seb. That I promise."

"..now hold on we aren't THAT close to start going by nickna-" He began to snap, but you've already disappeared into the duct. "Aaaand they're gone...hmph..well..least I don't have to worry about that anymore."

Sighing, he looked around the shop, wondering what he should do now.

What you did was certainly a nice gesture.

He only hopes you'll keep your promise and not be afraid of him.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Konig falling in love with an reader who works as a teacher in a daycare center, and for some reason she doesn't find him threatening and is actually very sweet to him.

(I'm going with dilf!Konig for this one) Konig and his adorable, precious boy who bites off head of his dino toys and bullies everyone who is trying to get close to him. Parents are threatening to withdraw their kids and sue the center, all children psychologists have already given up, and he changed nannies every week because no one could put up with the son of a guy who literally takes him to a shooting range while he can't even read yet. No one can put up with the son or his father...until you came in, of course. No one knows what it's about you - maybe it's the fact that you're not scared of the older guy; even Konig's signature cold stare isn't doing anything to you. You kinda look at the giant, older man like he is one of the kids you're taking care of - you're strict and soft at the same time, you explain to him carefully that his son clearly has all the signs of needing a bit more care and attention from his father - and, preferably, a professional. You were nothing but careful, and this is why you agreed to grab a coffee with him and Felix after the daycare center was done for the day. You usually don't invite yourself to such situations with kids and their parents, but you knew you had to intervene before something bad happened - and you can see that they both are lonely. Their interest in you was obvious too, and it almost made you blush. Almost. They were adorable in their right, and you really wanted to take more time and talk to them...this is how you ended up awakening some weird fucking dreams in Konig. He never liked kids - hell, he wasn't so thrilled about his own kid - but you somehow make him the best father he can be.

[corvid-stan-account]

As a psychology student and class A DSM hater, personality disorders have to be one of the messiest and least scientifically sound categories in clinical psychology that I can think of. Like how the hell are we managing to pathologize being "odd or eccentric"? And what in the goddamn fuck is histrionic personality disorder? Why is having a larger-than-life disposition and enjoying attention and depending a little too much on other people for your self-esteem a mental illness? That's literally just how people are; we're human beings and every person has a different personality, and sure sometimes aspects of our personalities can be difficult for ourselves and others. You can go to therapy to work on your own abilities and learn coping mechanisms without being diagnosed with a disorder. Not to mention you could make the argument that a number of personality disorders don't even cause substantial distress for the people who have them. I understand that sometimes there are patterns in people's behavior that manifest in many aspects of their lives that could potentially be distressing or dangerous. But at the end of the day we are literally pathologizing people's entire personalities and it pisses me the hell off when I think too hard about it

[candycandy00]

The Visitors (Dabi x Reader)

Dabi is in prison and refusing to speak to anyone, even his family. Until you visit him, bringing a surprise bundled in your arms.

Fem Reader. Sex is mentioned but there’s no detailed smut. Divider by @benkeibear

You and Touya were not in love. The two of you just happened to turn to each other occasionally when you were both horny and bored. You were a cook working at the villa for the PLF. He was a villain who showed up sporadically, always seeming to have secrets. But you always went into the kitchen, no matter what hour he showed up, and fixed him something to eat that wouldn’t upset his sensitive stomach. That’s how it started. 

Touya didn’t love you. You didn’t love him. But on the night before the huge attack on the hero school, what everyone was cryptically calling “the final battle”, you went to his room. 

He turned you away at first. He didn’t want to lose focus. But you’d stood rooted to the spot in his doorway, your eyes glassy as if you were about to cry. 

Even you didn’t know where the emotion came from. He was just a guy you slept with sometimes. But your voice sounded small and fragile when you said, “I just have this feeling… that I’ll never see you again after tonight.”

Touya looked at you, met your gaze, and asked, “That would bother you?”

Maybe he was being sarcastic, but you gave him a genuine answer. 

“I don’t want you to die.”

He’d looked away from you then, but invited you into his room. You spent the night in his bed, being fucked more gently than usual, and he was gone before you woke up the next morning. 

During the battle, you only crossed Touya’s mind once. He didn’t think about the many nights spent thrusting into you, or how your naked body seemed to glow in the moonlight that filtered in through his window. No, the one time you entered his rage-addled thoughts, he only saw your teary face in his doorway. 

After the fight was over, after the most grievous of Touya’s injuries had been repaired and he was, basically, left in a similar shape to when he originally joined the League of Villains, he was put in prison. 

Several different people tried to talk to him, or rather, get him to talk. A parade of therapists, investigators, psychologists, and other professionals were brought in to speak with Touya, but he wouldn’t utter a word. Even when his mom and his siblings came to see him, he sat in the visitation room, a quirk inhibiting collar around his neck and his arms in cuffs, completely silent. He had nothing to say to them or anyone else. He was simply waiting to die. 

Sometimes, lying awake in his cold and empty cell at night, his thoughts would turn to you. He would remember your skin soft and warm against his, your body trembling with pleasure beneath him, your hands in his hair. 

And then, inevitably, he would remember your face from that final night together, your quiet voice telling him you didn’t want him to die. 

He didn’t know why those words seemed to cling to his consciousness, to haunt him like a phantom. The two of you were never even a couple. He didn’t love you, and you didn’t love him. 

… Right?

Many months after his incarceration, after everyone had given up on getting Touya to speak, his youngest brother showed up out of the blue. 

“I’ve brought someone to see you,” Shouto told him. “She contacted me a few days ago. I think you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

With that, Shouto left the room, and someone else stepped in. 

Touya’s eyes widened slightly when he saw that you were his visitor. He never imagined you would come to see him. Visiting someone in this prison wasn’t an easy task. But what surprised him even more than your presence was what you carried in your arms. 

A bundle of soft pink blankets that quivered with movement. 

“Touya,” you said, sitting in a chair across a metal table from him, “they said you haven’t spoken since… the battle. But I had to see you. I had to show you…”

Your voice trailed off as you shifted the tiny bundle and gently pulled the blankets back so that Touya could see the infant in your arms. 

His eyes shifted to the baby, then quickly away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. 

“I named her Aoi. She was born two weeks ago,” you told him, desperate for him to say something, to acknowledge you. After several minutes of silence passed, during which Touya wouldn’t even look up, you sighed and started to stand up. 

“Is she mine?”

The voice startled you. It had been so long since you’d heard it last. You lowered yourself back into the chair. 

“Of course she is. Just look at her.”

Touya’s gaze flicked back to your arms, his eyes finally focusing on the child. That deep red hair, just like his when he was a child, those bright blue eyes… there was no denying her. He knew, without question, that this was his daughter. 

His immediate, gut reaction was horror. He’d had zero intentions of becoming a father. He didn’t want to perpetuate the cycle of abuse and hatred his father had inflicted on him. 

But once the horror subsided, another emotion took its place. Something strange and nebulous, unfamiliar but warm. He’d never felt this emotion before, so he couldn’t attach a name to it. 

He looked you in the face, finally, and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t ever bring her here again,” he said harshly. “This place is dangerous. A guard was killed last week when someone tried to escape. For fuck’s sake, why did they let you bring a baby in here?”

You blinked, surprised by his reaction. “Your brother pulled some strings, I think. He escorted me in.”

Touya sighed. “Okay. Well, don’t bring her back unless Shouto is with you.”

He didn’t know very much about his youngest sibling, but he did know Shouto was strong, and was a hero who would defend a mother and baby with his life. 

You smiled with relief. “So you want to see her again? See me again?”

Touya’s face stiffened, just then realizing how transparent he’d been. He shrugged. “If you want to visit, that’s up to you. Don’t blame me if she has nightmares later.”

“Do you want to get a closer look?” you asked him. 

He reflexively pulled against the cuffs holding his arms in place behind his back. He could never hold his daughter, not like this. But you stood up and moved around the table separating you from Touya, bringing Aoi close and holding her up to his face. 

If the guards saw this, they would tear you out of the room immediately. Touya’s brother must have been keeping them away. Perhaps he was watching from somewhere, just to be safe. But Touya would never hurt Aoi, not intentionally at least. You believed that very strongly. 

A tiny hand reached up from the blankets and touched Touya’s face, causing him to flinch. He looked down at the small, chubby face smiling up at him, and was grateful that she was too young to understand that his face wasn’t normal, too young to be afraid of him. 

“Touya,” you said gently, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment but needing to say this, “they said if you’ll just talk to someone, if you’ll do the therapy program, you could be released.”

He looked up at you sharply. “Is that why you came? To get me to talk?”

“I came because I don’t want her to grow up without her father. Do you?”

A brief look of hurt passed over his features, so quick you almost missed it, then he drew back against his chair, out of Aoi’s reach. “No, I don’t want that,” he said. 

You smiled as you stepped away, toward the door. “Good. Then you’ll do the therapy program?”

Touya rolled his eyes. “Sure. Not that I think it’ll change anything.”

“Thank you, Touya,” you said. “We’ll come see you again soon.”

He didn’t say another word, just watched you leave, carrying his daughter. He sat in the empty room for a few minutes, then took a deep breath before yelling, “If any of you assholes wanna take a crack at my busted brain, come on! I’m all yours!”

[heyhoeudoin]

LOYALTY BUILT FROM LOVE

"I will always be by your side."

pairing: senku ishigami x fem!reader

words: 5.4k

genre/s: fluff, mystery, storytelling in the third perspective (s1, s2)

warning/s: she/her, swearing, ambiguous/not direct ending

synopsis: there is always someone next to senku, all the time.

masterlist ; times senku talked about you (part 2)

a/n: i've been wanting to do something similar to my bakugo fanfic, "Indebted to you" for a while now, and i finally thought of one.

also woah, i posted... revolutionary!

ever since senku arrived at the newfound kingdom of science, he's always had someone next to him

that someone is you

you are never too far from senku

and senku is never too far away from you

when kohaku met senku under that log, that's when she saw you the first time

at first she didn't question it, thinking that you might've just not been there when she saw the fight, but after observing you and senku

she then changed her mind and thought it was strange that she didn't see you

the way the two of you worked together was mesmerizing; efficiently done in silence

she could see that the two of you have some sort of special relationship with that silent communication

you reminded her of her sister; almost princess like with the way you carry your knowledge and demeanor

that impression quickly changed when you flipped ginro and kinro to the ground when they tried to attack senku

it happened so fast that you were just a blur in the corner of her eye! you were faster than her and you took them both out with a single hand

at that moment she knew not to cross senku

she wasn't even sure if she could defeat you

she almost pities the long-haired man

when gen appeared, you didn't recognize him, but he had recognized you

of course he did

everyone in japan knows who you are and anyone who doesn't is living under a rock

he was confused on why a person of your caliber is acting like a servant

maybe for survival, but he's sure that you'd be able to survive on your own

but then he started observing the two of you and this master-servant relationship seemed normal on both end

it made him curious on just what exactly your relationship with senku is

his curiosity skyrocketed after he overheard a conversation between you and senku

gen stood at the bottom of the hut after you and senku climbed up. he was lucky enough that you didn't spot him (well, that's what he thinks).

"so," senku spoke. "do you know him?" then asked. there was a pause. gen thinks you might've gave a non-verbal answer. senku chuckles. "of course, i didn't think you would. he's just some tv show mentalist."

gen rolled his eyes at that, but agrees with what senku said. it would be very shocking to hear that you know of him. "so he's a psychologist?" the first words he heard from you.

"yeah," answered senku. "he wrote these magazines that some of the club talked about some times. it would have questions like "if you could only save one, would you rather save your mother or your partner?" how illogical is that?" he scoffs.

this time you chuckled at him. "but senku," you interrupted. "you do understand just how useful he is, right?" gen felt a chill run up his spine as his whole body tensed up. your light tone immediately changed to a more penetrating one. it almost feels like you're reminding senku of your authority.

"yeah, yeah, i know, and don't use that tone on me. you know that shit don't work," senku replies, dismissing your tone like it was nothing! and to which you giggled at in a playful manner. "so, your assessment of him?" he then asked.

"gen is like a stray cat; give him something to eat and he'll stay," you answered with smooth confidence. "sooner or later he'll ask you for something in exchange for his loyalty." you let out a chuckle. "isn't that right, gen?"

he quickly walked away and didn't look back

maybe you were the one to plant the seed in him

maybe it was senku with his fast-paced bringing back the modern world (and his charisma)

or maybe it was the both of you

but whatever it was, in the end you were right

gen became an important member of the the kingdom of science

although he still wants answers about the two of you

there's two stories that ruri likes out of all hundred tales

she loves sharing them the most

after all, it's the only two love stories from it

number ninety-eight: loyalty built from love there was once a girl who had everything everything but happiness the people around her always worshipped her like a god it made her feel lonely and dull but then she met a boy a boy who knew of everything everything except who she is she talked to him... she argued against him... she laughed alongside him she made him smile.... they were friends they were inseparable but then she felt love he didn't like love she was afraid he became distant she sought after him he stopped seeing her she went to him it was silent then she talked... then he shouted... then they confessed they were in love her love shined through the things she did for him loyalty knows no bounds when you're in love

number ninety-nine: learning to love there was once a boy who found everything interesting everything except love he thought it was illogical and he didn't want to feel it but then he met a girl a girl who can do everything everything except how to feel he talked to her... he fought her... he laughed with her... he smiled at her they were friends they were inseparable he felt different with her he didn't know what it was it scared him he tried to push her away she stayed he ignored her she confronted him it was silent then she spoke... then he screamed... then they confessed they were in love his love was seen from the way he treated her love wasn't so illogical than he thought he did

there was no names mentioned in the two love stories

ruri wished the founder of the village had included the names

maybe it did but was forgotten through time

kohaku didn't really care about her own romances

but if it's other's?

then that's when she's interested

she could never forget the scene she saw between you and senku after the grad bout ended

the placed turned quiet as the realization seeped in. the winner of the grand bout is senku which means... "the new village chief and the husband of the priestess is the winner of the grand bout, senku!"

"well, this is a pain in the ass," senku says as he stuck his pinky into his ear. "so i just have to marry ruri and the whole village is mine, right?" he approached ruri. "i'll do it then."

from the corner of kohaku's eye, she saw you hurriedly walk away with a tightly closed fist. you're actually walking away without senku. that's the first time she ever saw you go away from senku.

she turned back to senku who's staring at your retreating figure. he turned his head back and demanded, "wine! bring me wine!" then after that, it all happened so quickly. senku divorced her sister, took the wine, and ran back to the kingdom of science, dragging kaseki with him.

once they arrived, senku left towards the laboratory where you were, gathering the materials to make the sulfa drug. kohaku watched as you ignored senku. he reached up and flicked your forehead. the two of you talked, rather fast paced with how fast the two of you exchanged words.

senku gently reached out for you hand, bringing it up to his lay on his cheek. he turned his head and kissed your palm.

kohaku's eyes widen in shock.

it looked like you laughed and tackled him into a hug that almost caused you both to fall. you stepped back as you brought your hands up to cup his face. you spoke a few words, then brought your face down to his forehead, giving it a gentle yet light kiss.

kohaku's jaw slacked in shock.

she remembered being flustered, shocked, and confused from the sudden public display of affection the two of you showed

it changed the way she sees the two of you

she always thought that you were like a bodyguard for senku, but also good friends

but if that's how you two always act when you think no one's watching?

maybe the two of you aren't just friends

at first, homura went around spreading the fire to the village

then all she saw was black the next

when hyoga revealed that he was just a distraction, the fire wasn't as big as he planned it to be

in fact, he never planned for homura to be carried in bridal style by someone he didn't expect

did senku revive you? why would he revive you? wait, how did he even find you? your place is no where near where they are right now

it doesn't make any sense

but for now, he'll retreat

he'll surely be beaten by you in mere minutes

chrome admires you and senku, everyone could see that

senku taught him many things about being a sciencer and you'd teach him "life skills"

the two of you work so well together

there are times wherein he watches you and senku work in the lab and it would always leave him in awe

how can the two of you work that well and that fast without any talking?!

are you also a science user like him?

but senku said you weren't so that made him slightly confused

it became even more confusing when he saw you beat kohaku in a spar for the grand bout

just who are you?

and why are you so good at everything?

it reminds him of something but he can't remember what exactly

then he saw something between you and senku that he can't help but make assumptions from

senku turned away from the group after experimenting with the bamboo filaments. "damn it," he cursed out. "bamboo filaments are just fundamentally too weak for vacuum tubes." your shoulders dropped as you looked at senku in worry.

"i don't get science, but bamboo is too weak, is that right?" kohaku spoke up.

"what do we need?" chrome asked with desperation. "if we need something tougher, i'll go find it!"

"no..." senku turned around, showing his pained expression. "there's nothing better in this age."

kohaku and chrome gathered the baskets of rocks that he collected and placed them out in the open for anyone to look through. from the news that senku needed something other than bamboo, the villagers who were still awake gathered at the kingdom of science to help.

chrome turned to call for senku, but he hesitated.

you stood next to senku and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he turned to you with eyes that chrome can't explain as he placed his hand on top of yours. you brought your other hand and took hold of his hand that was on top of your other one. you guided his hand to the side of your lips and placed a kiss on his palm.

chrome's bulged out of his sockets in shock. his face feeling a bit flustered.

you slowly went down his arm, leaving a trail of kisses. you stopped at his inner elbow and turned to his face. chrome thought you were going to kiss senku, but instead you left a peck on his cheek. you spoke a few words to him and he let out a small smile.

chrome knows that smile

it's the smile that he only gives to you

he never understood why that smile felt different from all the other smiles and smirks senku gives

but from what he just witnessed

maybe the two of you hold a special bond that he should've noticed sooner

it was senku's birthday

the entire village gathered at the kingdom of science

ruri stared at you from afar

you watched as senku was guided towards the newly built watch tower (observatory)

it was the first time she'd seen you not go after senku

after all, the two of you were inseparable

it reminds her about the two love stories from the hundred tales

you started walking away from her line of vision. ruri watched as you walked towards the watch tower as the main group of the kingdom of science left. she could see senku climbing down as well, then approached you. you immediately took his hand in yours and placed the other on his cheek. you spoke a few words then leaned down, giving him a tender yet short kiss on the lips.

on the lips.

on the lips.

AND HE DIDN'T PUSH YOU AWAY!111!1!!!

ruri doesn't remember what happened after that

she was too flustered over the sudden public display of affections the two of you shared that it was the only thing stuck in her head for a while

although, she now hopes that her two favorite stories were based off of the relationship you and senku hold with each other

if only

the first time kohaku, well, anyone, saw you cry was when senku's father relayed a message to you (instead of his own son)

"senku, it's you, isn't it?"

"—nah, you don't need that dramatic father-and-son crap, do you?" senku cackled from that. "but y/n better be there standing next to you like she always is." it was the first mention of you from the record. "i know rebuilding japan will be your priority, y/n, but i also know that you'll stay by senku's side to rebuild the world. take care of him for me, y/n!"

from the corner of kohaku's eye, she saw you raising your hands up to your face, covering it. she saw senku move his arm that lays on your lower back. it looks like he's comforting you.

something then happened that kohaku can never forget

it'll be embedded in her head for so long

kohaku walked towards senku about to call him out, but stopped mid walk. senku stood next to you; both of your backs facing her. he turned his head to look at you. you turned your head to look at him. a few words were exchanged. he raised his hand and gently held your chin. he pulled you towards him and gave a short peck, but then you took hold of his collar and smashed your lips back onto his.

...

kohaku paused for a second. "senku!" then decided to just call the scientist out and continued with what she was going to tell senku either way.

gen was about to go up the observatory when he heard you and senku having a talk

"hey, senku, how would you feel if i..." your question trailed off, hinting at something that seemed like only you and senku know about, or you did something non-verbal.

there was a pause; senku probably thinking over his reply. "but i thought you like playing this game?"

they were playing a game? at this time? gen thought to himself, confused.

"of course i do; it amuses me. this game can only be played a few times after all. i'm only asking because i thought it'd be my turn to do it," you clarified which didn't really make any sense to gen at all. what you said got rid of the image that you two are playing game. just what the hell are you two talking about up there?

there was another pause. "just come up already. what do you want?" it was senku calling him.

kohaku was never afraid of you

why would she be?

you're no enemy

"senku, let me make something clear," kohaku called out. "homura's movements are exceptional."

"gymnastics," says senku. "it's a skill that doesn't exist in your age. y/n can do them too." he jerked his head to your direction you.

"we won't be able to capture her unharmed, but i could behead her with my sword. am i free to kill her?" a serious question kohaku dropped. yours and senku's eyes narrowed at her.

"kohaku, have you ever killed a human being?" you asked kohaku, now standing in front of her. kohaku opened her mouth, but you raised your hand up. "of course you haven't—i know that—and you'll hesitate when the time comes, but, please, kohaku," you called her name with a shaky tone and a hint of guilt that she never heard from you. "never offer yourself to kill another human being. you need to keep that morality with you, it's what makes a person human."

kohaku understood what you said

but she was left with questions that hung in the air, afraid to be asked

were you surrounded by death through killing?

or were you the one killing?

she really wouldn't dare ask

gen knows just how formidable the people around tsukasa are

but the thing is the kingdom of science has you

and he kind of wants to brag about that

"i'm sure you guys know how strong tsukasa is, but it's not just him. the people around him are formidable as well," says nikki through the phone. she then revealed another of tsukasa's allies being someone of great hearing.

"ukyo?" senku asks, turning to gen.

"he was a sonar operator on a submarine," explained gen. "he's got insanely good hearing. that's why tsukasa woke him up."

"good hearing you say?" you piped up. "what a useful thing in certain situations. what are the chances we could get him to our side?" you asked senku with a carefree grin to which he just fondly smiles at.

it was then gen realized something after your comment. "y/n-chan, is it true that your family are...?" he trailed off, not sure how to ask and afraid that you'd be offended from him bringing up rumors about your family.

you understood what he was asking, but all you did was chuckle making senku sigh. gen smartly decided not to push any further. he also took your ominous chuckle as confirmation.

"wait," called nikki. "y/n?"

gen smirked. "yes, nikki! we have the l/n y/n on our side! tsukasa and his army may be formidable, but we have the most formidable on our side," he boasted proudly. "as everyone in japan knows, no one can ever beat a member of the l/n family."

you smiled knowingly, feeling a sense of control and pride at gen's comment making senku sigh once more. "can we stop feeding her ego?" he comments

"y/n!" screamed taiju, both as a calling out and a greeting. "are you taking care of senku?!"

"i am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," commented senku with a deadpan.

you howled out a laughter. "of course i am taiju. are you taking care of yuzuriha?" you asked back.

"yes i am!" he answered confidently to which you laughed fondly at.

gen's plan was to just brag about you

but he was not expecting to get something interesting out of this

he thought yuzuriha and taiju didn't know about you

but they do

which just brings him more questions than answers, honestly

when could they have met you?

actually now that he thinks about it, when did senku meet you?

when magma came back after escaping the hands of ukyo, he also relayed the message that chrome got abducted

kohaku immediately wanted to barge in and take chrome back

and she could never forget the humbling moment of when you instantly stopped her

"chrome's been captured by the tsukasa empire!" exclaimed suika in a fits of worry and panic.

"well, what's the plan, twig?" demanded magma towards senku.

a serious look on the scientist's face as you straightened your posture up, standing next to him. kohaku frowned then ran off with her sword in hand.

"kohaku?!" screamed ruri. "she's not going to help him by herself, is she?"

"she's so quick to act," commented kaseki.

"stop kohaku!" kokuyo commanded, pointing in the directed his daughter took off.

ginro looked at the former village chief in aghast. "but how?! there's no one in this village who can catch up to kohaku-chan!"

oh but there is someone.

"y/n." with one simple call from senku, you had already appeared in front of kohaku, disarmed her of her sword, and pushed her against the ground.

all in three seconds.

she was right from the start

she could never beat you

it really is a good thing you're on their side

of all the people he'd expect to be on the other side of this stone world call

he never would have expected you

in fact, ukyo never expected to to talk to you at all

but here he is

being reassured by you, of all people

"—if you promise to produce zero casualties, i'll cooperate with you. but if you kill even one person..."

senku starts cackling at his request. "sounds great! i'm in." gen shrieks at this. "no problem. we've said—" senku turned around to see your hand on his shoulder. he immediately moved away for you to stand in front of the microphone.

"i do not know what kind of person you are, ukyo, but you are naive to think that a war would not have any bloodshed." he freezes. he knows that voice... he knows it too well. everyone in japan knows it too well. "however, i know how senku is. i know that his plan from the beginning were to have zero casualties, and if that's the plan, then i assure you that there will be no bloodshed at all."

"that's gonna be a pretty tough battle!" exclaimed gen after your declaration.

ukyo believed you

he believed you immediately

he had no reason to doubt you... or senku

especially when you supported him that confidently

he feels relieved to know that you're not on tsukasa's side

if you were

then the ground would've been red

tsukasa never expected there to be a phone in the grave of senku

he never expected for some of his allies to turn against him

he also didn't believe hyoga when he said you were revived

but maybe he should've believed him

but at the same time, what good would it be if he had believed hyoga?

tsukasa is sure that no one can beat you

not even the strongest high school primate

"i can save everyone with this paper airplane dynamite," says senku as the nitroglycerin covered airplane exploded upon impact at a tree.

"what the hell was that?!" stammered ginro.

"anyone caught in that would be gone without a trace," commented kinro.

kohaku stared in awe at the leftover the explosion made, then smirked smugly. "human strength is laughable in comparison to the power of science."

senku laughs. "we made it just in time. you held out well, battle team."

"the kingdom of science has just completed dynamite! it has the power of ten billion megaton joules," gen boldly gave out a lie. senku glanced at him calling out for his bold ass lie to which gen defended that senku sucks at negotiating.

"whether i parry it or smack it down, it'll explode. there's no way to dodge a large blast." tsukasa hums. "yes, it's true that we're out of moves, but that would surely cause collateral damage and kill many people. senku, you're incapable of abandoning people. you would never sacrifice yourself either."

"well, well, it looks like we're both stuck. this isn't a victory; it's a stalemate," says senku. "in your eyes anyways." he moved forward and held onto another nitroglycerin covered airplane. "did you know nitroglycerin is y/n's favorite?"

tsukasa froze at the sudden information drop. so it was true? of all the people, why would you be on senku's side? in fact, why were you at this side of the country at all when the petrification happened?

"y/n, no bloodshed remember?"

tsukasa looked behind him to see you standing there with a knife against his throat. he didn't even hear you nor sensed your presence. is this the power you hold as a member of the l/n family? "are you going to take revenge, senku?" he asked.

"no, of course not," senku deadpans. "let's negotiate, tsukasa."

throughout the entire negotiation, you did not move one bit away from his neck

tsuksa knew of your abilities, but seeing it in person was a different experience

he had one question for you though

why do you let senku command you like that?

"what reason do i have to believe you?" he asked senku.

"all you have is my word. i don't lie when it comes to science," answered senku, cooly. "is that not enough?" tsukasa heard you softly squeal at the sight of senku. does senku really have you wrapped around his finger that quickly? no, that wouldn't make any sense. unless the two of you share some history together?

"no, that's plenty."

this would be chrome's first time watching someone get revived from petrification

instead, before that could happen, he revealed some information that he thought was common knowledge

it wasn't

as senku was about to pour the revival fluid, taiju stopped him. "wait senku! mirai-chan's naked," exclaimed taiju as he poked senku's eyes. "no! you can't revive her now!"

senku writhed on the ground in pain, covering his eyes. "here we go again with your absurd nonsense," he managed to let out. "we're in an emergency, in the stone world! who cares if you're buck naked or if your peepee's showing?" he raised his hand up, rubbing his eye to soothe the pain, then removed them showing his teary eyes. "you really like this plot twist, don't you? we'll figure it out once she wakes up—"

"but if it's y/n, would you be okay with it?" senku snapped his mouth shut at taiju's rebuttal. he turned over to you, who's standing next to him, to see a smirk growing on your face. he could already feel the headache coming from this small tease.

you raised your hand and casually revealed, "actually he revived me naked, so..." heads turned to senku who flinched at the sudden movement, all of them looking shocked (sans kohaku, she's actually mad).

"senku!" kohaku roared, drawing her dagger out.

"what's wrong with that?" asked chrome, breaking the tension. kohaku turned her head to glare at chrome who flinched at that hostility.

"chrome-chan, it's bad manners to see someone naked without their consent," informed gen, treating chrome as if he was an innocent child.

"no, i know that!" exclaimed chrome. "but they bathe together, so they see each other naked all the time," he then revealed. heads turned once again to senku, but this time to you as well to which senku sighs and you laugh at.

"and just how do you know that, chrome?" senku asks, then lets out a disgusted face. "don't tell me..."

"no!" denied chrome immediately. "i notice you guys heading towards the springs together a lot and y/n would be carrying a bamboo basket of like these cases and i also saw soap in it, so i assumed that you two would be taking a bath... together." he then realized the implications of what he revealed and turned red.

god bless yuzuriha on making a set of clothes for mirai, breaking the tension.

many things were revealed that night

under the curtesy of chrome

he never thought too deeply about the things he know, but saying it out loud made him realize some things

it made gen and tsuka understand just what of relationship you hold with senku as well (kind of)

and so the question changes

how did you and senku get to that point?

"senku..." chrome called out. "we're missing some dynamite," he shared with a serious tone.

upon hearing that you quickly scanned the area and noticed who are missing, and bolted off. a few minutes later, an explosion rang out, then you heard gen screaming out to the villagers to hurry up.

you snuck up on hyoga, bloodlust accidentally slipping which made him dodge, but barely. a line of blood forming across the back of his shoulder blades. he raised his spear and instead of aiming it at you, he aimed it at mirai. you moved forward, blocking the attack on hitting her. the spear pierced through you, but not as deep as hyoga wanted since you were able to stop it by holding onto it.

"so you're not impenetrable," he mused.

"go fuck yourself," you spat.

you broke the spear in half then pushed it through you, popping it out from the back. you spun around, catching the bloodied half of the spear, then turned right back around, using the momentum to throw it towards hyoga.

"get out of there! tsukasa! mirai!" you heard senku cry out from the distance. "y/n!" then you heard him let out this blood curdling scream.

you lost balance from the powerful throw causing you to slip and fall. tsukasa ran over. hyoga blocked the spear with the other half of it. tsukasa managed to catch you, holding onto your wrist. hyoga quickly picked up the bloodied upper half of the spear and aimed it at tsukasa. you swung yourself forward, your feet flat against the mountain wall and pushed yourself off, pulling tsukasa down with you. hyoga missed his stab, grazing the side of his torso instead. the sudden pull made mirai slip from the edge, but luckily senku caught up and pulled her away from the edge. however, hyoga then kicked senku off the mountain to which he jumped down afterwards.

senku's hands trembled as he held the wound, putting pressure on it. you could feel his fright against your skin, in fact, you're just as frightful as he is. the both of you can't lose each other. he can't lose you; and you don't wanna leave him. tsukasa kept himself busy as he fought against hyoga, but anyone with eyes could see that tsukasa is affected by the cut.

"you need to work with him, senku, i can survive for a few minutes," you managed to tell him as you reached towards your wound, holding it down with two hands. "you two can end this fight just as quickly as it started. we both know how bad water and blood is inside of a punctured lung." your breathing increased.

"save your breath! y/n, please..." senku lowered his head, laying it against your forehead.

"then go and help tsukasa already," you forcefully told him with gritted teeth.

hyoga managed to get his way over to where the two of you were. he kicked you away from senku. "y/n!" he screamed out.

anyone could tell that senku was distressed

it was the most obvious thing

you've been unconscious for barely a few hours and yet he's become restless

the people who know senku well enough are shocked at this newfound side of his

then again at the same time, they weren't shocked

everyone knows just how much you and senku care for each other despite not knowing just what exactly the relationship the two of you hold

(there was assumptions of it, but that's all they were: bold assumptions)

"senku, you need to rest," advised gen, looking worried. "you took a beating as well."

senku shook his head. "what's the point of sleeping when i need to think of a way to save y/n," he replied, pacing in the cave room you laid in.

taiju and yuzuhira glanced at each other, worried for their long time friend. this was not the first time this had happened. they hoped it would be the last, but here they are yet again, watching senku worry upon hours for an injured you.

"senku, do you want to sleep in here?" yuzuriha asked softly. senku looked up at her and nodded, no words to be said.

"i'll get a spare bed for you senku! no worries!" exclaimed taiju as he ran off.

"has he ever been like this before?" kohaku asked, going straight to the point. gen and chrome walked closer to kohaku and yuzuriha.

yuzuriha's lips drew into a thin line, unsure if she should share. she knew about the game you and senku liked to play, after all, she was one of the first victims. "only when y/n becomes reckless and injuries herself, but this time it's worse. it's hard to heal an injury as severe as that in the stone world."

"it's obvious," mentioned gen. "i may not know what relationship they have together, but if my assumptions are right, then it makes sense. usually senku would've thought of something by now, but he hasn't. his mind is being blocked by anxiousness, panic, and worry. he needs to calm down."

"senku..." you weakly called out which caught senku's attention immediately, and crouched down next to you. "get your ass to sleep." the others were taken aback at the first sentence you spoke after you woken up from a short coma.

senku let out a huff of amusement. "of course that's the first thing you say," he mentions.

"you know me so well, love." a weak smirk formed on your face. if anyone picked up on the sudden affectionate name, they didn't mention it. "but seriously though, how can you save me when you can't even think straight. you know me well, but i know you just as well, senku."

senku furrowed his brows.

"you need to accept what you need to do, senku."

masterlist ; times senku talked about you (part 2) a/n: it's not as ambiguous as i want it to be, but i thought the ending seemed fitting

[nichuuu]

Lemon.

Word count: 13k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re…” you begin.

“The host’s daughter? Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here.”

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

A very unlikely start to a romance really.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

“Sana, there’s people out there.”

“I know.”

“They might hear us.”

“I know.”

“We could get caught.”

“We won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

She’s scared, but of what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead. 

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

*

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

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

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

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

“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”

“Too bad. Call in sick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s so fucking hot. 

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

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

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

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

One woman; innumerable sensations.

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

You wish you could touch her.

You wish you could fuck her.

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

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

And you’re just along for the ride.

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

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

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

So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fucking cumming!"

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

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

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

“Fuck, Sana, I—” “Do it. Paint me.”

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

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

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

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

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

*

Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This isn’t the way you pictured this going. 

Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

In a way, she ended up being right. 

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

Oh? You have? Odd…

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

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

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

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

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

There will never be a place for it.

So why not substitute words with actions? 

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

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

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

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

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

[aakeysmash]

okokok, so. idk if you write for megumi, buuuttt:

secret relationship au! between megumi and reader; resulting in them having to reveal the secret because:

"gojo sees through all of megumi’s lies and actually finds out that megumi and reader are dating each other"

(i love coming up with these)

You open your locker after finishing up your training lesson to get some water. You're surprised when a folded piece of paper comes out of it, but you hurry nonetheless to pick it up and make it seem like you dropped something out of your hands instead. You put it in your pocket just in time, because you suddenly feel a strong arm draping over your shoulders.

"Hey, you!"

Looking up you find Yuuji grinning and Nobara just behind him, waving gently at you before smacking the pink haired male on the back of his head. He winces and immediately starts running.

"Learn what it means to give people personal space, you idiot!" she screams, chasing him down the hallway with her hammer in her hand, ready to strike him. You sigh, smiling at their antics.

You turn around to close your locker door, when you find a figure right next to it and you blush.

"Hey," mumbles Megumi, shily lifting a corner of his mouth.

"Hey, handsome," you answer, watching if anyone is near you before kissing him lightly on his cheek. You and Megumi have gotten together quite recently, and you both agreed on not making your relationship known, both for your own peace of mind and for saving the annoyance you'd have to deal with from your friends. You walk beside each other, going toward professor Gojo's classroom while having small talk: he asks you how you're feeling, how training went and what he can do to help your sore muscles feel better.

"Did- did you read the note, by the way?" he asks, avoiding your gaze and scratching behind his red ears.

"Oh, you put that in there? I still have-"

"If it isn't my two favorite students coming in late! Come in, come in!" a booming voice says behind both of you, startling you. You hear Megumi clicking his tongue at the sound of Gojo's nagging, while you resort to chuckle behind your hand. You sit down at your desk, which is the furthest from Megumi's one, when you feel a pair of piercing blue eyes staring at you. A shiver runs up your spine and you realize you've never felt more intimidated, incapable of moving and scrutinized than how you're feeling right now.

"Do you have something to share with the class, Megumi? Maybe something about one of your classmates?" you hear Gojo singing from the teacher's desk. You widen your eyes, your head snapping toward your boyfriend's inscrutable face.

"No, professor."

"Not even the love letter you so graciously wrote to our sweet yn?"

And that's how you're forced to reveal your not-so-secret relationship in front of an overjoyed and jumping Yuuji and a pained Nobara, who not even so quietly tells you that if you ever need a psychologist she knows a good one.

read the tags!! thank you anon for sending me this prompt, it was def out of my comfort zone lol

[floralcyanidee]

ᴛʀɪᴘʟᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ

Bruce Wayne x Reader x Jonathan Crane (NSFW)

When you notice Dr. Jonathan Crane watching you and your husband at a fundraising party, you get a little curious. When Dr. Crane angers you, he presses you to explore that anger. Will he regret it?

warnings: smut, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (both vaginal and anal), oral sex, cock warming, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, porn without much plot, masturbation, forced masturbation, threesome, male x male, male x female, male x male x female, cum swallowing, spitting, face sitting, face fucking, crying, sub/dom tones, dom!reader, sub!jonathan, kinda sub!bruce but not really, ya know, just pure filth

word count: 5254

author’s note: welcome to our one-way ticket to hell besties <3 I didn't proofread this because it just poured out of me and I was truly possessed by the writing demon today. I had an idea and literally ran with it. I don't think I've ever written something so filthy before lol please enjoy and give feedback!! READ THE WARNINGS this fic isn't for everyone tbh.

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

One thing about being married to the Bruce Wayne was he had a thing for throwing parties and fundraisers at your mansion. This meant you had to dress up quite a bit, and you had to look really good as you were Bruce’s wife, of course. He always ensured you had the newest and most gorgeous gowns to show off at the gatherings. You’d spend the whole day getting your hair, makeup, and nails done, only to be at the parties for a few hours. And that was usually because Bruce had other duties in the city, he got too distracted by what you were wearing and needed you right then, or he simply let his antisocial side creep up on him. Tonight at the fundraiser he’s throwing, he seems content and has been by your side most of the night. Nothing drastic was going on in the city that demanded his action. But something was bothering him, you could tell. He’s slightly off, and you catch him staring at someone in the crowd a few times. You’re never able to pick them out, though. 

You and Bruce are by the champagne table, and you notice Bruce is gazing out into the crowd of partygoers again.

“Bruce?” you ask softly, putting a hand on his bicep, “You alright?”

Bruce blinks hard a few times before turning to you, “I’m fine, darling.”

“You sure? You seem distracted by something this evening,” you scan the room, but to no avail for whomever Bruce is focused on.

“I just thought I recognized someone,” Bruce says, sipping his drink.

“Hmm. Alright, then.”

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Bruce smiles, letting a hand slide across the small of your back.

“Only about a thousand times,” you giggle, leaning into your husband.

You happen to look up, and that’s when you see him staring at the two of you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. He quickly averts his eyes away, but you have already caught him.

“Is it Dr. Crane that you recognize?” you ask Bruce, motioning to where he’s standing with some other rich psychologists.

“Yeah,” Bruce exhales, shrugging, “I thought he had left the city a while ago.”

“After the asylum got turned loose? I figured so, too. Oh well,” you say, looking up at Bruce, “If he’s here, then he’s donating, so maybe it’s not so bad.”

“You have a point,” Bruce raises his eyebrows, “I’m still keeping an eye on him, though.”

You knew of a few of the villains Bruce has come in contact with, including Jonathan. He had almost killed your best friend and sent the whole city insane. Who knows what would have happened to Gotham if it weren't for Bruce. But a part of you is curious about Jonathan- a deep, intellectual part of you. Why is he still here? Is he still a doctor? Your brain becomes dizzy with all the questions. If Jonathan is here acting casually on his own accord, you could, too. You tear away from Bruce without a word, drink in hand. Bruce calls after you, panic surging through him when he realizes where you’re headed.

“Dr. Crane,” you smile upon arriving in front of him and another psychologist, “Wonderful to see you here.”

“Ah, Mrs. Wayne. I wouldn’t miss a marvelous party for a good cause. Have you met Dr. Robin here?” Jonathan smiles back, not missing a single beat.

“I have not,” you look over to the tall woman in front of Jonathan, clad in a pantsuit. You reach out a hand for her to shake, “Y/N Wayne.”

“I know who you are, Mrs. Wayne,” Dr. Robin says politely, her Australian accent strong, “Your dress is quite lovely, I must say.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, willing her to leave so you could speak with Jonathan alone. 

“Well, I’ll be off. Seems you two have something to discuss,” Dr. Robin announces her departure, much to your relief.

“It was nice meeting you,” you say sweetly as she walks away.

“You as well, Mrs. Wayne.”

You turn to Jonathan, who clears his throat as he looks you up and down. You’re nearly the same height as him, if not slightly taller, in your heels. 

“It’s really brave of you to be here, Dr. Crane,” you turn your head to the side, giving him a closed-lip smile.

“Please, call me Jonathan,” Jonathan responds, “And what would you mean by that?”

You take a step closer to him, leaning into his ear, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jonathan. Or should I say, Mr. Scarecrow.”

Jonathan doesn’t flinch. In fact, he grins at you as he exhales a laugh, “Those days are behind me, I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh,” you cross your arms, “And why should I believe you?”

Jonathan glances behind you to look at Bruce, who is on edge and watching the entire conversation to ensure nothing is tried. A muscle in Jonathan’s jaw twitches, “You don’t have to. But if I were up to no good, why would I be in the presence of the Batman and his lover? Quite unintelligent, wouldn’t you think?”

“And why are you here, exactly?” 

“Trying to get myself back into the Gotham scene,” Jonathan looks at you matter-of-factly, “I’ve missed a lot being gone, you know.”

“Oh, I do know. And maybe you should’ve stayed gone,” you try not to snarl at him.

“Now, now, Mrs. Wayne. That is no way to speak to a donor,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping like honey with malice.

“You better be glad there are people around or-”

“Or what?” Jonathan asks, raising his eyebrows, a smirk itching at his lips.

“I’d fucking break you right here.”

“Sounds like a fun time. However, I’m not sure your husband would appreciate that in many, many ways.”

You scoff, “Don’t be crass. I’m not flirting with you. If I were, you’d know it.”

“There’s a fine line between desire and hatred, my dear,” Jonathan whispers in your ear, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin, “It’s a fun line to walk.”

Annoyance swells in your chest. You desperately wanted him to shut his bratty mouth. You also wanted to enjoy the rest of the party, but now that Jonathan had you riled up in anger, you wanted nothing more than to slam him against the wall and-

“Everything okay over here?” Bruce approaches suddenly, taking you by surprise.

“Everything is fine, sweetheart,” you place your hand on Bruce’s chest as a warning, “Nothing to worry about.”

“Dr. Crane isn’t bothering you, is he?” Bruce’s nostrils flare.

“Not at all,” you defend the doctor, “In fact, I’m probably annoying him.”

Bruce laughs humorlessly, “Oh, is that so?”

You cock your head at him, “Did you need something, dear?”

“Just want to speak with you privately,” Bruce says.

You go to say something, but Bruce interrupts you, “Both of you.”

If Jonathan is just as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. 

“Lead the way, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce walks briskly to one of the guest rooms down the hall from the ballroom, making sure no one is following or watching the three of you. He ushers you and Jonathan inside, following suit before closing the door behind him. 

“You know,” Jonathan says, breaking the silence, “I never pegged Mrs. Wayne for the threatening type out of the two of you.”

You bite your tongue, and Bruce looks over at you.

“Say what you want to say. I brought the two of you in here so you could solve your conversation away from those nosy fuckers outside,” Bruce rolls his eyes, fixing his cuff links.

“We aren’t children, Bruce,” you scowl.

“Then act like it,” Bruce sasses back.

“I do not need two men on my bad side right now. Remember what happens when you’re on my bad side, Bruce?”

Bruce looks between you and Jonathan, a hint of nervousness in his eye, “Don’t bring him into this, darling.”

“No, no. I’m curious now,” Jonathan grins deviously, stepping closer to you, “What happens when someone is on your bad side, Mrs. Wayne?”

Now realizing how your words and threats may have sounded all night to Jonathan, you backpedal.

“Not what you think, Dr. Crane,” you cross your arms, taking a step back from the doctor.

“Oh really? So your antagonizing and threats don’t mean anything?”

“What do you think they mean?”

“As I said earlier, desire and hatred are very close to one another,” Jonathan says suavely, “And I honestly can’t tell which you feel toward me.”

You make a disgusted sound despite the growing need to pin this man down and give him what for. Not even sexually, but simply because you’re tired of him speaking. However, Jonathan wasn’t bad-looking by any means- and sometimes, you and Bruce liked to try new things. But you don’t think Bruce would want to fuck with a murderer and criminal, especially one he’s had close encounters within the city. Jonathan almost burned him alive once, so you aren’t sure about whatever he’s insinuating going very far with your husband. 

“Hatred,” you spit, “It’s hatred. Plus,” you look over at Bruce, “I don’t think my lover would appreciate me having anything to do with you anyway.”

Jonathan snorts, his eyes flickering between you and your husband, “Are you so sure about that?”

You furrow your brow, laughing incredulously at him, “I’m certain.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says suddenly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the fucker squirm on your account, Y/N.”

You nearly gasped, suddenly very aware of the animosity you were aiming at Dr. Jonathan Crane, now becoming sexual in nature. Not that you meant for it to, but now that it was insinuated out loud by someone other than Jonathan, you pondered your true feelings. As you’ve said, Jonathan was a looker. If you weren’t married to Bruce and the man wasn’t psychotic, you wouldn’t mind taking him for a ride. But you are married, and he is psychotic. 

Jonathan has his hands shoved in his pockets, a smirk on his face as he studies you, “You want this. Don’t deny it, Mrs. Wayne. I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

You purse your lips together, “What I want is for you to shut up and behave. All you do is act high and mighty when you’re nothing but a little rat.”

Bruce tries to hide his laugh by covering it with a cough, “I’ll let everyone know it’s time to leave. When I come back, you two better be taking care of things.”

You look at Bruce, who gives you a slight nod in approval to do as you wish before he steps out of the room. No one is in charge in the bedroom permanently between the two of you. The dominant role is shared or is back and forth, depending on the day. To your shock, Bruce gives you the complete reins in this situation. But Bruce knew how much you despised Dr. Crane for what he’s done, even if a part of you is desperately curious about him. Desperate enough to demean him sexually, even. You want to humiliate him. Make him cry and make him regret having even come here. You want him to think of you whenever he feels shame or embarrassment for the rest of his life. 

“A little rat, huh?” Jonathan chuckles, undoing his cufflinks.

“Yes,” you blink, forcing him to walk backward to the bed as he struggles to remove his blazer.

You shove him roughly onto the bed, watching him bounce from the mattress with a look of disorientation. Jonathan eventually gets his blazer off, discarding it onto the floor. You can’t properly climb on the bed with your gown on, so you reach behind your back, undoing the clasps that hold the silver dress together. You kick off your glittery heels, letting the gown slip to the floor in a pile. Underneath your dress, you decided a black lingerie set would do nicely. You’re glad you picked well, considering such a doting man was now staring at you like you were a piece of meat and he was starving. You try to ignore the logical side of your brain telling you this man is dangerous and crazy. But the other side of your brain is telling you that his cock is definitely dangerous and crazy, too. And you wanted to find out for sure. 

“Now,” you begin to crawl to where Jonathan wordlessly lays, watching you carefully, “Are you going to be good and keep your mouth shut, pretty boy?”

“No promises,” Jonathan flashes a toothy grin, and you angrily rip his button-up open, buttons flying everywhere across the room.

Jonathan’s mouth hangs open, “That was an expensive shirt.”

“Nothing you can’t replace,” you shrug, running your hands along Jonathan’s handsome chest before letting your nails graze his nipples.

Jonathan shudders at the feeling, and you remove your hands from him, sitting back on your heels, “Lay on the pillows.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Jonathan purrs, doing as told, surprisingly.

You hear the door open behind you, and you turn around quickly to see Bruce.

“Everyone is cleared out. Brought some fun stuff, too,” he places a box on the floor, kicking it to the end of the bed for you to grab it.

You lean down over the edge of the bed and retrieve the box, crawling on your knees to where Jonathan lies. You open the box and hum in satisfaction at Bruce’s choice of toys and trinkets. You fiddle with one toy, dragging your gaze to Jonathan with a wicked smile on your face. But before you reveal the toy, you snatch some rope out of the box.

“Now you have no choice but to be good, Dr. Crane,” you snicker, offering Bruce some of the rope to tie Jonathan’s left wrist to the bedpost with.

You tie Jonathan’s right wrist tight enough for him not to move too much but not enough to where blood flow is cut off. Jonathan tugs at the rope, looking at you and Bruce with a nervous yet exhilarating smile.

“I’m privileged to be living such a fantasy,” Jonathan sighs.

“You’ll be wishing you had never stepped foot in this house when she’s done with you,” Bruce smirks, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling his sleeves up.

“Ah,” Jonathan laughs.

Before he can comment any further, you shove a ball gag into his mouth, strapping it behind his head securely. A deep feeling of satisfaction to him finally being quiet fills you. But the joy of seeing such an evil man at your mercy is more intense. 

“You better be glad I chose the ball gag instead of having Bruce have his way with that pretty mouth of yours, Crane,” you say, and Bruce shakes his head from where he stands beside the bed.

Drool begins seeping out of the sides of Jonathan’s mouth, and you can’t help but coo at the sight of his tightening pants and his reddening cheeks. You grab his face between your fingers, squishing his flesh. You hum in satisfaction before letting go of his face and focusing on his slacks. You all but tear his belt off his hips, hurrying to unbutton his pants before ripping them down his thighs. Bruce removes the pants the rest of the way as you climb onto Jonathan’s lap, your clothed core atop his throbbing, leaking bulge.

You kiss Jonathan’s jaw, leaving harsh bites along the column of his throat as you travel down, continuing your assault on the skin of his chest and torso. You reach the band of his underwear, which you tease with your hands, snapping the band against Jonathan’s skin. He tries his best to laugh from underneath the ball gag, spit sputtering from the gaps of his mouth. You slowly peel his underwear down his legs, watching as his hard cock slaps against his stomach. You let Bruce pull the underwear off completely, and he tosses it somewhere in the room to be found later. You lean down to lick the bead of precum off Jonathan's tip before pulling away completely, allowing Bruce the room to tie up the doctor’s ankles to the bottom bedposts. You stand at the foot of the bed, chuckling darkly as Jonathan struggles against the restraints. 

“Not so powerful now, are you, Dr. Crane?” you laugh, knowing he didn’t like you calling him by his professional name, “You look so pathetic, lying there with your poor cock out for us to see. Bet you wish one of us would touch it for you, hmm?”

Jonathan stays silent, his eyes boring into yours as he yanks his arms, testing the rope’s strength. He realizes he truly can’t move or speak and that he’s entirely at you and Bruce’s mercy. Not the worst position to be in, Jonathan thinks. 

“Which of us should do the honors?” you ask Bruce, a playful smile on your face. 

It isn’t often Bruce gets to mess with the other man during your experimental sexual encounters. Still, you figure this is personal enough for him to want to be involved. 

“You can take this one. I’ve got other plans,” Bruce says, smirking deviously.

“Oh really?” you grin, “I’m excited to see those.”

You climb back on the bed, moving toward Jonathan’s lap, where his weeping cock is getting redder by the second. Grabbing the base of it, you move it forward enough for it to meet your lips. You lap your tongue on Jonathan’s tip, smearing the precum around before licking a stripe up his entire length. You pull away, letting his cock slap painfully against his stomach again. You harshly grip Jonathan’s balls, causing him to cry out muffled. You massage them as you take his length into your mouth, bobbing your head as you continue to take him in entirely. You press your breasts into the bed, letting your ass be exposed for Bruce to take advantage of as you suck off Jonathan. Bruce wastes no time walking over to you, letting his hands run over your asscheeks before he pulls your pretty black underwear off. Bruce dips his head down to flatten his tongue against your wet slit, gathering your arousal as he swirls it around your cunt. You moan around Jonathan’s cock, causing him to twitch. 

“God, I love this pussy,” Bruce pants against you, “Too bad you can’t get a taste, Crane.”

You peer your eyes up to Jonathan’s, his icy blue eyes now dark from his blown pupils. He’s glaring at Bruce, trying to regulate his breathing as his tip hits the back of your throat. Jonathan’s eyes roll into the back of his head as you fuck him with your mouth, letting his cock slam into your throat. Jonathan tries to thrust into your mouth, but you push his hips down against the mattress. You’re slobbering, and tears are streaming down your face as you take his length as much as you can, wanting him to get as close to cumming as possible. Bruce sucks your clit harshly, letting two fingers slip into your wet pussy. You groan, the vibrations sending Jonathan batty. You feel him getting close, and you blindly fumble around for the box of toys that still remains on the bed somewhere. You find it, pulling off Jonthan’s cock as it twitches uncontrollably. He growls as you find the toy you were looking for. You give Jonathan a few pumps, gripping his length as tight as you can, watching as the precum helplessly spills from him. Before Jonathan can react or cum, you slip a cock ring onto him, sliding it down to his base. He cries out from behind the ball gag, his chest heaving. You lay your head on his thigh, watching as his cock turns bright red. Bruce continues to eat you out, his teeth brushing against your clit occasionally, causing you to moan. Your breath hits Jonathan’s angry length, making him shiver. You look him in the eyes as Bruce adds a third finger, fucking into your g spot harshly as he bites at your bundle of nerves. You maintain eye contact with Jonathan as you cum, letting your nails dig into the soft flesh on his thighs.

“Lucky for me,” you trace Jonathan’s tip teasingly with your finger, catching your breath, “I get to cum as much as I want.”

Jonathan stares at you without making a sound, focusing on his breathing so he doesn’t explode into a fine mist from the overstimulation. 

“Now it’s your turn since you’ve been a good boy,” you remove the ball gag from Jonathan’s mouth, licking up his spit from his lips before he can lick it off himself.

“Open your mouth,” you demand, and Jonathan does as told.

You gather his and your saliva in your mouth before spitting it onto his tongue. 

“Now show me how good you are at eating pussy, Dr. Crane.”

You flip yourself around, hovering over Jonathan’s face as you slowly remove the cock ring. Bruce removes his button-up, laying down between Jonathan’s spread legs. Jonathan lets out a strangled cry at the feeling of Bruce’s hot mouth on his sensitive cock. You push your pulsing cunt onto Jonathan’s face, to which he happily starts lapping hungrily. You watch as Bruce hollows his cheeks around Jonathan, and the sight alone makes you even wetter than before. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, Bruce’s eyes meeting yours.

You rock your hips against Jonathan’s tongue, urging him to continue. Jonathan wishes he could bury his fingers in your cunt, but he settles for his tongue instead. Twisting and pushing it inside you, he uses his nose to press against your clit, shaking his head. You grip Jonathan’s hair, cursing at the feeling of his tongue dragging in your walls and his nose flicking your bundle of nerves. You grasp your barely clothed breasts, letting your thumbs play with your nipples through the thin lace. Bruce moans around Jonathan while watching you, letting Jonathan fuck into his throat.

“Wanna cum, you piece of shit?” Bruce pulls off Jonathan, who gasps a ‘yes,’ “Be careful what you ask for,” Bruce chuckles.

You plan on milking the doctor for all he’s got all night. You want him spent and begging for mercy. Anything to make him miserable.

Bruce takes Jonathan back into his mouth, bobbing up and down quickly and stroking what he won’t take into his mouth. Bruce allows Jonathan to buck his hips into his face. Jonathan lets out a pitiful cry as he cums in your husband’s mouth, white-hot spurts of seed shooting down Bruce’s throat. You feel Jonathan roll your clit between his teeth before sucking it between his lips as he rides his high. You growl, letting your self-control go out the window. You chase your own high, letting Jonathan torture and tease your bundle of nerves with his tongue and teeth until you finally release in his mouth. Jonathan slurps and suckles every drop of your arousal from your cunt, licking until you pull off him. 

“Lucky for you,” you pant, beginning to untie the rope bound to Jonathan’s wrists, “This next part requires your cooperation. Promise you’ll behave?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wayne,” Jonathan nods.

You let Bruce finish untying the doctor as you discard your bra. You instruct Jonathan to move to the side, allowing you to lie down in his place. You demand that Jonathan climb on top of you. he does as told, and Bruce roughly pushes Jonthan’s face into your chest. You laugh at Bruce’s typical roughness, especially when it makes Jonathan look flustered. His ass is now in the air, revealed to Bruce. 

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass like a good boy?” you ask Jonathan, your fingers in his hair.

He doesn’t look at you or respond.

“I’m asking you a question, Jonathaaan,” you say threateningly, your fingers now gripping his hair harshly as you lift his head for him to look at you.

“No,” Jonathan says breathlessly.

“Well, that’s about to change,” you say, “Any regrets about being smart-mouthed to me yet, Dr. Crane?”

Jonathan glares at you, panting as Bruce spreads his ass apart, “Not yet.”

“Good,” you smile, letting his head drop abc to your chest, “Now obey me and show me how much you’re enjoying this.”

You move Jonathan’s face, maneuvering his mouth to your hardened and sensitive nipple. Bruce takes some lube from the box he brought, smearing it against his fingers before teasing Jonathan’s asshole with the tip of his index finger. Jonathan keens around you, his body beginning to shake as Bruce slowly pushes a finger inside him. Jonathan sucks harshly on your nipple, gasping as your husband wiggles his finger inside his tight ass. He laps at your bud, focusing on trying to please you and taking Bruce’s long finger simultaneously. A second finger is added, stretching Jonathan further. The doctor lets out a sharp groan at the delectable burn. He attacks your other breast, letting his finger circle around the one he was just attached to. Bruce prods a third finger into Jonathan, and he lurches forward from the feeling of fullness. 

“If you think you’re full now, just wait for Bruce’s fat cock, baby boy,” you taunt.

Bruce twists and curls his fingers inside Jonathan, doing his best to prep him for his unforgiving length. When he pulls his hand away, Jonathan gasps from the sudden emptiness. Bruce spreads his ass apart again, his slacks and underwear now discarded as his hardened cock pressed against Joanthan’s gaping hole. Jonathan whimpers around your nipple, pausing momentarily as Bruce slides himself into Jonathan. 

“Fuck,” Jonathan shudders.

“You can stop now. I need you elsewhere,” you pull Jonathan’s head off your breasts, sneaking your hand between the two of you to his newly hardened cock, stroking it in your hand in time for Bruce to bottom out. 

Jonathan whines, collapsing on your torso as the air leaves him.

“Tapped out already?” you pout, sticking your bottom lip out at Jonathan when you lift his head by his hair again, “Too fucking bad.”

Bruce then pulls out of Jonathan almost all the way before slamming back into him, his tip brushing against Jonathan’s prostate. Jonathan screams as you guide his cock between your slick folds, his body overstimulated. You let Jonathan weakly push his length inside your soaking cunt, your walls enveloping him immediately. Bruce wraps an arm around Jonathan’s chest, anchoring himself to the doctor. His other hand grips Jonathan’s hip with intensity. The feeling of Bruce pounding into Jonathan’s tight little ass affects you directly as Jonathan pushes deeper inside you every time Bruce thrusts into him. Soon, a rhythm is established, and you’re nearly in tears from pleasure as you watch Jonathan become a withering, crying mess underneath Bruce. 

“Doing so good taking Bruce’s huge cock,” you praise Jonathan, bucking your hips with his every time he involuntarily moves forward, “You could at least try a little harder to fuck me like you want to, though.”

Jonathan’s forehead is teeming with sweat as he struggles to actually thrust into you while Bruce fucks into his prostate. You give him the benefit of the doubt- the first time getting fucked in the ass is intense. So you rock and swivel your hips on Jonathan’s cock roughly, letting him reach up to grab your breasts for leverage. He pinches your nipples, twisting them hard, sending electricity to your cunt. You pulse around Jonathan’s length, causing him to grunt miserably. Bruce’s hips are slapping onto Jonathan’s asscheeks loudly, and Jonathan’s cock twitches pitifully inside you.

“Cum, sweet thing,” you coax Jonathan, whose hair has long since lost its gel hold and has begun flopping into his face, “Cum inside me.”

Jonathan starts fucking into you the best he can, tears streaming down his face as he cums, a hoarse scream leaving his throat. Bruce is still fucking him without mercy, and you let Jonathan’s soft cock remain inside you as he whimpers helplessly, his hands gripping your sides.

“That’s it,” you praise him gently, “Let Batman fuck you silly like you deserve.”

Jonathan peers up at you, giving you the dirtiest look he can muster as you cackle, Bruce grunting as he cums inside Jonthan’s ass and on his back. 

“Christ,” Bruce sighs, pushing his hair from his face as he winces, pulling out of Jonathan’s quivering asshole.

Jonathan collapses on top of you in a mess of sweat, tears, and cum. You let him catch his breath before sliding out from under him.

“One last thing, sweetie,” you say, your tone sugary, “Sit up on the bed for us.”

Jonathan weakly pushes himself up, flipping onto his back and laying his head on the pillows.

“Touch yourself,” you demand, sitting on your knees at the end of the bed beside Bruce, “I want you to cum until you can’t cum anymore.”

Jonathan opens his mouth to protest, but you motion for him to shush, to which he tiredly gives in. You dip your hand to your slick clit, swiping at it as Jonathan strokes his sensitive cock for you. Bruce watches you and Jonathan touch yourselves, unable to really get himself up again. He instead sits behind you, playing with your tits and rubbing his large hands on your hot, sticky skin. Bruce relishes in watching Jonathan fall apart as he looks away in embarrassment.

“Keep your eyes on me, Crane,” Bruce’s voice booms, making Jonathan jump.

Jonathan gulps, reluctantly keeping eye contact with Bruce as he bucks into his hand, moaning hoarsely as he gets close. He can’t help but think about how he was between the two of you, getting fucked by you and Bruce at the same time. With that, cum shoots from his overused cock onto his stomach, and he cries out in embarrassment when you demand he get off again.

You stay like that, letting Bruce replace your hand as you spread your legs further open to allow him to fuck you with his fingers. You bounce on them, moaning quietly as Jonathan fights to keep his eyes open, his wrist flicking to the best of his ability. The night goes on, and Jonathan eventually taps out, sobbing almost uncontrollably as he runs out of cum. You and Bruce give him time alone before slowly moving him to the shower, where you help him wash off. You and your husband also washed yourselves off, assisting Jonathan out of the shower when you were all done. He’s wrapped in a towel, wincing as he walks back to the bed and curls up under the covers. You follow suit, wrapping your arms around Jonathan and soothing him as he finally falls asleep. Bruce holds you from behind, sighing contently.

“Too bad it takes doing this to humble a villain,” Bruce jokes.

“And the fact I could help was exciting,” you chuckle, “I never get to fight criminals like you do.”

“Maybe you should. You’ve got the mouth for it. Your sass is unmatched,” Bruce buries his nose in your hair.

“Mmm, I think I’m good,” you say, stroking Jonathan’s hair out of his face, “One villain is enough for me, I think.”

You and Bruce quietly watch the evil, despicable fucker sleep soundly. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask Bruce, to which he tries not to burst out laughing.

“So you can torture him more? Absolutely.”

“Awesome.”

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